I could never forget,
How in the midst of the screams, beatings, killing,
The fires and tear gas in Tahrir,
I felt your hand violating me.

I got out of the Opera Station and I was searching for a taxi when all of a sudden someone touched my behind. When I turned to look, I saw a man in his 40s walking along, as if nothing had happened.

I hit him because I wanted to hit everyone.
After Friday prayers, he got into his car and harassed a girl who was walking by.

I was walking down the street, it was about an hour after Eid prayers, when a guy riding past on a motorcycle tried to touch me.

I took the metro one day during Ramadan,
And got on the women’s passenger car,
Because I didn’t want to be harassed,
Or even looked at.

We were on our way to Qena from Luxor.
We took the two seats behind the driver.
Our friend sat next to him.
Old men around the age of 56 sat behind us.
“I feel something strange,” the friend sitting next to me said as the bus started to move.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment

The French teacher, Miss Lubnah, was very sweet and petite.
She spoke in broken Arabic,
But her French was perfect.
She was a great French teacher.

How is it that he molests me, and takes away a part of me,
but I’m expected to censor myself when I tell the story?
I regret ever listening to what you had to say,
to what you call traditional or proper or haram.

We were walking down Namees street;
There was a girl coming toward us from the direction of the corniche.
It was windy, so a gust of wind blew her skirt up in the air
Exposing her legs to everyone on the street.

At the bus stop,
The driver didn’t have available seats in the front, so we decided to look for another bus.
The drivers kept sending us back and forth between one another, and one of them was unnecessarily rude.
“I won’t let you get on any bus!” he told us.