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.
My body started looking different when I hit puberty.
I started getting comments from the people around me.
About the weight I gained,
And humiliating and disgusting comments about different parts of my body.
body image, harassment, the street
The first time I told my mother that I filed a harassment report at the police station,
She screamed in shock and made a big scene.
“You’re bringing shame upon the family!”
“You’re disgracing your father even after his death!”
“How could you go to a police station?”
“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
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.
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.
“Okay then. I’ll make time for you. Get the papers with you. I’ll be waiting for you.
We didn’t get the chance to know each other well.
I don’t remember you, Noha.
We’ll get to know each other tomorrow.
And I’ll see your work, of course.
I want you to introduce yourself to me tomorrow.”
I was on the tram on my way to Ain Shams University.
The tram was a bit crowded.
A girl, who seemed older than 25, came and stood next to me.
I was holding on to the rail because I have a disability.
She pushed her breasts against my arm.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, public transportation