Living Biologically

The name is Khitam (ending) because heaven forbid my father’s manly pride is insulted ever again with another daughter. A third boy was all he wanted. Having four daughters already, he hoped for a boy. In 1973, during the October war in Egypt to liberate the Suez Canal, my father wanted to take my brothers outside to show them the zionist air fighters headed for Egypt. None of my sisters showed any desire to join them, but I did. I was almost three years old. They were fast, but I followed them up the stairs and stood under the pine tree with them and looked up at the sky and saw the air fighters. That was the earliest memory of my childhood; me joining the boys of the family.
Though my father wasn’t happy with the fact that I was born a girl, he somehow turned me into the unofficial third boy of the family. My two brothers had few responsibilities and when the eldest left the country to get an education in the West, which he never got, my younger brother spent his time playing with the neighborhood kids. Who was left to take their place? I was. Since my older sisters were not allowed to go out much, whenever they needed something from the store, I was the fetch boy to get what they wanted. When my mother would buy a big sack of flour, I was supposed to take our cart and wait for her at the bus stop to wheel it back home. Whenever my father needed to fix something in the house, I was the one who assisted him; something that none of my sisters ever did.
I never liked skirts because they restricted my movement. They called me a Tom Boy all the time. I was the alpha male in our neighborhood and though I was petite, all the kids feared me. I never used violence against anyone, but I always outsmarted everyone.
And then one day, I was told that I was a woman who had to wear skirts and be a lady because no one would accept to marry a Tom Boy. I refused because I felt naked in skirts. My mother’s ultimatum and threat descended upon me. “If you refuse to wear a skirt, you won’t get out of the house.” I was forced to wear them for some time until my mother got off my back and I was able to wear my jeans again.
My useless younger brother used to pick fights with me all the time. He realized that in his absence, I had taken his place. His mission was to subjugate me. He used to steal my things, hit and verbally abuse me. Every time I complained to my mother, she would lament over her far away brother she didn’t see very often. One night, my brother’s verbal abuse pushed all my buttons and I decided to run away from home and I did. I spent the night walking on the streets of Ramallah until I made it to my teacher’s house where I spent the night on her balcony. In the morning, she found me and called my family to come and pick me up. When I got home, my father wanted to lecture me about the family honor that I tarnished with my action. I don’t remember everything he said because I fell asleep since I didn’t sleep all night long. My mother’s attitude changed a bit not because she understood why I ran away or had any sympathy for me, but because she feared that I would do it again.
When I couldn’t pass my high school exams, I couldn’t go to college and even if I passed and wanted to go to college, my father would have refused to fund my education like he did for my two brothers. My father didn’t even bother to console me and all he did was tell me to find a job just like my sisters. He told me once that boys are more important than girls because they take care of the parents while the girls get married and take care of their new families. Later on in life, my two brothers got married and moved out and took care of their new families while I became the bread winner and gave my elderly father an allowance.
Getting out of my family home could have only been done through marriage, but I wasn’t fit for marriage in the eyes of many. I was petite, dark-skinned with a boy’s body and no skirt. I was too liberal for other men. Others didn’t want to marry someone from an impoverished refugee family. Or I wasn’t woman enough because I worked and earned money. Finding a decent husband to rescue me from my misery was near impossible. Working in a field that allowed to work with foreigners gave me the chance to travel to a western country where I met a man who saw me as the exotic Palestinian with interesting food and fascinating stories. Of course, I didn’t realize that then. It took me almost a year to convince my family to let me marry him. My younger brother whose wedding expenses came out of my pocket agreed to be the male relative during the signing of my marriage certificate since my father wasn’t mentally capable due to his old age. My father died shortly after I got married. I forgave him everything he did to me though I do not have any loving memory of him. I was always there, but he never saw me.

