Only if you'll be my third husband!

Within my first two weeks at my new post, I would estimate that about 75% of my initial encounters with men left me either incredibly uncomfortable or incredibly frustrated.

For the first few days, anytime I walked through the carrefour (to go to the boutique, to buy some food, to buy phone credit, to go to my office -- A.K.A. anytime that I left my house ever), I’d be hissed at, kissed at, and basically catcalled hardcore Cameroonian style.   

There was one incident when I went to buy phone credit last week.  I was immediately encircled by four or five young men, all telling me I’m beautiful, asking if I’m married, asking if I’d like to marry one of them.  Upon gentle rejection and explanation that I'm here for work, not marriage, that they should treat me like a sister, not a girlfriend, the men only began to shout at me.  "How can you say you're not going to fall in love with me?!"  Um, hello mister.  I just met you like, 20 seconds ago.  And now you're shouting at me trying to get me to come home with you.  Definitely don't think you're marriage material, ashia.

I went to a funeral.  As I was leaving the feast, the host asked me if I’d be his second wife.  I tried to laugh it off, saying “I’ll be your second wife if you’ll be my third husband,” but the instant I left the room, a different man approached me and put his arm around me, calling me “ma cherie” and asking if he could come with me.  I was able to laugh off the first incident, but this second one that immediately followed was just too much too soon.  I smacked his arm away and told him that I am not his cherie and sped ahead more in an attempt to hide my upcoming tears than simply to escape.  Luckily I was with my counterpart and community host.  My counterpart essentially told the guy to shut up and leave me alone.  My community host hugged me the entire taxi ride home (which I think was mostly because there were five of us squished tightly in the back seat, but I’ll take it as an act of love and comfort).

I know that this is an issue that will fade as I spend more time here.  Once people become familiar with me, they will stop harassing me so much.  But that doesn’t make it any easier for the time being.  Though I never feel as if my security is in danger, being sexually harassed every time I leave my apartment is tiring; it’s as if there’s a whole swarm of mosquitoes following me right beside my ear.  It’s definitely not something that I want to live with for the next year.

This never happened in the North.  I mean, it happened occasionally – I can count three specific incidences over the course of nine months.  It was so rare that I could laugh it off -- "Jeremie", the mason that left love notes on my veranda, became a longstanding inside joke between me and my neighbors.  The man who would send me uncomfortable text messages immediately stopped when I threatened to tell his boss.  And I've got to say -- at least these men were putting in some effort at romanticism rather than making kissy noises at me from afar!  Being tricked into an accidental date featuring a home cooked vegetarian meal, Celine Dion, and mood lighting -- well, while he did not succeed in winning my heart, at least it wasn't someone shouting at me to be his wife! 

In the North, there was the whole “Nassara, Nassara!  La Blanche, La Blanche!” issue, but that was more an issue of skin color.  Now we’re bringing the fact that I’m a young woman into the issue.  And the fact of the matter is not just that I’m a young woman, but I’m a young white woman – look at the potential!

I’ve begun to develop a deep mistrust for all men that I meet, which is definitely not how I want to live my life.  That being said, most men I encounter approach me with the sleaziest of smiles, and handshakes often linger far too long.  Even handshakes at church are a problem; last Sunday, a man was shaking my hand to offer the sign of peace, then upon realizing he’s shaking the hand of la blanche, he grabbed my hand with both of his and would not let go for a solid 10 seconds as he stared at me.

It’s gross.  It’s creepy.  It’s sickening.  It’s frustrating.  It needs to stop immediately.

I talked to my counterpart about the issue, and how I have this problem anytime I cross town alone.  We explained the issue to the Sous-Prefet when we met him for protocol, and he was outraged; he said he’d try to put a stop to it immediately.  The Commandant of the Gendarmes, however, thought much less of the issue, basically saying “well, she’s a big girl.  She can decide which men she wants and which men she doesn’t."

Finally, the problem began to fade.  People started to recognize my face and the marriage proposals decreased from dozens per day to just a few.  I was starting to become comfortable in my new town.

Just when I thought it was no longer an issue, my counterpart’s husband called me into the room to chat.  He told me that I shouldn’t be afraid, that the men are not trying to insult me.  He explained that I should just let them compliment me and stop fighting the issue.  His “kind advice” quickly led to a full out screaming match after he told me that I am the minority here; I must adapt to Cameroonian culture, and I cannot force my American ideals on others.  Oh, I’m sorry sir; I didn’t realize that defending myself against sexual harassment was considered a form of imperialism!  Next time I’ll be sure to keep my mouth shut and let the men grope me as much as they would like. (As a sidenote, this was my first legitimate heated debate that I’ve had in French, and I think I held my own!  Though I did “shush” him at one point, which was a definite breach in protocol.)  

He told me that I should be stronger.  I told him that by defending myself and putting a stop to this, I am being strong.

I am not usually one to pick fights; I try my best to avoid arguments and debates.  Nevertheless, this is one debate that I will never give up on.  Yes, maybe it's a cultural thing.  Maybe these men truly believe if they shout "my baby, you're so beautiful!  I love you!" from ten yards away, that I will indeed marry them.  And yes, I do want to adapt to Cameroonian culture as much as I possibly can.  But I'll tell you this:  I will wear a head to toe pagne ensemble, I will sit on the ground and eat couscous with my hand, I will attempt to learn your patois, but I will not put up with your catcalls and sleazy smiles, pretending that they are compliments!  That is one aspect of Cameroonian culture that I can do without, and I believe I am completely justified in thinking this.  I have every right to feel comfortable in this village.  I have every right to feel safe.

*Sigh*

This has been my main struggle here at my new post.  In fact, I’d say it’s been my only major struggle so far.  It’s already begun to fade significantly after only two weeks, and I know that it can only continue to improve.  Part of me feels that I shouldn't even post this because it does not fall within the realm of sunshine and rainbows, but I think it's important.  I think as PCVs, we need to remember to stand up for ourselves.  While we're supposed to adapt as much as we can to our host country's culture, we cannot let the rest of our ideals totally fade to dust.  And whatever battles we win or obstacles we overcome today will only help other volunteers/foreigners/women in the future.