I can still picture the scene at my grandfather’s house in Syria in the summer of 2002.
Sitting between my two aunts silently, my head down, I listened as they preached at me about the “sin” I was committing. “A Journalist!” one shouted in condemnation while hitting her chest with the palm of her hand.
The other spoke with a calmer tone, “My daughter, don’t you care about our reputation? Are you that selfish? You know that you are bringing shame to your family? Women can’t be journalists.”