Virginity

According to my society’s standards, I’m officially a whore. Would you like to know why? Because you need more than your two hands to count the number of men who touched my body and fondled it. My first was not a Muslim. The first time he kissed me, I almost fainted. Our relationship lasted for almost two years and I was madly in love with him. I was in my early 20s and I felt that he was my world. He ended it with me when it was time to get married and he decided to marry someone from his own religion. Issa loved me. He took me to a monastery once where we made love in a cave by the monastery. Actually, he came and I did not so that doesn’t really count as making love. He wanted to marry me, but his mother had a heart attack when he wanted to convert to Islam and he feared that if he told her that he wanted to marry a Muslim, she’d die. A few months later, he left the country. Later on, I met Asaad, a married man with two kids. We used to have sex at his work when everybody was gone. It ended between us when I realized that I was being used by him. I went out with another four married men afterwards. There were two Americans, one French, an Italian and one Arab and the rest were Palestinians. You’ll be surprised to know that though I went out with all those guys who touched every bit of my body, there was one place they didn’t dare to come near; my vagina. I did everything else with them, but I never lost my virginity. If they wanted penetration, they had another hole in my body to use. Though they all enjoyed having sex with me, I only enjoyed it with two of them who were willing to go down on me (the Italian and one American-Palestinian). The last Palestinian man I dated was extremely abusive. He always accused me of cheating on him when he was the one who was cheating on his wife with me. After several months of abuse, I told him to take a hike and I swore to never come near a Palestinian man. Thus, finding a Palestinian husband was pushed out of the equation.

I dated all those men in my desperate attempt to find a husband to get me out of my family’s home. They always said that a woman can only leave her family’s home either to the grave or her husband’s home. The grave didn’t seem to be possible and I had to focus on the husband. When all failed, I sought the help of three therapists. The first one was a woman in her forties with high-cheek bones and salt and pepper hair. Loved that hair! I became so attached to her and that bothered her and at some point, she refused to see me anymore. I tried to see another two therapists, but one didn’t have time to see me and the other spent our sessions talking about his successful wife. Failing to find anyone who could understand me, I decided to check myself into a mental health hospital. I wasn’t mad enough for them and they sent me home. That day, I took all the pills that my general doctor had given me. My attempt failed and it only gave me a stomach ache.

So, I couldn’t find a husband and I couldn’t kill myself. The solution came when I started making more money that I was able to give to my mother. The more money I gave her, the more freedom I gained. Finally, I was able to speak the language that my mother understood. While I spent money on my family, my mother kept sending money to my brother in the West and my younger brother was busy saving his money to get married. As long as I made money, my mother didn’t care when I came back home or where I was. But when I lost my job at some point, I went back to square one. An American friend of mine mentioned a job opening at some foreign company and told me that I should apply. I did and I got the job. A year later, I was sent on a training program to the US. During the three months I spent there, I met my husband. He was shy and on our first date; he didn’t dare to kiss me. During the third month of my training, I lived with him. No, I didn’t lose my virginity then.

He followed me back home where I rented a place for him and found him a job working for a progressive Palestinian center in Ramallah. After almost a year of arguments with my brothers and the religious court we were able to get married. I was already two months pregnant.

Two months before we got married and during one of our fights as a result of being unable to get married, my husband said to me, “Are you keeping your virginity for your Arab husband?” I had no answer for him because he couldn’t understand my fear of losing my virginity outside of marriage. After a few days of thinking, I decided to give him what he wanted or I tried. I went to see my OBGYN and asked for her help. She gave me a sedative to relax me, but it didn’t work. I had two bloody marys with the pills and I couldn’t relax. In our final attempt, I knew that I couldn’t do it. I had only one solution and though he was against it, he reluctantly did as I suggested. He tied my hands and feet to the bed and and penetrated me despite my pleas to stop, but that was my suggestion. Was it rape? Perhaps, but who is to blame? My society that makes a huge deal out of a bit of skin or my husband who pressured me to have sex with him? I got pregnant on that day. A few months after we got married, we left Palestine and moved to the US.

Coming Out

Though my husband and I had sex during the seven years we stayed together, I never felt any pleasure during penetration. The only time I could have an orgasm was when he went down on me.

It took me years to understand why that was happening and why I was never sexually happy with any of the men I dated. It wasn’t because there was no penetration, but because they never understood my body and I didn’t understand it either. Let’s backtrack a bit. Though I dated all these men, I fell in love with my high school teacher and got extremely angry when she got married. I was attracted to another woman I met after high school. There was another woman whom I was attracted to at a typing course that I took. I was also attracted to other girls during my school years even when I was in elementary school. I always collected photos of famous sexy women and followed their lives. Now you know where I’m going. Almost ten years ago, my husband and I agreed that our marriage failed. He went out of town for a week and I went out of the closet. There was this sexy woman who was interested in me. She took me out on a date and then took me to her place. I got drunk, then stoned and we spent the whole night making love and I never looked back again.

