A normal day in Tehran: It was supposed to be a very cold day, but turned out to be a mild, sunny day. I had to take off my coat, as I was wearing three other layers, including a top, a long dress, and a thin sweater. Covered in my scarf, I went towards the minibus to go to Milad hospital, located just next to Milad Tower, the highest building in Iran. A tall fat middle-aged man stopped at the door when noticed I was going to get on the minibus. He checked me out in the very common way all men do in Iran: They start from the eyes, run their eager eyes down your body towards either shoes or hips, and then come back to your eyes again. They always make you feel unsafe. This is the time to avert my eyes from his, look somewhere else at the bus or the ground, so that I just forget the reckless eyes stared at me.
As I get on the bus, he follows me in. I enter the minibus and all eyes turn towards me: mostly young workers sitting two by two with a couple of seats occupied by two elderly women in Chador (black vail). Again, I avert my eyes to find an empty two-seats. I have to go on to the middle of the minibus while hearing the man's deep breaths behind me. I sit down on the isle, putting my coat on the window seat. He hesitates next to me for some moments while I don't even look up. There are more people getting on the bus and he goes on to another seat behind mine. I wait till a woman enters and give the seat to her: she doesn't hesitate of course and puts her fat sweaty covered-in-black body just next to me.
We're unsafe, I think to myself. We're so in a guard and we've all used to it...
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