Damned Determined

In a 2014, 2,000-person national survey conducted in the United States, it found that “…65% of all women had experienced street harassment, among whom 23% had been sexually touched, 20% had been followed, and 9% had been forced to do something sexual.” 

Sexual harassment is nothing new in Uganda. 

Especially for women.

It doesn’t discriminate against age or ethnicity, shape or socioeconomic status.

I have been harassed more times than I can imagine.  From being called “my size”, essentially the equivalent of, “I want to take you home and screw you even though I don’t know your name” to being groped by strangers.

I have been fine, often times shrugging a shoulder or laughing about the situations.  I have been able to move forward, which unfortunately go to show how desensitized I have become.

Today was yet another day of this madness. 

I was minding my own business when a man starts talking very loudly, which is uncommon among Ugandans, about the muzungu. 

AKA me.

He begins shouting obscenities, about my skin color, my hair, my breasts, and my overall appearance.  He attempts to greet me but I ignore everything.

He continues to follow me.

He then moves in the street, stopping trucks and pointing at me as to make it more obvious to everyone that there is some different looking woman walking in the street to get back home.

As I fail to recognize him, he then changes course of his conversation saying that he loves all white people, including me.  That he has a passport to Sweden, which I am 99% confident, was a lie. 

I continue to ignore him as he stops traffic to point me out.

Then to conversation goes haywire.

“I f*****g hate white people.  Are you listening muzungu?  You killed my uncle and stole my grandfather.  Get out of Africa and go home!”

I give him zero recognition.

“You brought the virus to Africa.”  Referring to HIV.

I can’t help at this point but laugh inside.

“You do us no good.”

I can’t help but be incredibly thankful that he is not my Counterpart. 

At this point he diverted into a duka, or small shop, and I was able to make it safely to the park to board a taxi home.

After a successful morning of meetings with potential schools to hold an upcoming youth camp, he left me in a sour state. 

I know not all Ugandans feel this way. 

I know that his actions might have been extra dramatic due to alcohol.

I know that I should be more concerned with his harassment comments.

I also know that this is life in Uganda.

In the meantime, I am thankful nothing more came of the situation than some unwanted attention, stares, and honks of passing vehicles.

In the meantime, I pray that people are able to look beyond physical attributes, that they too can appreciate people for more than color.  I hope the harassment someday ceases and that individuals can be appreciated for just that…

Their individuality.