We were in middle school.
It wasn’t a very good school—Omar el-Khattab School.
Sadly, it never lived up to its name.
A third grade teacher was molested in class.
Everyone heard about the incident.
She saw some students masturbating in class,
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, mass sexual assault, sex, school, sex education

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

“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

After prayers, I thought it would be nice, since the corniche was nearby, to go sit by the Nile with a few friends and maybe take a walk or something.
Nothing wrong with that, right?
We found officers standing there, which was a little out of the ordinary, but at least they’d be able to protect us from harassers I thought.

I never ran or even moved from my place.
I remember really well,
When I’d run up the stairs,
Or run in Agamy market.

Everything about the streets is upsetting.
I get scared and worried whenever I walk down the street.
Scared of what will happen.
Of what I see, and the way they would touch you.
I wish that one day I could walk feeling safe.
gender violence, harassment, social pressure, the street

The whole time I was walking down the street, I was afraid someone would touch me.
They were going to come from behind and pinch my ass, then laugh and make a run for it!
A repeat of a scenario that happened more than 8 years ago...

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.

Inside me,
Is a man called Mohamed.
He comes out in different situations.
Like when Sara goes out alone,
Or goes out with her girl friends.

I was fed up with his silly blabber.
He didn’t stop talking the whole ride.
I remembered the stories I heard about taxi drivers.
I had one hand on the handle as he chattered away.