Ten years out of the closet. Ten years of being really me. Ten years of appreciating my body and loving it. I’m no longer a Tom Boy. After coming out, I embraced my body and my femininity. Many men think that I’m straight and I enjoy watching them drool over me while knowing that this body of mine shall never be touched by a man. Call me sadistic, I don’t care. You can also claim that I “became a lesbian” because of a complex created by my father and those vile men I dated. Wrong! I was born that way and I will no longer deny who I am. I didn’t choose my sexuality; I was born with it.

I’m still angry at all the men that came into my life and abused me and used me for sex; the men who claimed that they wanted to marry me if I only slept with them. I’m not going to claim that I’m fine or will be fine and I won’t forgive them for the hell they put me through. If there is a hell, I hope that they rot in it for eternity.

My experience with sexual assault has felt nothing short of
discredited, marginalised and discarded. I wasn’t molested by thugs in
Cairo, abused in Tripoli or persecuted in the Gulf. I haven’t made any
public statements, written any books or stood for ‘the fight.’ I
haven’t even told my best friend, or even worse, my own mother. But I
was sexually assaulted. And it matters. And I matter. And that is why
I’m writing this.

I was 12 and a relatively confident yet confused and overtly curious
kid. On holiday in Jordan one summer, a new cousin was introduced to
us. He was 21, a rebellious young man, with tattoos and a nipple
piercing. He would soon become the one shadow in my life that I could
not shake for many, many years to come.

All the girls in my father’s village swooned over him. He was
different to the polite, conservative boys they were so used to. He
was dragged back from university abroad for failing continuously,
dating a stripper and developing a gambling habit. He was an
outrageous flirt. And he decided to use it on me.

It wasn’t uncommon for older men to pursue me when I was younger. I
developed breasts and a bottom that were the envy of my junior school
class, and at 12, I had the body and figure of a 19 year old.

I’d like to make it clear, at this point, that I had a great childhood
and that I love my life and that I am a whole and happy person, with
nothing but gratitude for my incredibly loving family. What happened
was not their fault. AND IT WAS NOT MINE.

The evening after a mutual cousin’s wedding, He knocked on the door of
the apartment some of us younger ones were sharing for a sleep over.
He had spent the day at my side, telling me I was the most beautiful
girl at the party and that my English was so much better than that of
the village girls. I soaked up the compliments.

I opened the door and He dragged me out, closing the door lightly
behind me. The corridor was dimly lit, an uncle and an aunt living on
that same floor, mere meters away from where we stood. And He kissed
me. It was my first French kiss so I had no idea what he was doing.
There was saliva all over my face. “Do you like that?” He asked. I
nodded, confused and overwhelmed. “We’ll have some more fun tomorrow.”
And He left me at the door, wondering what was actually happening.

In the days to come, He molested me several times. I was always too
overwhelmed to stop it, understand it or tell anyone. For a long time,
I thought He was just a guy that fancied me. With the overtly
poisonous nature of how taboo sex talk and sexual abuse claims were,
plus the on going issue with honour killings in Jordan, it took me
several years to understand the gravity of what happened.

It happened in my grandmother’s house first. He took me up the stairs
to were the roof door hung slight ajar, to mask noise. He unbuttoned
my shirt and removed my breasts from my baby pink bra and sucked on
them, while He rubbed his cock with one hand and fingered me with the
other. Pop.

Then it happened in several dimly lit corners. The most memorable was
when He ejaculated all over my bottom and back, as He rubbed his cock
against me feverously, my breasts plastered against the window of our
apartment block, the darkness on the street outside only illuminated
by the occasional car driving past. One man walked by on that street
that night. I was certain he’d seen us. I still remember his face.

When I was at college, we found ourselves sans families, in the same
city. He emailed me once, suggesting theater and a show. And a hotel
room. I declined. He called me an ice queen.

