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.

My father was the first person to touch me.
I used to tell myself that I was imagining it.
When he’d touch me with his leg from behind,
I’d tell myself he was just being playful.

I was in highschool at the time.
It was inappropriate to tell mama about this sort of thing,
She never said so,
But I had a feeling that what happened could not be talked about.

I’ve been subjected to bad things ever since I was a child.
It started with the bullying I’d get at school,
Because of my thin body and dark skin.

We were walking down the street, holding hands.
A man passed us by and laughed in derision.
“What are you in love or something?”
social stigma, sexuality, harassment, the street

A girl was walking to a supermarket near her house after iftaar  when a kid—no older than 18—said the most disgusting things to her as he fondled himself.

I was waiting for my husband in the car one time. I remember wishing I was a man, so I could get out of the car and smack one of the harasser’s with a shoe. I wanted to tell him to have some respect.

I bumped into a very polite-looking man, who looked at me very politely and asked,  "Why are you hiding your tits? Come on, give me a peek".

I was a senior at the time. I was wearing a long blouse over a skirt. A microbus passed by and the driver said, “What a huge a—”, and you can imagine the rest!
gender violence, harassment, the street

I was leaving school.
This school was in what people say is one of the most high-end areas in Cairo.
I was wearing gabardine pants and a baggy polo t-shirt.
It was the school uniform.
He was walking towards me.
gender violence, harassment, the street