For The Illiterate

I’m Anna.  I kept a blog over the summer (I had a job in the Dominican Republic), and when Shane asked me to post recent writings I realized, somewhat sadly, that I haven’t written a word since.  I suppose nothing a school is quite as inspiring as these my dominican muses… here’s one entry that I didn’t publish, out of concern for my parents’ nerves.

Bewildering Encounters with Men

1.  I was sitting in the back of a taxi.  My friend and I were chatting up the driver, a friendly fellow named José who claims he almost got signed by the Red Sox.  My foot was propped up on the plastic thing that’s between the two front seats.  The taxi driver reached back, slipped off my shoe, and started rubbing my foot, mid conversation, never taking his eyes off the road.

2.  I stayed for a week with the family of a man who founded an organic farmers’ collective, Mario.  He’s… well, intimidating, to say the least, a huge strapping charismatic visionary who’s at the helm of powerful workers’ movement.  After our introduction we never actually spoke to each other, more than a couple words.  He did, however, have a general tendency to envelop women in prolonged  intimate embraces – like for a minute at a time.  So, for instance, I’m standing in a clearing in the middle of a coffee plantation listening to a farmer talk about his composting techniques.  I hear rustling behind me, which then stops.  Sure enough, in a second I’m completely wrapped up in his arms (he’s a very large man, over 6 feet tall).  A couple minutes later he disengages and goes to speak for a while about community development.

3. By my 3rd day working with the farmers’ collective, I received no less than 3 heartfelt declarations of undying love from coworkers.  The procedure: during a normal conversation, they will stop, and say: 1. Can I ask you a question.  2. Are you married.  3. Do you have a boyfriend.  4.  Come sit down and talk to me.  5.  Ever since I first saw you… come visit my family… come meet my two-year-old son… we should build a life together.  It’s made things a little strange.  It’s not often that you sit down at a business meeting and realize more than half of the men sitting with you offered you their heart, mind, and body the night before.

Lessons learned:

1. I’m naive.

2. Age means nothing.  Old men are not harmless.  Young boys are not harmless.  I’ve been propositioned now by an age range that stretches from 13 to, oh, God knows, 70.

3. He’s not being friendly.  He wants to sleep with you.

4.  He has children?  Grandchildren?  You have a professional relationship?  He’s your host father?  He has a wife?  His wife is standing right there?  Doesn’t matter.  He’s still going to hit on you.

5. Finally, and I don’t want this to sound bad, you gotta get used to it.   It’s not such a big deal when you’re in a place where such behavior is common; if there aren’t as many barriers to physical contact in the first place, there’s many more shades of gray between friendly contact and sexual harassment.  A professional relationship here can comfortably include a lot of holding hands, kisses on the cheek, and, in a bit of a stretch for me, close embraces and arms around the waist.  Here, I go out dancing with the human rights lawyers from the workshop.  Here, I learn how to work with Esposo, the sweet old sociologist who calls me his pretty girl and always seems to want to cuddle with me when he’s drunk.  He’s a good man, and means it in the best way possible.  I just have to learn to politely disengage and tell him no, I don’t appreciate your erection in my stomach, thank you very much.