Fish and Chips

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Harassment is always a popular topic when I get together with other volunteers. It is always an issue here, especially for the women. I bet we had more sessions on harassment than anything else during training. Since it seems to be such a big deal here I thought I’d share some of my opinions and experience on the subject.

It all started in Philadelphia almost a year ago when, during one of our pre-service training sessions about harassment, somebody said that people in Morocco would yell "fish an' chips" at us. I thought this was incredibly funny at the time, wondering how anybody could think that was harassment. I had heard some strange phrases thrown at me by people in Cambodia. I always assumed they had no idea what they were saying and that it was the only phrase in English they knew. I figured the same must apply to the fish an’ chips phenomenon, if it even happened at all.

What in my culture constitutes harassment seems to be more of a game here. It is a game of eye contact and acknowledgement of another’s presence or interest. At first I felt like my right to be left alone was violated every time I walked down the street, then I realized that right doesn’t exist here. The right to do your own thing and be left alone as long as you’re not infringing on another’s right to do what they want is a decidedly western, if not American, right. It doesn’t seem to have any place in Moroccan society.

The street here is no man’s land and sometimes I just have to look at it like a meat market. I tried this analogy on another volunteer here and her response was: “But I shouldn’t have to walk through a meat market just to get to work every day!” There are certain things you can do to deflect attention, but walking down the street alone invites people to try to get your attention.

Personally, harassment is a difficult subject. I don't want to admit how much it hurts me or how much it gets me down. I want to think I am stronger than that. In the beginning it was pretty easy to ignore. Over time it has worn me down to the point that some days I just don't want to leave my house.

From the time I have spent in touristy towns like Essouira or Ouarzazate, I have noticed a large difference in the kinds of harassment on and off the tourist trail. Tourist harassment is the typical "buy my stuff" kind of bother, while in towns that never see foreigners it tends to be either from curiosity or reactions to stereotypes of Western women. The fact that bootleg DVDs of the TV show "Sex in the City" can be bought in the market here quite frankly scares me. Then add on to all that the religious and political harassment. It all makes me cynical and after so many bad experiences it's hard to be open and friendly with the people I have come to work with here.

I usually don't discuss such topics on this blog because I really do love Morocco and don't want people to have a bad impression of this country without visiting it. That said, I am tired of candy-coating everything and pretending that Morocco is perfect. Every country has its problems and harassment is definitely one of Morocco's problems.

I can now say that I have heard ‘fish an’ chips’ yelled at me (among countless other oddities), though I am still mystified as to what the guy was thinking or what kind of reaction he expected to get out of me.

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Comments

[Katie Hadar]

Most Interesting
Heather, This happens to be the most interesting blog entry you have made. Well, it closely rivals the entry you made about freaking out over oil on the pasta, that was funny too. I don't think you should candy-coat anything, it's not like any reasoning human being can't see through that anyway. I am surprised by your reaction to the harrasment, though I agree with your conclusion: we are not in America any more, Toto. Italy was much the same for me. I learned how to deal with it eventually, no direct eye contact, no response (unless it was to correct someone who had called me German, honestly, how is that a pick-up line? "Eh Tedesca!"). A slow, meandering gait was always an invitation for an assault. One day I was in the park reading Tale of Two Cities, and it was at the very end and I was crying like a little baby as the pairs of lovers were reunited- one to life and the other to the guillotine, and this guy sat down on the bench and tried to hit on me. I almost hit him. Instead I screamed in Italian: "CAN'T YOU SEE THAT I AM READING YOU MORON! I DO NOT LIKE YOU AND I DO NOT WISH TO SPEAK WITH YOU RIGHT NOW!!!!" It can be exhausting though. Keep up the good work. You are free to compare and contrast. You are not betraying anyone. This comment is really long. I do not know if it will even post. Katie