A Place Like Home, and a New View of Abroad

I'm back in the glorious US of A, sharing a two-bedroom sublet with my girlfriend for two months. It's lovely and domestic, and I'm enjoying the luxury of staying in one place for a little while. I'm cooking good food, taking yoga classes, and trying to find people to pay me to freelance for them. It's a good life.

My new expanses of free time have launched new discoveries, as I attempt to figure out what sort of niche I want to make for myself in the developing world. I found this article very interesting.

http://www.projectcensored.org/top-stories/articles/22-care-rejects-us-food-aid/

Basically, a major international aid organization rejected US aid this year. Why? Turns out that US aid in its current form is actually counterproductive. Instead of providing food based on the needs of people who are starving, it's providing food based on its own agricultural surpluses. A lot of the money that the US is theoretically "giving" in aid goes right back into its own pockets in the form of farm subsidies and internal transport costs. This self-interest in itself wouldn't be so bad if it were still providing good services to those in need. But the presence of foreign food being sold at low rates undermines local farmers in developing countries, which makes the countries less able to support themselves overall and makes them even more dependent on foreign "assistance."

Vicious cycle, yes?

I wonder what other charming pieces of news I'll learn while I'm here.

It Sucks to be Me :-)

I just saw Avenue Q in London. It was awesome. Exactly the right mix of snarky social comment and actual plot, and most of it was personally relevant (or at least personally referent). What do you do with a BA in English? (well, French and Medieval Studies, but it amounts to the same thing). I'm currently downloading most of the songs, my favorites being "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist", "If you were Gay", and "It Sucks to be Me." Oh snarky humour, how I have missed thee.
Life with theatre is good :)

Gay's the Word

In London, there is only one single Gay bookstore. I expected more, in a city this size, but one is better than nothing. I found the shop this evening and was initially put off by the rather, well...male focus of most of the merchandise. The lesbian section is small and in the back. But it's there. I bought a couple volumes of secondhand fiction (can't afford new books as the pound is too strong vis-a-vis the dollar, can't afford anything too obvious since I'm going back to Morocco). I would have liked to talk to the proprietor, but he was busy for most of the time that I was there. Still, it was nice. A place with a nice, obvious title emblazoned outside. The simple idea of being out in the open and having it not be a big deal. I'm inclined to think that it's really not a big deal, it's simply outsiders who make it one.

I figured out my sexuality in an environment where people are people, women or womyn or boys or bois are pretty much exactly the same, and who you date doesn't make much difference to anyone else. As a result, I tend to look at it all in a matter-of-fact sort of way. You're transsexual and dating a drag queen? No problem. I'm female and dating someone completely androgynous? Who cares? Problem is, very few other people see it that way. The fact that four states have just banned gay marriage, including my home state of Florida, illustrates that fact. I've never been one to be terribly political, and I'm not inclined to be publicly Out and Proud when, as I've said, the notion of who's dating whom is really no big deal to me. But when it comes to people's rights being taken away...I get mad. I was born in the States. I don't live there now, but it's a country I want to be able to come back to. And when I come back, I want to have the same rights as everybody else. I don't care about getting married. I don't care about a ceremony or a pretty white dress. But I want to know that if anything happened to me my girlfriend could come visit in the hospital. I want to know that if we were victims of a hate crime we wouldn't also face discrimination from the police. I want to know that no one else would be able to put their politics or their religion into our relationship, because our relationship is between us and only us.

This is the reason why, even though I'm not political, I think it's important to have a visible presence. Everyone on Marchmost street knows that there's a gay bookstore there. No one really seems to care. I'm sure that they've had tough times, but they've been there for years and gained acceptance. And that's just the point. People fear what they don't understand. People fear the unknown. And the only way to get over the fear of the unknown is to make it known. When people stop thinking of the Big Scary Homosexual Agenda and realize that gays are people too, it won't be such a big deal anymore. And that's the way it should be.

A New Experience

It's been quite a while since I've posted on this site. Partly it's that I've been so incredibly busy that it's been a struggle to find time to breathe, much less angst. Partly it's because the list of potential things to angst about is far too long to write down. I've fended off random propositions from guys on the street, had a coworker express his deep and unrequited love for me, been unsure of the limits of acceptable friendly behavior in several instances, and generally had a number of things to deal with.

And then there was something completely new.

I'd been in the office all day, doing paperwork and using the internet, and when I went back to the hotel one of the guys walked with me, since it was on his way. He invited me for a cup of tea, and I thought what the hell, might as well, get the sorry-let's-just-be-friends conversation over with and move on.

But it didn't happen.

We got tea, and we chatted. About Morocco, about travel, about any number of subjects...and none of them had anything to do with his wanting to get together with me. It was like hanging out with a friend at home, enjoying each others' company with no expectation of anything other than friendship going on. I was stunned. It's the first time that that's happened here. Eleven months in Morocco, and it's the first time I've been somewhere unchaperoned with a guy my own age that hasn't resulted in awkward conversations or awkward acts.

Sometimes the world can still surprise me.

