I’ll tell you what happened but don’t tell anyone else.
Last week, when I was going home,
There was a guy who wanted to get into the elevator with me.
He looked strange.
I refused to get into the elevator with him.

I came nowhere near you.
So, did he stand you up?
Yes, you. There’s no one else here, is there?
I’m here if he doesn’t show up, you know.

I don’t know where it’s going to happen next time.
I can’t predict who’s going to harass me next time.
Everyone’s a potential harasser.
They’re the reason I can’t tell anyone.

The first time I was harassed was in middle school.
My friend and I were on our way home.
When all of a sudden,
Three guys on a motorcycle,
Grabbed me from behind,
All three of them in one go.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, the street

It was the second year of college.
I was going through a lot of problems at the time.
They were either related to college, home, or relationships.
I used to talk to and confide in a spiritual guide who knew my family.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment

“Let’s take a photo the Lebanese way! Stand like this.”
I did as she said and I thought I must’ve looked funny, and that people would think I was a slut because I was trying to flaunt my breasts.
body image, harassment

As I was leaving Hijr-Ismail—it can get really crowded there—I felt someone shove their hand between my legs and grope me.
I immediately spun around and started punching the man behind me.
“In front of the Holy Kaaba, you kaafir?!” I screamed.

When I was in middle school, I went to a school in Al Mandara, and there was a girls' school across the street from ours. We used to finish school at the same time.

I usually wear an abaya and a veil when I go to work.
I went in, changed, and went out.
“Come, dear. Prepare breakfast for us,” he told me.
I went out to get breakfast.
Later on he said,
“Why are you covering your hair? Take off the veil, dear.”
“I’m from the countryside. I can’t take off the veil,” I replied.
gender violence, sexual violence, work, harassment, social pressure

Every time I walk down the street
I’m scared some pig will beat me up,
Or throw acid at me,
Or harass me,
Because the look on their faces is terrifying