A ton happened last week.
Okay, to catch everyone up: I went on a trip to Chefchaouen last weekend. On Wednesday, I changed my host families, and then just last night was the clubbing experience.
This post is about the clubbing experience. I’m going to make another post later on about the Blue City and the host family change.
First, clubbing was an L.
I went with some friends to a club because it’s legal at age 18 here to drink. However, the music at the club wasn’t good and the crowd that was there fluctuated between forty somethings and teenagers???Seriously, I never wanted to know what a middle school dance looked like on adults, and yet I do. However, before I even got to the club, the night began on a downhill spiral.
I got harassed on the street.
The plan was to all meet up at the Pizza Hut near Myriam’s apartment. I live really close to the Pizza Hut. I thought, “Okay, I’m gonna get dressed up, I’m gonna look really cute for the club, and I’ll walk to the Pizza Hut to wait for my friends.”
So I get dressed up, and as soon as I walk out of the door, I am harassed by almost every car, man, and group of men that walks by. About 7/10 men I passed harassed me.
Walking from my apartment to the Pizza Hut, I round a corner, and some guy on his balcony catcalls me from directly above. I walk down the street, and as I’m walking, guys in their car are driving slowly next to me to call out from the window. Even taxis honk as I pass. Guys that I pass in the street whistle. Someone walks next to me and he tries to make conversation in French. I don’t respond and eventually he stops. I cross the street to get away from the cars, and some random dude who happened to be across the street asks me if I crossed the street for him. He then starts trying to walk with me, saying that he sees that I’ve been getting harassed a lot, but then he propositions me for sex. At this point, I was near the Pizza Hut, but I could see that waiting there wasn’t going to be an option. I needed to go Myriam’s apartment, and I didn’t want this guy to follow me there. I tell this man to stop. I yell at him in French, cross the street, and go into Myriam’s building, shutting the door really fast with the hopes that no one tries to follow me in. Across the street, someone loiters, watching me. I call the elevator to go up.
I want to say something for the record: I wasn’t scared until I was near Myriam’s apartment. It was all the same old annoying BS and street harassment I’ve experienced in the States, until I realized that I was trying to enter a building where someone could try to follow me inside.
Beyond making me a public spectacle in a way I had never been before, street harassment is an example of how male-identifying people feel entitled to access women’s lives.
For what? Some lipstick? Some heeled sandals? A skirt two inches above my knees?
After I finally made it to Myriam’s apartment, I had a safe haven and some friends to wait with me for Rita and her friend who was driving all of us to the club. When I finally got in the car, there were hugs for me. I’m lucky I have that here. I took the next day to recover. The only thing worse than experiencing harassment is to let it break you. I was intentional the next day and am still trying to be intentional now to heal from this incident.
This experience hasn’t ruined my experience here in Morocco. Not even close, but it does remind me that the sexism I’ve faced back in the States is global.
Still alive, still safe.