I hear it a lot. Daily.
If I am lucky, a simply trip involving getting out of the car, crossing
the road to buy bread can result in at least 2 ‘I like you’s’. In fact on one
occasion a car screeched to a halt, just so the driver could pop his head out
of the window to yell it to me.
Now in contrast to last year when by this stage I had
already been on the radio and had my face splattered across the newspapers, I
do not believe I have had much publicity here and so I’m not sure how all these
men know me to like me. OK with some it’s different. For example the ones I
meet formally like the government officials / MP’s/ partner organisations etc.
when they phone me at 1am to tell me they ‘like me’ maybe because when they are
reflecting on their day, my honesty, integrity and professionalism suddenly
hits them.
Or maybe not.
To me, it is clear after years of searching; my bootie has
found its natural home! In fact having now been asked if my mother is an African
and skinny women passing me compliments, I almost feel proud of my adipose.
On the other hand it may be one of the root causes of my
daily battles with the men.
In their defence the
harassment goes no further. And after some quick retort, indicating that while
I appreciate their adoration the feelings aren’t reciprocated (exact expression
‘oh right’), they leave me in peace.
As annoying as this is, this is not really my biggest
problem. That comes from generally being a woman in a male dominated
environment. And women here do not have a high profile. In fact gender
inequality and gender based violence is high. I could tell you that I know this
by statistics of illiteracy amongst women or the absence of women in positions
of power. To be honest though, nothing brought it home to me more gravely than
one of my colleagues talking openly and frankly about the need to ‘flog’ his
wife. His simple, straightforward
proclamation, without any hint of shame, pride, aggression or deviancy that
‘African women need beating’ will always haunt me. It was his truth. And to be
honest it is most men’s – and shockingly women’s, truths.
Once again it would be easy for us to judge. To consider the
country to be backward and take the old colonial stance that the people here
are savages. They are not. They just hold different dogma’s which have been
passed down from hundreds of years. Don’t
get me wrong, I am far from comfortable with this cultural norm, and don’t
think I let my colleague go without a gentle but firm lecture on my opposite philosophies.
(Obviously I made sure there was a bloody big table between us and lot of
people around before attempting to do so, I’m not that brave!)
Equally I was glad, given my obvious resemblance to an African
woman's shape, that I was at least able to shift my colleague’s position to a point
where he expressed that he respected ‘European women were different’. Phew, my ample
hide saved – for the moment.
My other actions, (you know feeding random strangers), is also
having some effect on building a level of support and protection around me. I
have had feedback that I have managed to endear myself to the majority of the
drivers and have gained the nickname ‘Darling Jo’. Now I am I sure this will
only last as long as the cheddar cheese does, but for the moment it is nice to
feel as though I am breaking through some barriers.
And talking of driving, I’ve just returned from another field
visit on a circular trip to two other cities in the East and the South. Again
the road was tough going taking its toll on the vehicle.
And now I have returned I have found myself in an
interesting position. I appear to have acquired the position as director of operations.
Our director has taken sick and evacuated back to France, but this has happened
at the same time as his deputy being on holiday along with the other more
experienced ex-pats, oh and just about half the staff in the organisation it
seems. Joy. In fact this lack of leadership has already caused problems as logistics
have been unable to organise and schedule the driver rota for this bank holiday
weekend and so I am now under house arrest. As the organisations policy is that
I am unable to use public transport (which will invalidate my insurance) and my
lovely new home is isolated from the central region, I am stuck
Then again, I’m in charge – Mmmmmm, now I wonder how far my
new found authority can take me……..
No comments:
Post a Comment