Full Circle

Today I did something important. It wasn’t until after I did it that I realized just how important it was, and how important it was for me to do it. I volunteered to speak about rape and sexual assault to a group of students doing study abroad next semester. This is their “pre-departure orientation.” I remembered mine, and there was only 30-40 students. I didn’t realize that mine was so small because it was a summer study abroad orientation, not a regular spring semester orientation. This one had about 170 students. I was pretty nervous, but once I got up in front of the lecture hall, I felt pretty comfortable. I really do like public speaking… even if it’s about hard subjects.

When I was in Spain, I paid 200 dollars to take an excursion to Morocco for the weekend. The trip was sub-contracted out to a Moroccan travel agency, and we had a local guide. One counselor from our program came with us. I didn’t really feel safe during the trip.

People weren’t paying close enough attention to where everyone was. They weren’t doing enough head counts. They were letting us walk too far apart from each other, and letting people go shopping on their own. There was also an incident in a rug store where two girls and I got left behind by the entire program, left not knowing where we were, where the group was, how to speak the language, and fending off four agressive rug dealers. But that is a story for another day. The bad thing happened when we got to Chiffchauen (not sure I’m spelling it correctly, and frankly, the whole city can bite my ass if I’m not).

Chiffchauen is this truly beautiful, small, old fashioned place, full of traditional artisans, nestled in the gorgeous mountains of Morocco. The whole town is painted a sky blue color. The symbolism is similar to the holy Israeli city of Tzfat, where the doors are painted blue as a symbol of heaven. It’s ironic and frustrating that a place so beautiful had such an ugly undercoat.

Bascially, I got pulled into the back of a shop by a shop owner who wanted me to try on a necklace. (The salesmen there are EXTREMELY pushy- beware.) He turned me to face a mirror, put the necklace on, and then processed to grope me there, in the back corner of the shop, where my friend K couldn’t see me.

I am a sex counselor, and part of that entails counseling about rape and sexual assault. But I gotta tell ya… it’s really different once it happens to you. Suddenly you really understand the guilt and shame that comes along with it, and the confusion. God I was confused. It took me a while to figure out what was actually happening, and when I did, I had no idea what to do. My reaction was to take his hand out of my shirt, smile weirdly, and walk out.

Once it was over I couldn’t stop yelling at myself for not being more feminazi about it. I should have used my self defense Kung-fu training and beaten his ass down! I should have at least yelled at him. At least not SMILED. I tell everyone that the reason I was afraid to get angry was because this was Morocco, and I had no idea how a man would react to a woman sticking up for herself. Maybe they beat women who do that. But really… that wasn’t the reason I didn’t do anything. It was because I was so confused and scared, I didn’t even think of it.

Anyway, in the end everything was okay. I eventually told the director of my program what happened, and they handled it very poorly. In other countries it is still normal to blame the victim. She said, “I would never let a man do that to me!” I never even thought to contact Brandeis, but I realize now that that is what I should have done to get the support and validation I needed. Nevertheless, after a week or so of fucked-up-ness, I managed to enjoy the rest of my summer.

But this type of experience stay with you. I never filled out the evaluations for Brandeis or my program when I came back. Then I got the email asking students if they’d like to speak at this particular meeting. I did. I knew a girl who had an even worse experience than me who would. We did. In front of 170 people.

We didn’t share our stories, but we did share all the things we wish we had known. Like, not to expect that sexual assault and harassment are taken as seriously in that country as they are in the US. Or, to carry Plan B with us. Or that Brandeis could force our programs to take better care of us, and do what we needed them to do.

It felt really good. And I think my next step is to tell the study abroad office my story, so they can decide whether or not to continue sending students on my program. I think I’m going to write a letter to the head office of the program telling them to step up their counseling services, and to try and have someone there to provide an “American” style perspective in counseling. There’s nothing quite like admitting you’ve been raped in a country that believes it’s the woman’s fault.

Anyway, I feel like I’m on the path to healing. And speaking to everyone today made me feel really good, like I was turing my experience into good.

Maybe my future is in public speaking. I really like it.

One Foot in Front of the Other

Today I officially submitted my application to a one year masters program in American and Canadian studies at the University of Nottingham, in England.

Wow.

My reasons for choosing England are simple.  I like the program.  My parents like the program.  It’s only one year (one more year before I have to be an adult).  No GREs required.  And, they want me there.

But now that I’ve actually applied, I’m letting myself realize how frightening spending a year alone in a foreign country will be.  Up until now, I’ve been telling myself that it’s no more foreign than moving to Austin, Texas.  This may or may not be true… but it’s still a big change.  I am remembering what they told us before we went on study abroad- that you go through a period of enchantment, disenchantment, and then adjustment.  I hope the disenchantment part isn’t too rough…

One of the things I liked about the program was how tight-knit everyone seemed to be.  After classes and meetings, the grad students gathered to talk at the Faculty club, or other pubs.  I can only hope that there will be a comforting group mentality among the students when I get there.  And, of course, that I wont get made fun of for my accent.

And besides, I get to travel.  I may even get a chance to go back to Sevilla and visit my friends there.

I can do this.  I can do this.

Now if we could only get the Olsen twins banned…

“The organisers of Madrid Fashion Week have announced that they are banning skinny women to develop a more healthy image for the event this month. If any very skinny models do turn up, they will be classed as unhealthy and in need of medical help.”  (Full article)

Spain, I commend you.

Paz

The kitchen of my host mother in Sevilla.

Not Spain, House Party

Last night I went to a traditional college off-campus house party. And, as usual, a few townies showed up.

Now, I don’t mean to sound prejudiced against townies. After all, I used to be one. Or at least, I was the college-bound, high school girl who could imagine nothing cooler (or more rebellious) than hanging out with them.

Despite my love of townies, it’s a little strange for them to see a party down the street and just show up without knowing anybody. Especially when they are 10 years older than everybody.

One of these such fellows took a liking to me. He happened to be Puerto Rican, and I was immediately reminded of the men I had met in Spain. He was extremely forward, in a very non-white-bread-awkward-New England way. I was intrigued. Perhaps I could re-live a little of my self-esteem-boosting experiences with men in Spain?

But halfway through the conversation, when he began yelling at a kid who accidentally scuffed his sneaker in passing, I realized I was not in Spain. In Spain, forwardness is charming, if not completely entrancing. In America, at a college house party, coming from a townie, it’s downright sketchy.

Then he wanted to know where I lived. Then he wanted me to take a walk. He wanted to show me his house.

I said I had to go to the bathroom. I found some of my larger male friends, and decided to stay near them for the rest of the night.

I miss Spain.