Admittance is the first step.
backstory:
I got dumped this year. That shouldn't be news to anyone, and if it is...welcome to my life. After that I did a lot of soul searching with friends, my parents, my counselor, and God...and I admittedly got pretty angry. At men. In general. I got called out a couple times, so I stopped talking about it so much. But the anger still kind of festered.
today:
I was riding in a sherut (group taxibus) back to Bethlehem from Ramallah. I was in between two young, Palestinian guys--who were probably my age and couldn't seem to understand that I don't speak Arabic. But they kept trying.
I knew enough to tell them my name, age, social security number (ha, just kidding, mom), and that I wasn't married. Azra was nice enough to hang my purse next to his coat on the seat in from of him. Mohammed was nice enough to pay for the twenty nis ride.
I managed to figure out that both of them had been arrested for throwing stones in Bethlehem (this is common) and that Azra likes vodka and smoking cigarettes (this is what one and a half years of language study gets you at a liberal arts university). I tried explaining that I was living with a family in Bethlehem for seven weeks, but we never got to that chapter in al-kitaab (the useful stuff doesn't come till after the words for varying degrees of education and governmental positions. Thanks for literally nothing, jamyat George Town.).
At this point, it all sounds pretty innocent. But...just hear me out.
Mohammed kept tapping his fingers next to my leg or touching my leg, Azra offered for me to lay on his shoulder. I think both of them offered to come to my room and buy me a beer...but I might also be getting those words confused with other things. the point is. in the moment all I could think about was how pissed I was that I was in a country where I didn't speak the language, was entrapped by two guys I don't know who made me feel really objectified, and how frustrated I was that I couldn't do anything about it for risk of cultural faux pas.
Here's the kicker:
The sherut dropped us off about 4 blocks too soon. I tried to stay in until the last stop, but the driver insisted I exit with my new pals, promised "they're nice boys, they will get you home" and drove off. The first thought through my mind: Katie-0, Arab Patriarchy-victory. Also I amde sure I had minutes on my cell phone so I could call my coworkers or host dad, just in case.
Turns out. When I figured out where I was, explained (several times) to Azra and Mohammed that I really was okay to get home walking at 6pm, and said goodbye. It was fine. They shook my hand, said ma salema and walked away.
WHAT THE HECK?!
Here I was worrying for literally the entire ride from Ramallah to Bethlehem about how to say "no, I don't want to drink, smoke, or hang out with you, I want to go and sit with my host family and eat goast cheese" when really the situation was (more or less) under control.
Yes, feeling uncomfortable was VALID. (because feelings are valid and women do get put in awkward and vulnerable positions all the time) but letting those feelings cloud my understanding of who Mohammed and Azra were was kind of unfair. I never gave them the chance for me to have to tell them to back off. I just let out my feminist anxieties and planned my escape route if they followed me home.
I ignorantly let my anger cloud the fact that these are two men who, aside from a cliche arrest record, were really really kind. Azra gave me gum, Mohammed closed a window for me...yani, maybe I need to redraw the line between caution and engagement. And maybe I need to rebuild my perspective of actions and who is preforming them being separate.
today:
I was riding in a sherut (group taxibus) back to Bethlehem from Ramallah. I was in between two young, Palestinian guys--who were probably my age and couldn't seem to understand that I don't speak Arabic. But they kept trying.
I knew enough to tell them my name, age,
I managed to figure out that both of them had been arrested for throwing stones in Bethlehem (this is common) and that Azra likes vodka and smoking cigarettes (this is what one and a half years of language study gets you at a liberal arts university). I tried explaining that I was living with a family in Bethlehem for seven weeks, but we never got to that chapter in al-kitaab (the useful stuff doesn't come till after the words for varying degrees of education and governmental positions. Thanks for literally nothing, jamyat George Town.).
At this point, it all sounds pretty innocent. But...just hear me out.
Mohammed kept tapping his fingers next to my leg or touching my leg, Azra offered for me to lay on his shoulder. I think both of them offered to come to my room and buy me a beer...but I might also be getting those words confused with other things. the point is. in the moment all I could think about was how pissed I was that I was in a country where I didn't speak the language, was entrapped by two guys I don't know who made me feel really objectified, and how frustrated I was that I couldn't do anything about it for risk of cultural faux pas.
Here's the kicker:
The sherut dropped us off about 4 blocks too soon. I tried to stay in until the last stop, but the driver insisted I exit with my new pals, promised "they're nice boys, they will get you home" and drove off. The first thought through my mind: Katie-0, Arab Patriarchy-victory. Also I amde sure I had minutes on my cell phone so I could call my coworkers or host dad, just in case.
Turns out. When I figured out where I was, explained (several times) to Azra and Mohammed that I really was okay to get home walking at 6pm, and said goodbye. It was fine. They shook my hand, said ma salema and walked away.
WHAT THE HECK?!
Here I was worrying for literally the entire ride from Ramallah to Bethlehem about how to say "no, I don't want to drink, smoke, or hang out with you, I want to go and sit with my host family and eat goast cheese" when really the situation was (more or less) under control.
Yes, feeling uncomfortable was VALID. (because feelings are valid and women do get put in awkward and vulnerable positions all the time) but letting those feelings cloud my understanding of who Mohammed and Azra were was kind of unfair. I never gave them the chance for me to have to tell them to back off. I just let out my feminist anxieties and planned my escape route if they followed me home.
I ignorantly let my anger cloud the fact that these are two men who, aside from a cliche arrest record, were really really kind. Azra gave me gum, Mohammed closed a window for me...yani, maybe I need to redraw the line between caution and engagement. And maybe I need to rebuild my perspective of actions and who is preforming them being separate.
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