"Ooh la la
Wow.
Hi baby
Nice walk
Nice skirt
Whistle whistle whistle
Uuuugh (grunt)
Grrrrr
How much? Fifty rupees?
Helooo! Hi Madam…
Lookin’ good. Where are you going?"
--- Let's just say, it was a long walk today.
These are only a small sampling of the kinds of greetings I have heard while walking down the street in just about any city I have ever lived in, visited, toured, worked in, or passed through. It has mattered not which continent or country, whether in a posh neighborhood or a slum, village or town. It has not mattered if I was 18 and dressed like a skater boy, or 31 in professional and demure attire. This has been weighing on my mind for some time and the words are only now starting to form. These are unfinished and unpolished thoughts, but they are itching to come out.
Let us get something quite clear. I am no raving beauty. I do not look like a super model. There is nothing particularly awe inspiring about my appearance. Not particularly tall or short. Not particularly large or small. Not particularly hot or ugly. Not particularly young or old. I do not dress provocatively, nor do I wear a niqab. But rarely a day goes by that I haven’t heard at least one of the aforementioned comments/noises/gurgles or grunts.
When I go to a new place I do a little research on appropriate attire and dress accordingly. I walk in well-lit areas, down main thoroughfares. I stay close to the road, and do not lurk in shadows. I walk with friendly confidence.
I know how to get out of a pickle. (I have a quick whit and disarming tone). When I am out alone (which is often) and especially at night, I am constantly aware of who is behind me, to my left or right and just ahead. I also am painfully aware that my >5’3”, >54kg frame is not going to ward off a larger attacker, multiple people, a male, or what have you. In fact I am painfully aware of this. And that sometimes makes living this life exhausting.
A very close male-friend of mine was complaining to me months ago, about some rather silly girls he has known. He couldn’t understand why, as soon as they got into a boyfriend/girlfriend relationship they immediately started talking about traveling together. He couldn’t see the fun in that. If he wanted to go to exciting places he was much more interested in going at it alone, leaving open the possibility of meeting new and remarkable people you might not if traveling as a couple. I had to agree with him, at the time.
I’ve always liked how much more open to new people you can be when traveling alone, you strike up conversations and take side-trips you never would have considered if you were distracted by the attentions of a boyfriend/girlfriend. You even try harder to speak the local language, as it’s often means to communicating with another human being.
Quite frankly none of the partners I’ve ever had have been willing to travel to the highlands of Ecuador, or the ‘badlands’ of Mexico, or to India, or sailing across the pacific, or even the ‘hood in Miami. So I found myself looking down my nose with my friend at those silly, silly pretty-girls, dependent on a man to provide travel companionship, security, and confirmation that yes, he is your boyfriend.
But then I went to the Mexican/US border and watched “Coyotes” shuttle people past my window and over my rooftop from Nogales, Son to Nogales, AZ, on a nightly basis. And I witnessed the police and border patrol shuffle past me with AK-47s and armored vehicles. And I drove across the desert as fast as possible to make it home before dusk, so I wasn’t caught on the road, alone and in the main drug trafficking corridor in the state of Sonora.
And then I came to Sri Lanka and I know people are curious and will stare at this strange white woman riding the bus, or walking along the sidewalk. I am prepared for this. I am prepared to hear the hoots and the whistles and the propositions. I can deal with the man approaching me from behind on a dark road and striking up a conversation ultimately ending in asking for my Facebook info. I nonchalantly pass the barrage of tri-shaw drivers drinking and snoozing at the entrance of my road, hooting and hollering as I walk home.
I let most of this wash off me like water off a duck. But then I realize when I have finished whatever walk, or bus ride, or even tri-shaw ride and tolerated it all, I am filled with strange and unfamiliar feelings, that I cannot immediately identify…they are anxiety and irritation, and exhaustion. And I finally begin to empathize with these ‘silly girls’ my friend described.
I hate to admit this. I hate it because it goes against how I live my life. I hate it because I don’t want it to be true. I hate it because of the career path I have chosen.
But they’re right.
The silly girls are right.
Sometimes, well…often times, traveling with a male companion can just makes life easier. It makes security less anxiety producing. It makes me clench my stomach less. It makes me grip sharp objects in my pocket less. It decreases propositions and comments. Men ‘accidentally’ bump into me exponentially less. A male companion creates a sort of buffer to the unwanted advances, assumptions of my character, and actual physical intimidation that can make traveling far from home, not unpleasant, or impossible, but at times truly, truly exhausting.
This is not a unique thing to young, white, Western women traveling in ‘non-western’ places. My sisters in Egypt speak volumes on their experiences of street harassment. A friend from grad school is spreading a ‘Stop Street Harassment’ action on Facebook. My sisters in Puttalam and Mannar must limit their economic activity because of a lack of safety after the closure of a major road. Some women choose to wear the niqab just to avoid these experiences in the street. I can really empathize with my niqab wearing sisters these days.
I don’t have any answers. I’m just tired. It’s boring. It’s lame.
Maybe I’ll think of something more insightful in another post.
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