Almost fourteen years later and I still struggle with what happened
that summer. Confiding in limited friends and, once, my sister, has
both helped and hindered my progress in overcoming the tragedy that
occurred. I was a child. And my innocence was stolen from me, in all
feelings, thoughts and forms.

He moved on with his life a long time ago. A family man. Some have
told me it is my duty to convey these messages to my family, for fear
of what kind of person he is, what he could do. But this will only
bring grief and suffering to everyone involved. So instead, I take
solace in my faith in him being a changed person. For his own sake.
And I pray for his family.

And I will be ok.

Mumma, mumma,
I was catcalled that night
When I was fully-covered
“Yet your jeans were so tight”

Mumma, mumma,
With their eyes, I was undressed
In the heart of shameless daylight
“But they’re poor and oppressed”

Mumma, mumma,
Was it really my fault?
Didn’t I cover up my hair,
Walk like a guy, do as I was told?

Mumma, mumma,
I was only fourteen,
When a stranger’s erection
Was obscenely pressed to me

Mumma, mumma,
Do I have absolutely no say?
“Why did you walk at night?”
“You must’ve let your hips sway”

Please tell me it’s not okay
To be groped, humiliated and frozen,
In the middle of the street,
Mumma, mumma, will you ever listen?

Shorouk El Hariry

Egypt

]]> http://uprisingofwomeninthearabworld.org/en/?feed=rss2&p=2604 2 http://uprisingofwomeninthearabworld.org/en/?p=2568 http://uprisingofwomeninthearabworld.org/en/?p=2568#comments Mon, 11 Feb 2013 09:02:05 +0000 dyfsr_admin http://uprisingofwomeninthearabworld.org/?p=2568

Global Protest Against Sexual Terrorism Practiced on Egyptian Female Protesters

A call launched on February 6, 2013
By The Uprising of Women in the Arab World

(For French, Please visit this link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1kl7e2QaZwFcrdj_kAJ1CTS-GEib_LsuE_QeC0l0zKVM/edit)

We, citizens of all nationalities all around the world, will not watch in silence the spreading epidemic of sexual terrorism. We want to show our support, solidarity and admiration for the assaulted who paid the price of the ongoing Egyptian revolution with their own flesh, and to the heroic volunteers who are risking their lives for a safe Tahrir.

Therefore on Tuesday February 12, 2013, at 6:00 pm local time, we will gather in front of the Egyptian embassy in our city/country, and people all over the world will do this.

LET US RAISE OUR VOICES BECAUSE:

- We hold responsible the Ruling Party for not taking strict measures to prevent organized thugs attacking, stripping, raping, injuring and killing peaceful protesters.

- We hold responsible the Egyptian police and governmental institutions for not offering the necessary protection and safety to female Egyptian citizens. Not only that, but the police itself practices the crime of sexual harassment/assault.

- We blame the past and present Egyptian governments for condoning the crime of sexual harassment/assault by not issuing any strict law that clearly provides legal consequences to sexual harassers or those that indulge in sexual violence. We demand the enforcement of a strict law against sexual harassment in all its forms.

- We condemn the social acceptability of sexual harassment, violence and rape by the Egyptian society, which puts the blame on the assaulted instead of the aggressor.

- We hold accountable irresponsible media for focusing on personal, intimate and sensationalist details of the assaulted, instead of denouncing the criminal act.

- We urge every revolutionary group, political party or individual to speak up and take IMMEDIATE action against both the sexual attacks committed by organized mobs aiming to tarnish the image of Tahrir and terrorize the protestors, and the sexual harassment targeting Egyptian women and girls on a daily basis in the streets of their own country.
Fighting sexual humiliation and aggression should be a TOP PRIORITY in the noble strive for freedom and dignity.

