Four honks and a bike bell...

...with stare, lip-smack, and bonjour as uncountable nouns.

*trigger warning* 

(I will censor comments on this blog post, actively. Nothing offensive will remain.)

This blog post is about sexual harassment in general and more specifically about the escalation of that harassment. It is not in line with the rest of the posts, because it has little, if not nothing, to do with my being in Morocco. The correlation is that today I walked out of our second 'training' about sexual harassment because I simply could not take it. I needed to be in a safe space. That was not one. 

I should have posted it a long time ago. I should have talked about it with peers in high school, and then delved deeper with college peers. I did, but only with the people who were clearly willing to listen. I should have gotten in some faces earlier. 


Let's start with that which should be blindingly obvious but is not to everyone.

Heterosexual males are not the only perpetrators. 

Cisgendered women are not the only victims. 

Everyone, unfortunately, experiences harassment. That being said, from what I see on a day to day basis, I can deduce, that my experience with explicitly sexual harassment is extremely different from that of a cisgendered male. As to the transgendered or queer experiences, I have no idea, and will never pretend to. 

What I experience on a daily basis, in every city I have ever been in, would appall my father. I think quite literally he would shit himself. A two and a half minute walk to the hanut here to add dh to my phone, meant 4 honks, a bike sped up to be next to me, slowed down to talk to me, when I said essentially 'leave me alone I definitely don't want to deal with you right now' he pulled off, ringing his bike bell and looking over his shoulder till he couldn't anymore, stares in the twenties, kiss noises at around 6, bonjours in the tens and a couple of unfortunate hisses. That is two and half minutes today, in my life. 

It isn't different in stores, in schools, in different countries, at events. It isn't dictated by my actions at all. Sometimes I get glorious silence in a short skirt and heels and sometimes I get the above with only my head and fingers showing. I have seen no method to the madness. The only consistency in my experience is that women bother me less. But that is my experience, and not yours, so who knows?

I have no desire to talk about the specifics on a public blog. (As an ally to all survivors, if anyone would like a more intimate conversation I will absolutely be ready to support you, talk to you, or simply listen - whatever you need or want.)

I do however want to point out the reason it is important that we try to talk about our experiences when we can. The reason is because I think that some folks I come across literally can't fathom what it is like to have to constantly check my own fear to continue safely being who I am. I think that is because, fortunately for them, some situations that seem extremely calm are terrifying for me. The example I use most often is as follows...

At about 6pm, walking alone on a very public 'normal' well lit street, in a 'safe' section of Portland a man came up to me and asked me what time it was. I was textbook following the stupid advice people still give, wear less makeup, wear more clothing etc. etc. etc. but in that moment I noticed that he was wearing a watch. He had actively crossed the street to ask me what time it was even though he had on a watch. My throat closed in on itself, my stomach churned, my heart skipped a beat, and one immediate thought flashed through my mind…that I would be in his trunk in just a few minutes. 

I recounted this story to men and women over the course of the following months. General consensus was men said, "I would pull out my phone and tell them what time it is." Women said "I would get away as fast as possible."

Was the man who walked up to me a bad person? Was he just trying really terribly to flirt? Was he the nicest person in the whole world with a broken watch? I will never know. What I do know is that I blurted out that I was sorry and didn't know, and tripled my speed until I was in a store. What I also know is that I am convinced not giving him the time was one of the smartest/safest things I have done in my life.

Why did I react like that? Because I have been mentally disarmed before. Because I have been dragged away from the perfect 'well lit, well dressed, with people situation' into a much scarier one, with as unimportant a question as, 'What time is it?' I wasn't drunk, I wasn't wearing makeup, I wasn't alone, I was fully covered clothing wise, and hey fuckers, I wasn't in the Middle East (so stop asking like it's soo different here). I was in suburbia USA. I was surrounded by people I knew in an area I know and was paying attention to what was going on around me.

By some incredibly fortunate events, notably the connection of my foot to his balls, my teeth to his hand in a well timed fashion, and another person who heard me and was willing to fight with and for me, I got away before he was able to commit rape. I know of others who were not able to get away and have much more horrifying experiences than I have ever had. 

For those people, you do not have a session with 60 people in a room and use the r word twenty times in a row without purpose. For those people, you do not spew bullshit about how you can just cross the street if a car is following you. For those people you do not act like there is a checklist you can follow to be 'safe.'

For those people you openly admit, as many times as you can, as loudly as you can, that the world has some shitty shitty people, who when so determined, will do shitty shitty things no matter what precautions you take.

