The Cairene

On my way to university, the bus passed by an Elementary public school. It was the morning line where all the young girls are veiled. I don't understand. Why do traditions steal their innocence and childhood at the very beginning of their life? I don't think their age exceed 10 years old and it's really sad. Aren't they beautiful young girls? Don't they have the rights to enjoy their hair like all  the other girls from higher classes? The funny thing is that the people need to know that it won't make their girls go the way the want? Veil is not a matter of covering your head and I am pretty sure when these young girls grow up, they won't be so convinced although it could be the time when they are obliged to wear it according to Islam's rules. I find it equally similar to Child Labour because it's unfair. It's not a matter of acknowledgement, it's an educational problem. This society needs to be educated so we get rid of many more issues aga

I know this topic is too repetitive, but I couldn't help not writing about it. Yesterday I was in Zamalek at 3.00 pm. I saw a red-head foreigner, who seemed to be in her thirties, walking down the street uncomfortably with fast steps, and t hen I noticed two Egyptian guys walking behind her and uttering few words that I couldn't actually recognize. The woman was trying to escape from them, and even tried looking to the other people in the street, but of course nobody moved an inch. I was in the Taxi when I saw her taking a a side to pretend to be getting into the pharmacy or looking at its vitrine(display cabinet). It saddened me that she wasn't even wearing any kind of revealing clothes, even if she was, it would still be sad. It saddened me more the fact that there was nothing catchy to look for at the PHARMACY'S Vitrine, I mean, who stop to stare at what the pharmacy is displaying? She did that till the boys kept on walking as she took that side. They really walked

It has been a long while since I let out my inner bullshit on my blog. I haven't been writing anything about my own feelings, or I didn't try to put them in words, pour them out through my shaky fingertips pressing on the keyboard buttons, confused and bewildered. I am not sure of what I want exactly and I am not sure if I going to do anything about it. As for now, I am trying to put the letters next to each other to end up making any sense. I have to let it out. I need to. I need to runaway, and by running away, I don't mean from the place where I am sitting right now. It's not about home, it's not about land and it's not about this fucked up country. Those things are really small compared to all what I have inside my head. It usually feels like a whole new universe but without a sun or a moon. Light and dark comes in the form of emotions and feelings. The worst thing is that there's no time or clocks and it only hits me. It hits and grabs me along as I

The boy who cleans shoes and laughs.I came across this picture on Tumblr, and it made me smile. Normally, I reblog, like and flip to another picture, but this time, I didn’t do that. I found myself turning off the music I was listening to, and staring in silence into this little boy’s face. There’s something about it, something happy, yet far from the happy we all know. In his dilapidated undershirt, that is no longer white, and the old jeans, he sits there smiling like he is eating his favourite chocolate bar or candy. I stared and found no candies or chocolate; just a little boy and a man’s foot. His job is repetitive, boring and not fun for a boy at his age. He is not supposed to be doing this. He is supposed to be drawing, dancing or playing around with his friends. With his box of tools and restless, tiny body, he is cleaning peoples’ shoes for living. He is obliged to face feet everyday and clean the shoes of the customers, not caring that at some point it would be humiliat