- We salute every hero and heroine of the ongoing Egyptian revolution!
You teach us courage, perseverance and determination.
Sexual terrorism is a technique recently used extensively by organized mobs in Egypt aiming to injure, undermine, humiliate and scare female protesters in Tahrir Square, during the ongoing Egyptian revolution.
Let’s describe one of the scenarios, a true story from one of the assaulted women: she finds herself suddenly separated from her friends and encircled by 100, 200, 300 men. They tear off her clothes with knives that injure her body, they twist her neck and pull her hair to forcibly kiss her, hundreds of hands are touching her body as she is being collectively manually raped with fingers thrusted into her genitals. The attack can last for 1 or 2 hours, during which the woman is dragged by the horde from one place to another, across the floor through mud and sewage. The persons who try to help her get equally attacked: males get choked with clothing or threatened with knives, females get encircled to undergo the same horror.
Not only that, but when the victim finally manages to escape, most places refuse to offer her shelter.. because up till now, in the eyes of society, SHE is the one held responsible of the suffered crime, not the agressor. In the eyes of society, SHE is considered to be the symbol of shame, not those who try to silence her.
Sexual harassment/assault/violence has become more and more socially acceptable in Egyptian society over the past 10-15 years that today we have come to witness the most horrific aspect of it, practiced as a political tool of oppression. In fact, this is not the first time sexual harassment was used as a tool to silence female protestors: as early ‘Black Wednesday’ in May 2005, authorities during a protest used sexual harassment to disperse female protesters opposing constitutional changes that would grant former president Mubarak greater presidential powers. While security personnel and police largely endorsed the harassment, and stood passively by, the attacks on protesters were recorded, condemned, and widely circulated in media.

In the face of the latest atrocities in Tahrir Square, a group of initiatives were created such as Operation Anti-Sexual Harassment / Assault – a collaborative effort between several initiatives working on sexual harassment in Egypt as well as independent volunteers – and Tahrir Body-Guard, where young Egyptians have organized and trained themselves to combat the sexual assaults on the ground. They also provide follows-up to women and girls who have suffered the attacks. These groups have succeeded in saving several of the assaulted women, despite the fact that they get attacked themselves during the operations. The number of their volunteers is growing and their efforts are tireless.
On January 25th, 2013, on the second anniversary of the Egyptian revolution, the number of cases reported to Operation Anti-Sexual Harassment / Assault (OpAntiSH) were 19 cases in 1 day, not including the unreported ones.

But again to reaffirm, although Tahrir Square is seeing an extreme unimaginable form of sexual violence against women, sexual harassment has become an epidemic in Egypt that affects the lives of Egyptian women on a daily basis. 83% of Egyptian women surveyed by the Egyptian Center for Women’s Rights in 2008 admitted to being sexually harassed, 50% of those on a daily basis. Disturbingly, HarassMap has received a number of reports from young victims – both on its reporting system and anecdotally from volunteers. School girls and boys too often encounter harassing teachers, classmates, doctors, taxi drivers and even family members who make sexual advances, grope, masturbate in front of them, and even sexually assault them. More critically, the average bystander witnessing sexual harassment does not necessarily interfere to stop harassment, the way they would in the case of an act of theft, or a street fight. In fact, they may even blame the harassed/assaulted for being the reason for sexual harassment, and even sympathize with the harasser. However no real efforts were made by previous or present governments to enforce real legal consequences on harassers that would put an end to this epidemic, hence HarassMap’s mission of ending the social acceptability of sexual harassment as an approach to address it.

As OpAntiSH stated in a recent video:

“We will not stay silent. We will not be broken. We will not be ashamed.”

– End –

Contact:
The Uprising of Women in the Arab World انتفاضة المرأة في العالم العربي
Email: arabwomenuprise@gmail.com
Site Web: http://uprisingofwomeninthearabworld.org/
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/intifadat.almar2a
Twitter: @UprisingOfWomen

Link to download High Res Posters for the Protest: https://drive.google.com/#folders/0B3f63uxYCG57QXJPalVLMlpxb0E

Link to High Res Logo for T-shirt Printing:

https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B3f63uxYCG57eEx6YWNlYkZPTEk/edit

Link to the call launched by The Uprising of Women in the Arab World on Facebook:

Global Protest Against Sexual Terrorism Practiced on Egyptian Female Protestors وقفة عالمية ضدّ الإرهاب الجنسي الذي يُمارس على المتظاهرات المصريّات

https://www.facebook.com/events/150788335077948/?fref=ts

To this day, more than 25 cities around the world have responded to the call and will take part in the gobal protest:

Egypt, Cairo  مصر، القاهرة
https://www.facebook.com/events/484039768310109/?fref=ts