(*additional trigger warning*)

No one was ever raped because of their clothing. No one was ever raped because of their makeup. No one was raped because they were alone. No one was raped because of their charisma. No one was raped because of the time of day. No one was raped for how they walked, licked their lips, or chewed their gum. No one was raped because they did something wrong. 

People are raped because rapists exist. 

People will continue to be raped as along as we keep replaying this unconstructive bullshit. 

Don't ask what they wore.

Don't ask where they were. 

Don't ask who they were with.

Don't ask why they were out at that time.

Don't ask if they yelled. 

Don't ask if they said, 'No'

Don't ask if it was their partner.

Don't ask if they liked it. 

Don't ask if they were wet or hard.

Don't ask if they went to the authorities. 

Don't ask if they are sure.

Don't ask why they keep going to class with the perpetrator. 

Don't ask why they keep going to work with the perpetrator. 

If you do, you are absolutely part of the problem. I promise you. 

To all the survivors out there, you are more than a survivor, you are a human being. You were not destroyed. You did nothing wrong. You did exactly what you could at that moment, and anyone who has ever been in that situation knows what that means. I support you. I am here for you. I am your safe space.

You and I will teach the next round of humans how to be human. We will teach empathy, love, support, protection, and how to have an effective dialogue. I am going to start with whatever children I have the ability to influence in my life. You start with yours. They will spread the message, and the next generation will be more supportive. The next generation will put rapists in jail. The next generation will not make excuses for them. The next generation will understand that nothing but yes means yes.

Nothing but yes means yes. 3oud. NOTHING but YES means Yes. 

Bright Red and Belting out the Moroccan National Anthem

In case you were wondering, the subtitle of Leanna's Service in Peace Corps Morocco is: "Two+ years of life-altering embarrassment. "

Between various stomach issues and continued correction of my active use of tunsi (Tunisian Arabic) or fusHa (Modern Standard Arabic) I have been doing a solid job of showing just how bright red a white person can get when they are embarrassed. Well, I thought I had. Then, came the group singing and games that I was always nervous about in any context. I could talk to 10,000 in any language I know enough without batting an eye, but ask me to sing to anyone but Hunter and I melt.

Needless to say I was chosen first for just such a game in a roomful of Moroccans. Roughly, you say something that translates to "It pleases me, it pleases me" and then sing a song you like - the game works because after just a sentence everyone else picks up and sings with you. I stood racking my brain, HOPING beyond hope that some moderately well known poppy song would crash into my mind. I ran through everything I listen to on my regular playlists (the 90s rock station + everything Paul Simon was ever a part of) quickly in my head and stood silent. Finally, I was red enough that one of the girls saved me by leaning forward and whispering 'Shakira' and I pulled a 'Waka waka hey hey, it's time for Africa.' Bullet dogged. 

We played a few more games which I understood but could not really sing along to, and I disappeared to check in on a friend who I was nervous needed help. I came back in and from the back of the crowd was targeted. The leader of the group said, "Sing something in Arabic.' OBVIOUSLY the only thing I could think of in the moment was the Moroccan National Anthem, so beat red, facing a crowd of let's say, thirty total, I sang the anthem which I had learned through a translation and presentation homework assignment.  THANKFULLY they stood up at his request and joined in. I managed to turn purple red at least 3 times tonight. 

Moral of the story... I have to apparently learn some English pop songs. Other point, I am so ready to break out some el General (the Tunsian Rapper I was obsessed with circa 2011) when they least expect it. Also, next time I get put on the spot I am going to belt out 'Allah Allah ya baba, Sidi Mansour ya baba.'

Otherwise though, today I felt useful. Finally, really useful. My training group sat in a room of Moroccans all in their low to mid-twenties, and set up a schedule to teach them English and them teach us some darija (the Moroccan Dialect of Arabic) in exchange. I took the lead in the conversation and learned that I HAVE to get over saying, "kima tahib" ('as you like' in tunsi) because no one here knows what the heck I am saying…and that I have to figure out how the hell to say 'you all want' correctly ('baGiitou' -for future reference) because I tried 10 times then said it in tunsi then just pulled a tureedoun in fusHa because that meant they would at least maybe understand me (they did, and all laughed/smirked accordingly…the 4th shade of red). 

SOOO We have plans, we start teaching English on Tuesday to a whole host of people who are damn excited about it. We are picking up their textbook from them tomorrow to make sure we help them learn what they actually want to learn!!

I'd call today very successful. 

Now for lots homework and a day off. My plan is to try to find an ill-described location of an illusive waterfall….inshaAllah I will take a picture tomorrow after all!