I wasn’t brave enough to tell my family that I wanted to stop wearing the hijab.
They’re Salafists,
And I could predict their reaction.
Whenever I attended tutoring lessons,
I’d look at the other girls’ clothes,
Clothes I was forbidden from wearing at that age.
I didn’t like going out most of the time,
Because people always called me an old lady,
Because of how I dressed.
That made me hate the way I looked.

Everyone believes that this piece of fabric not only covers my head, but my brain too, affecting its ability to function intellectually.
I’m always told that my actions and ideas don’t befit my headscarf.
People always expect me to act like a nun, and to always defend the headscarf and the conduct of every covered female.

I hate people’s reactions at work when they meet me for the first time.
“You’re very brave to be veiled.”
“Veiled girls should get married and stay at home.”
And “Veiled girls aren’t competent workers.”

My sister once gave me a card with pink flowers and pearls on it and some words on the back.
“My friend made them,” she said.
“She’s giving them out for free.”

I was wearing a dress that day.
I was on my way to a concert in Al-Mahrousa.
I was feeling happy.
Suddenly, I felt myself being lifted off the ground.
I screamed,
But no sound was coming out.

I got my period when I was 10.
I was living in Saudi Arabia at the time,
And where I lived it was mandatory to wear the niqab,
So I always wore it when I went out.
womanhood, period, hijab

I was 9 years old.
I remember coming back from school,
And finding some blood in my underwear.
I thought I’d gotten injured,
And didn’t give it much thought.
I became afraid the following days,
When there was still more blood.
I didn’t want to tell my mother,
So she wouldn’t yell at me.

I remember the exact day.
It was on a Friday in February.
My mother had told us, ever since we were 10 years old,
That we’d start wearing the hijab as soon as we got it,
Because it’s a religious obligation.
I’d hoped I’d never get it.

Something annoying happens every Ramadan.
As a woman, I’m looked at as a glitch in the Egyptian societal system.
I’m seen as a problem, just because I don’t cover my hair.
social stigma, social pressure, hijab, hair, harassment, the street

My hair grew out very dry and curly.
Mama didn’t know how to deal with it.
She tried oils and creams.
My hair was in braids all during my childhood.
I never let my hair down.
I never felt the wind in my hair.
My maternal aunts made fun of me
body image, hair, beauty standards, bullying, hijab