Egypt, Alexandria مصر، اسكندريّة
https://www.facebook.com/events/522143454475187/

Egypt, Damietta مصر، دمياط
https://www.facebook.com/events/284592798334891/

Egypt, Mansoura مصر، المنصورة
http://www.facebook.com/events/506824132701170/

Sudan, Khartoum  السودان، الخرطوم
https://www.facebook.com/events/326651684121989/

Algeria, Alger  الجزائر، الجزائر العاصمة
https://www.facebook.com/events/481652935232099/?ref=3

Mauritania, Nouakchott  موريتانيا، نواكشوط
https://www.facebook.com/events/156514264500391/?ref=3

Tunisia, Tunis  تونس، تونس العاصمة
https://www.facebook.com/events/334393196678022/?ref=3

Yemen, Aden  اليمن، عدن
https://www.facebook.com/events/385052684923677/?ref=22

Palestine, Ramallah  فلسطين، رام الله
https://www.facebook.com/events/422047224540178/

Palestine, Yaffa  فلسطين، يافا
https://www.facebook.com/events/442487709157165/?ref=3

Morocco, Rabat  المغرب، الرباط
https://www.facebook.com/events/153793394777830

Syria, Damascus  سوريا، دمشق
https://www.facebook.com/events/219121301546293/?ref=22

Lebanon, Beirut  لبنان، بيروت
https://www.facebook.com/events/447501321989795?refid=54

Jordan, Amman  الأردن، عمان
https://www.facebook.com/events/341078806000925/

Turkey, Istanbul تركيا، اسطنبول
https://www.facebook.com/events/596381197043514

Turkey, Ankara تركيا، أنقرة

https://www.facebook.com/events/583248478371949/?ref=3

Thailand, Ko Samui  تايلند، كوساموي
https://www.facebook.com/events/492953594084695/

Armenia, Yerevan أرمينيا، يريفان
http://www.facebook.com/events/601269376554487/

اليونان، أثينا Greece, Athens 

http://www.fylosykis.gr/ai1ec_event/διαμαρτυρία-στην-αιγυπτιακή-πρεσβεί/?instance_i

Spain, Madrid إسبانيا، مدريد
http://www.facebook.com/events/209226182556314/

Norway, Oslo  النرويج، أوسلو
https://www.facebook.com/events/329391147180633/?ref=3

Sweden, Stokholm  السويد، ستوكهولم
https://www.facebook.com/events/466374663429462/

Denmark, Copenhagen  الدنمارك، كوبنهاجن
https://www.facebook.com/events/477337958980238/?ref=3

Belgium, Brussels  بلجيكا، بروكسال
https://www.facebook.com/events/327518497349166/

Netherlands, The Hague  هولندا، لاهاي
https://www.facebook.com/events/334796859970837/

Germany, Berlin ألمانيا، برلين
https://www.facebook.com/events/337019079742250

France, Paris  فرنسا، باريس
https://www.facebook.com/events/554777647873506/

United Kingdom, London  المملكة المتحدة، لندن
https://www.facebook.com/events/290741387718715/

Italy, Milan إيطاليا، ميلان
https://www.facebook.com/events/287379384723406/?ref=3

USA, New York  الولايات المتحدة الأمريكية، نيويورك
https://www.facebook.com/events/487985291258453/

USA, Washington DC الولايات المتحدة الأمريكية، واشنطن العاصمة
https://www.facebook.com/events/133680200132921/?ref=3

USA, Michigan الولايات المتحدة الأمريكية، ميشيغين
http://www.facebook.com/events/334514099999615

Canada, Montreal كندا، مونتريال
https://www.facebook.com/events/123939607783924

Canada, Ottawa  كندا، أوتاوا
https://www.facebook.com/events/530256920328428/

Australia, Melbourne  أستراليا، ملبورن
https://www.facebook.com/events/496947997012935/