I'm glad.

All shall love me and despair (Retroactive Post)

I’m not Galadriel, nor do I wield a Ring of Power à la Tolkein. But I’m beginning to think the statement is apt.

One of my coworkers just told me that he likes me. I’ve known this for a while, but it’s never been explicitly said before. And things that aren’t spoken can be ignored. But now this evening over mint tea he said it, said that he’s been in love with me since the moment he first saw me. Which is flattering, but very, very awkward. I told him that I like him very much as a friend, but not as anything more than that. He took it well. I know it can’t be easy to let yourself out so far and then be rejected. And he was obviously disappointed, but quietly so.

I feel bad. I do genuinely like him. Just not in the same way that he likes me. Damn unrequited love. He’d be a good candidate, if I were single and straight. He’s an open-minded Berber atheist who can talk about philosophy, he speaks four languages, he has a good sense of humour, and he’s good-looking as men go. But I’m really not interested. Even if I were single, I’d still have said no.

My life would be so much easier if I were interested in men. There are so many candidates, and if I picked one it would get rid of the competition amongst the others and then maybe I wouldn’t have so many problems because I would be very obviously off the market. It’s hard to keep claiming that I’m not single when I don’t even have a picture to show. (Girlfriend, can I get a picture of you in drag?).

Circe

I had intended to blog about a conversation I had a few nights ago. I'd already written my post, but saved it in the wrong format for the Moroccan cybercafe computer to open. I'll leave you instead with a quote by Olga Broumas, from her poem "Circe."


What I wear in the morning pleases
me:green shirt, skirt of wine. I am wrapped

in myself as the smell of night
wraps round my sleep when I sleep

outside. By the time
I get to the corner

bar, corner store, corner construction
site, I become divine. I turn

men into swine. Leave
them behind me whistling, grunting, wild.

A late night talk about a lot of things (Retroactive Post)

Last night, we had a discussion. Me, my fellow American expat tour leader, her Moroccan boyfriend, and all his brothers talked about life, the universe, and everything.

Or rather, we talked about a lot of semirelated things including women in Islam and in Morocco, Islam in general, Arab countries versus the US, capitalism, and so forth. And I’m honestly not sure how much communication actually took place.

It all started when my friend Autumn asked why women aren’t supposed to pray out loud in mosques like men. The answer that the boys gave was so that weak men wouldn’t hear women’s voices and be aroused by them. Frankly I found this explanation to be bullshit, as very few women have voices that are that inherently sexy. The same explanation was offered for why women have to keep covered and wear hijab (headscarfs). So that weak men won’t see them and be tempted. And the boys seemed to see no problem with this logic. But when Autumn asked why it was the women’s responsibility to protect men from their baser instincts, the merde hit the fan and resulted in a conversation that lasted until four o’clock in the morning.

The conversation was not in the least bit organized, with people getting defensive, jumping to conclusions, changing the topic, cutting one another off, and generally spending more time trying to say their piece than listening to anyone else’s viewpoint. Nevertheless, I’ll try to make my notes and reflections as coherent as possible while still accurately reflecting everything that was said.

To begin with, the statements of the boys: the hijab and the restrictions on women are designed to protect them. If women are not visible to men, audible to men, or perceptible to men, then they won’t tempt men, and therefore they won’t be harassed by men. The boys used the example that if a women walked naked down the street, all the men who saw her would desire her, wouldn’t be able to control their instincts, and would attack her.

The girls’ response: Why is it the responsibility of the women to keep the men from acting like beasts? Why can’t the men be strong enough not to think about sex all the time? The brain should rule the body, not the other way around. And who said anything about being naked? We walk down the street fully clothed, and we get hit on and catcalled at least ten times a day. We’re certainly not dressing provocatively or acting in any manner that might remotely be considered erotic.

To which the boys reiterated that weak men can’t control themselves, weak people can’t control themselves, and if one of the guys were to get naked right now wouldn’t Autumn and I be tempted?

No, was our immediate, unison response. No, not in the slightest. I think his male ego was a bit deflated after that.

But with regards to the idea that weak people can’t be tempted…how on earth are these supposed weak people going to be able to make themselves stronger if they aren’t occasionally challenged? Not by naked people walking down the street, which really happens quite rarely in most of the world, but by more everyday things? If people are never challenged, they will never improve themselves, was Autumn’s main statement, and I agree. But I would add that no one can be improved or redeemed by subjugating anyone else. And while men here might convince themselves that restrictions on women are there for the women’s own protection, the evidence indicates the contrary. A good Moroccan friend of mine wears full hijab and tells me that she still gets catcalled on the streets. And women in full face veils may be anonymous, but they are conspicuous by their very anonymity. They may get less overt male attention because they generally don’t leave the house without a male relative, but they do get noticed all the same. And I highly doubt that anyone enjoys or feels protected by wearing head to toe black clothing in the middle of August heat.

I have more to say on this topic, but it’s 1am now and I have work tomorrow, so I’ll have to finish these thoughts in another entry at another time.
9 August 2008