This week of gender intensive study has already has been one of the most intense weeks of my life, but today really topped it off.
In the morning we went to a slum, talked to a few women and children who were being neglected by their husbands/fathers (women pretty much totally depend on men here because it is next to impossible for a woman to make enough money support a family), including a 19-year-old with a 3-year-old baby whose husband wouldn't give her money to go to a clinic and get medicine for a UTI she'd had for 2 weeks. While we were talking to her, our guide from the Slum Aid Project straight up asked her what she had done to make her husband neglect her because obviously he wasn't doing it for no reason... With that question, I got an image in my head of the whole Wash U gender studies department chasing after our guide, throwing books at her... We also got to see the slum's large gin distillery where some women worked to support their families making 120-140 proof gin out of molasses. They offered to let us taste it, but I declined since the smell was so strong I am gagging a little bit just thinking about it. Then, before we left we distributed another 150ish pounds of condoms.
Then, in the afternoon we went to by far the smelliest place I have ever been in my entire life. It was one of those places where you spend the whole time debating which is the lesser of the evils: breathing through your nose, breathing through your mouth, or just not breathing for as long as possible. We ended up down an alley, back into a little courtyard with many-doored halls coming off of it. Will, the only guy in our 6 person group, just leaned over to me and said "are we where I think we are?" To which I just replied "uhh... Yep..." We had been told that the sex workers knew we were coming, had talked to students before, and would be happy to see us. However, as soon as we sat down, the sex workers in the courtyard started yelling at us and our guide in Luganda, though it didn't take a genius to figure out what they were saying. We (muzungus) come in to talk to them, take time away from their clients, and then don't end up helping them at all. For about 15 minutes the tiny (I'm a horrible judge, but I'm guessing around 10x10ish) courtyard was complete pandemonium with about a dozen sex workers shouting insults at us, our SIT teacher translating for the one person who would tell us her story, our Slum Aid Project guide trying to get the women to calm down, and us trying to get the point across to our guide that we definitely wanted to get out of there if we were not wanted. One woman, in English, demanded that if we wanted to talk to them we should each pay one of them and go to their rooms to talk. We pretty much ignored the comments like that, though I noticed at some point Annie and I had protectively grabbed onto Will's arms by instinct, as he, for obvious reasons, was the target of some particular comments that made him even more so uncomfortable than the rest of us. Then, about 15 minutes into our visit we heard loud explosions from very nearby that sounded like gunshots. The sex workers started screaming and running for shelter while us students jumped on top of each other in confusion. At some point it occurred to me that though the noise continued, I didn't see any bullets or people being hurt, but everyone was panicking and I didn't know what was going on so this revelation wasn't much consolation. When the noise stopped, somebody realized that it had been from the transformer on a power line right above the courtyard. By this point, all of us had pretty shot nerves and one of the students started crying, prompting teasing from the emerging sex workers. After that, we pretty much demanded to get out of there immediately, and at first the sex workers blocked our way but then let us out when our guide promised to stay behind and talk with them. I realize by this point I have portrayed the sex workers as pretty mean, and they were to us, but I think it was kind of deserved. They are almost all mothers trying to make enough money to support their children and pay school fees. All of them were forced into this work when their husbands left them with no money and no business or technical skills. I don't blame them at all for wanting money from us, and honestly, after the fact, am ok with how they treated us because it gave them some power and dignity over us, which we can take and move on from and probably gave them a feeling of empowerment. To cap it all off, on our way out, we passed a man walking down the alley wearing a shirt that said "women are not for life, just pleasure" Whyyyyy would anyone ever make a shirt that said that!?
After these past few days, my group revolted and pretty much refused to go through a whole other day of this tomorrow. We are all exhausted and emotionally completely spent, so hopefully tomorrow will just be a lot of processing. This was an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime string of experiences, but I'm about ready for a break. Luckily, next week is the Eastern excursion, which means passing lots of time in the vans, hiking, and some other nice things. More on that later. For now, some much needed rest.
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry
No comments:
Post a Comment