I have always been with the uprising of women in the Arab world. Here is my story:
I am a law student and I got a scholarship for a two week trip to Europe as a reward to my good grades. I was very proud of myself but, unfortunately, i can’t say the same about my mother. She said that i needed to take my brother’s permission first, who is only a few months older than me. When he said that i could go, it still was not enough for her. We argued and she finally said that she doesn’t want me to travel by myself, that i will have the chance to travel with my husband when i get married one day!
I was shocked and enraged. Especially coming from my mother, who is an educated woman and who lived as a single mother after my father’s death so she should know that a woman can be responsible for herself.
But no. If i were a boy, my mother would be so proud and happy with me. But as a girl, i can only function as a sister, a daughter or a wife.
I thought about going anyway. After all, i am an adult and nothing can stop me from doing whatever i want. But, i can’t do that. Not because i am incapable but because my mother would be devastated and i love her too much to hurt her that way. Life is not fair to me because i am a woman. But i vowed to myself that if i have a daughter, i will believe in her. I will make her an emancipated woman and i will fight the world so she can be whatever she wants.

It happened a few years ago, at the Dentist’s. I was getting my teeth fixed. The Dentist was a kind one; loving, over-friendly. He was divorced and had two children –so he said. I was fond of him, enjoying the appointments no matter how painful they were. I had tooth abscess, and he took his time through various, consequent sessions to pull all the pus out and help me recover. Toward the beginning, he was very good. My mother accompanied me at the office every time. She always sat in the corner and read the magazine while he was fixing my teeth.

He decided to fix all of my teeth, actually, for lower prices especially for me and my mother.

One time, when he was treating my abscess, he wanted to “stimulate my blood flow” to help get rid of the pus in my teeth. He was a doctor, I was so new to the world (as my parents were over-protective and hardly let me loose until University started). He started touching my chest area underneath the blouse, and my mother was aware. She was fine with it. I was fine with it, too. It really did help my blood flow, helped the treatment. At that time, he also had a needle inside my tooth (as part of the treatment), so I could neither scream nor shout nor shove him away. It was very non-threatening at that time.

By the end of the session, he started touching my breasts. I found that awkward, I was confused and unaware. My mother was busy with the magazine or her phone and did not pay attention.

The next appointment at his office was a mental pain. He repeated the same (the pus had to be pulled out over several sessions). He touched my breasts and was working his way toward my belly. I was still very confused.

The third time, he was finding his way toward my vagina. Specifically the “mons pubis” area, and he never made it further because, even though I could not alert my mother to what was happening, I choose to push his hand away every time. He was trying, of course, not to make a fuss so not to alert my mother. I pushed his hand off my knee, my thigh and the areas below my belly several times. He would look at me and smile. He was trying to shove his hand underneath my pants.

That is the moment I understood what he was trying to do. I was sure, all doubt was gone. I told no one – tried but couldn’t.

Days went on and I forgot that incident although I cannot forget the shitty feeling. Yesterday I found out that my mother is going to the same dentist, and that he has opened up a new clinic.

The old forgotten story came back to me. I told my mother. She told me to dress properly and not talk about it. I told my father. He told me that I cannot issue a report against him since I have no evidence, because it’s been a long time.

I know that I should have reported the incident or told someone back then, but I was silly, young and still growing, and very unaware of the laws against this. I even sort of forgave him at that time. Now I realize that he could be doing this to a girl who is unable to act against this, or worse, even rape a girl at his office. Yet still I see myself forgiven, being at a stage of learning and realizing back then.

I want to report him, but that will not get me anywhere but trouble since, as my father said, I have no solid proof of the incident. My plan now is to go to his office and confront him, and tell him that if I ever hear of a case where a girl has been assaulted by him, I will not be hesitated to testify against him. However, it may not be the best course of action at the moment.

Advice? Help? These are just initial ideas.

I was in the bus, it wasn’t that crowded, when i noticed that this man was rubbing him self against me from behind, its not like its the first time this happens to me in public transport, actually it happens so often that it doesn’t bother me as bad as it did before, which is sad actually.

Anyway, I immediately jumped on the first chair i found available, I turned around and he was standing next to me, with a completely obvious erection to everyone, he looked at me straight in the eye, and then turned and started doing the same thing with a veiled girl!

So its really not about the way I dress, obviously. I just want to know when is this ever going to end? Where have all the manners and values disappeared? In a Muslim Arab country! Or any other country in the world? So yeah, i am with the revolution of women! And i insist on setting laws against all kinds of violence and harassment against us women.

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