Your Face is Pretty, But Your Heart is Dirty : Poetic Street Harassment in Ethiopia

One of the things that I love about living in Rwanda is that I rarely experience street harassment here. Going out as a woman at night has lead to some very unpleasant and aggressive interactions with entitled men, and I regularly get the Rwandan stare, but there are generally no men catcalling me as I go about my daily business. That is such a welcome respite from living in Jamaica and the US where it seems some men’s only job was to scream obscenities at female passers-by.

The drawback to this is that I have been lulled into a false sense of security, and sometimes I forget to put on my protective armour when traveling to other countries. Last summer in Jamaica, I spent half a day enraged because of men who would not stop bothering me. It’s not that I didn’t expect it (because I know my people), but this occurred as I was walking from the doctor’s office back to taxi stand at 8am. These were men who had woken up, had their breakfasts, got dressed, and parked themselves on the sidewalk in the early morning to heckle women who were busy being productive. I think it’s a peculiar kind of sickness that motivates a man to set out at the beginning of the day to harass women who have done nothing to him, instead of using his time and talents to do something useful, like working.

But today’s story is not about Jamaica. It is about Ethiopia. At the beginning of 2014, I travelled around Ethiopia for 2 ½ weeks. There were many magical, memorable moments. But, as often happens with solo women travellers, there were some moments that made me want to scream.

I’d already had my fair share of street harassment in Ethiopia. Far too many men in Addis Ababa screamed at me for not stopping to talk to them in the previous week. One went as far as to follow me in a taxi, after waiting for me for over an hour while I was in a museum. But I’d decided to put that out of mind. Then I got to Gondar. Gondar is famous for the Fasil Ghebbi ruins, its historical importance to the Ethiopian Orthodox Church, and the Ethiopian Jews, being a former capital of Ethiopia, and for the obvious influence of the Italian occupation on its architecture. Most importantly, it is the site of several royal castles, and is consequently called The Camelot of Africa.

I am ashamed to say that for over 2 decades of my life, I had no idea that there were castles in Africa. This is why we must travel, and write our own stories. But I digress..

I am generally a budget traveller. I try to take local transportation or walk whenever possible. That keeps my costs down, but also gives me more opportunities to get a feel for the locale, and see the “real” city, instead of just hopping from one touristy spot to another. I have a horrible sense of direction, and I have learned to embrace my affinity for getting lost. I’d figured out that the distance between my “hotel” and the castles was about 2 miles, and so I set off to walk to Gondar.

About ½ mile into the walk, I noticed that a man was walking behind me. It was weird, but not alarming, as it was about 11 am. Eventually, he caught up with me and started chatting me up. I enjoy talking to strangers sometimes, and most especially when I’m traveling. I like traveling alone and talking with strangers is a pre-requisite for really enjoying solo experiences. But as a woman, you know when someone is being friendly, or curious. You also know when persistent unsolicited harassment is about to start. And I knew it was the latter.

I accelerated my pace, and tried to politely dismiss the man. He insisted that he would accompany me to the castles. I pointed out that there was no way I could get lost, as it was on the main road that I was already on. (Never mind that I got lost on my way back. He had no way of knowing that would happen). He continued following me for about ¾ mile, and became more verbally abusive as we went along. It seems he finally became exasperated. He stopped, and before stomping off like a toddler he said, “You know you are a very beautiful woman. I am just trying to talk to you. Your face is pretty, but your heart is dirty. Your heart is not clean.”

Haahahahahahaaha

To this day, I laugh whenever I think of this story. I love how these cretins will physically and emotionally violate women who have done nothing to them, and then make us out to be the problem. It’s like the men who try to holla on the street, then tell you you’re ugly when you don’t give a favourable response. Well if I’m so ugly, why were you trying to talk to me in the first place? Silly rabbits.

Gondar was where some of the craziest things happened to me on this trip. I had to leave by bus that same evening to get to my next destination: Bahir Dar. I was taking a mini bus, or matatu, so there were no reservations to be made, or tickets to be pre-bought. I just had to get to the bus station and fight to get on board like everyone else. The bus station was really, really crazy. At one one point, I was next in line on a bus, and somehow managed to get myself shoved right out of the way by a horde of men. Just when it seemed like I was going to be stuck in Gondar for the night, a Good Samaritan helped me get a seat up front on what appeared to be the last bus leaving for that evening. It was not until the bus pulled off that I realized that he had paid the driver to let me on the bus.

After Good Samaritan bid me farewell, another man decided that that would be an opportune time to open the door and aggressively grope my thigh. My first instinct was to jump back out of the bus and give him a piece of my mind. But I didn’t because 1) That is stupid. I cannot fight. And I definitely do not want to be in a fight with a man who is brazen enough to touch women inappropriately in public, 2) The fact that the other men who saw what happened laughed at the incident let me know that I would have no crowd support, and would be fighting a losing battle, and 3) I would have certainly lost my seat on the bus, and been stuck there for another night. My righteous indignation was going to come at too high a price.

Once I got to Bahir Dar, I was followed by a man who I am certain was mentally insane. He’d heard me tell the bus driver which hotel I was going to as I was leaving the bus. He did not care that I already knew where I was going, and never asked him for any assistance. He declared that he was my guide, and he would take me to the promised la-, um, the hotel. Of course, once we got to the hotel, he demanded that I give him 200 birr (about 10USD) for his services. I politely declined, since I’d never hired him in the first place. And then he started screaming at me in Amharic. Eventually one of the men that worked at the hotel calmed him down, and asked me to give the man 20 birr so he would stop screaming. Who knows if they were in cahoots?

Perhaps my affinity for attracting psychos is proof that there is something wrong with me. I’d like to think my heart is clean. But please, do let me know if it seems dirty to you. I don’t trust the opinion of crazy men in the street, but I might listen to you.

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