Telling it how it is.

Today was the longest day in the history of longest days. After a relaxing long weekend in Aqaba, I returned to a full day of classes including two presentations. Tomorrow is the doomsday of both my Modern Standard and Colloquial Finals, so I went to a café to study with a friend. After several hours of productive studying, periodically alternating with hookah and conversation sidetracks, I hopped in a taxi to head home. The driver was nice and seemed normal, asking about my Arabic skills and if I could understand the lyrics to the song on the radio. As we turned a corner, a woman was crossing the street. As if right out of the documentary on harassment I had seen earlier in the semester, he leaned out the window to holler some unsavory epithets. Then he turns to inform me, “She is a bitch.”

            Of course my jaw dropped and I instantly responded, “Ya haram!” “What, she is not nice. What is haram?” I quickly informed him of his rude behavior and how unkind and hurtful that word could be, but he only responded, “Isn’t this what you do in America?” I eagerly informed him that we respect women in America, and that he should do the same. When he blew me off, I asked if he had sisters. He said no, so I asked if his mother had taught him to respect women.  He laughed and said he lived by himself in the middle of the ocean. I insisted, “Even the fish know to treat women with respect.”

            I’m sure he was not used to such a dramatic response to his typical catcalls and he could that I was not very happy. He apologized and said again that he knew this was not normal in Jordan, but it must be normal in America. I was quick to assure him of the opposite. After months of stares, whistles, whispers, and direct confrontations of “pretty lady” and “yes, please,” I had about had it. As he pulled to the front of my building he apologized again. I assured him it was okay, but that he should not talk to women like that.

            Although I’m sure he’ll be back to his catcalling ways tomorrow, I feel so invigorated that it doesn’t matter. I got to say exactly how I feel and finally got to let go and tell an immature, rude niswangi (literally translated: woman lover) exactly what his problem was. Although I did it as diplomatically as possible, it was a completely therapeutic experience. He asked why, when I was “so young”, was I studying so far away from home and I assured him, “Don’t worry, I’m learning here too.”