Harassment in Morocco is single handily the most difficult thing I face as a volunteer. It's rough, to put it lightly. It's all relentless. It seems like it is all men, everywhere (it's not) but it sure feels that way.
I have been through counseling, spent too many hours to count writing down (and sometimes yelling) my frustrations and even joined a working group to help other volunteers overcome the challenges associated with this harassment. I think the greatest tool I have learned (and possibly perfected) is humor. Humor is the best medicine. I can't change the way people treat me, I can only change my reactions, so that's what I do.
This story is by far the most entertaining story of "harassment" I have encountered.
It all started while I was waiting for the city bus in Tiznit. I finished my computing, picked up some groceries and went to the bus parking lot in plenty of time to make the 5 p.m. bus. Around 4:15, I sat down on a bench, opened my book and began the challenging process of tuning out and ignoring every comment, person staring at me and "boujour" yelled by tweens around me.
I have mastered this process, one of my many accomplishments that will never make it to my resume.
About 10 minutes after I sat down, in my peripheral, I noticed a man, leaning against his bicycle. Normally, I would just acknowledge he was there and then ignore him, but something about this guy was different. Maybe it was his stature, or his too tight tee-shirt or the extra-cool look he had on his face while leaning against his mountain bike. This guy looked like he belonged in a magazine, a creepy- Moroccan dude magazine, but a magazine none the less. He stood against his bike like it was a hot rod, flexed his arm like he was on a boardwalk trying to pick up chicks and kept creepily flexing random parts of his body in my direction.
After trying to ignore him for quite some time, I couldn't help but look. On accident, we made eye-contact and I immediately looked away, afraid to look back. When I did look back, I couldn't believe my eyes.
As a note, normally, men just stare, wink or yell something at me in French. They will come over, sit next to me, ask me silly questions and when I ignore them for long enough, they go away. This guy couldn't catch a hint.
The creepy guy started flexing his arm, in his tight tee shirt, back and forth, like he was at a gym. I was still under the presumption this this wasn't particularly for me. About 10 minutes later he started winking. A few minutes after that, he started blowing kisses. Yes, blowing kisses at me from 30 feet away, for all the world to see.
At this point, I was extremely creeped out and the man just wouldn't catch a hint. I kept giving him the "stink" eye, ignoring him when he yelled things at me and even moved spots. This guys was relentless.
Luckily, shortly after the kissing faces started, my bus showed up. I immediately ran to get on, after all of the Moroccans had bum-rushed the bus I grabbed one of the last few open seats near the door. After I got my bags settled and talked to the boy next to me, I looked out the door, and there he was, Mr. Creepster himself. At this point, there was no denying he was after me.
Leaning against the door, he finally boarded the bus. Fearful that he would end up riding the bus too, I struck up a conversation with the woman in front of me, telling her all about how creepy men are to me and how much I wish people would stop staring. She was extremely empathetic and had some great comments herself. I was hoping my loud and obvious statements would give him the hint, but nope.
About 20 minutes after I got on the bus, we were ready to pull off the lot and all the sudden I felt something poking my arm. I ignored it, knowing full well who it was. After about 5-6 tries, he throws a tiny piece of rolled paper into my lap. I immediately grabbed it, threw it back at his winking, creepy face and said (in English) "not a chance in hell, buddy".
At this point the men on the bus started to catch on to the fact that he wouldn't leave me alone and started yelling at him.
Since I ride the bus a lot and I am the only white-girl on the bus, paired with the fact that my counterpart's husband is the bus company manager, the men on the bus are good to me. One of the guys from my village even got up out of his seat and confronted the guy, saying that I wasn't interested and to leave me alone. After a few minutes of this, the guy finally caught on and got off the bus, but not for good.
He then came around to the other side of the bus and started making "call me" gestures in the window. The boy next to me even put up a piece of cardboard to block him out.
A good hour after this whole endeavor started, the bus finally pulled away and I was free.
The greatest part of this endeavor was how extraordinary and ordinary this encounter was. Usually men are not that committed, but the contact is normal. I wasn't surprised when it escalated.
This is a more extreme version of what normally happens and did make for a great story. The ladies of my village loved hearing the story and were spreading it around like wildfire. I guess in some sense I feel bad for the guy that he worked so hard with so little chance to succeed but I just can't handle the creepiness.
I guess the moral is, all is well that ends well.
