As I walk through the noisy and bustling Ramsis Street, heading towards the mawqaf (microbus station) behind Azbakeya Police Station, my heart starts pounding. I put my phone inside my bag, zip it to make sure it’s closed, fix my clothes so no skin is showing anywhere, and begin my dreadful journey inside the mawqaf. From the moment I enter, the place is filled with people, and the smell of the ta’meya being thrown in the oil at the shop nearby is stronger than any foul smell from the garbage thrown around. Since I’m not a frequent visitor of the mawqaf, I start asking the passersby where to find the microbuses heading to Sheikh Zayed – my destination. Thankfully, they direct me. But as they do, and I start walking in the direction they guided me to, I can’t help but notice several eyes scanning me from head to toe. I make sure they notice that I see them, I even loudly state my frustration, but they unhesitatingly continue to stare. I can’t say it’s peak time. At this mawqaf, there is no peak time. It is always packed. I…
