By Anonymous
Guest Writer
After being abroad a year and travelling a total of eleven countries throughout Europe and Africa, one can imagine my transition back at SLU was rather difficult. Even more, upon my arrival to campus this fall, I realized that I had experienced something that could not be taught in textbooks.
One of my travels was a week in Morocco touring the cities of Fez, Rabat, and Casablanca. I was supposed to go with a Moroccan friend that I met abroad, but last minute his grandmother fell ill and he could not accompany me. The worst mistake that I have ever made was travelling alone to Morocco as a woman. I should have realized that I’d have issues in a Muslim country, from prior culture research I did before leaving, but some knowledge has to be experienced in order to be understood.
On my first day, with an unhelpful map, I found myself lost on the outer edge of the city on a road connecting two parts of the village. Throughout the day, I avoided asking random people on the road as a precaution because I noticed that most were men and I didn’t want to put myself in any kind of situation that expressed I was a female alone.
On the road there was a big, white tour bus that looked safe to approach. I climbed the stairs and the driver amiably greeted me in French. I began to tense, as I noticed the bus was empty. The driver shut the heavy metal door behind me while making a continuous effort to be friendly.
I asked him to direct me back to the vicinity of my hostel, but taking the map from my hands, he urged me to move to the back of the bus. I refused and he started to become more persistent saying that I was very pretty and he was very lonely.
Standing, relentlessly asking him to open the door without success, he began to squeeze my breasts and force himself on me and I was struck with terror and such fear that I have never felt before. I was powerless and did not know what I could do to help myself. I began to scream, pushing him off me with all my force, yelling that God would punish him.
My thoughts were scattered. The only escape I had was jumping out the half-opened window next to the driver’s seat. Then all of a sudden, he stopped. He let go of me and opened the metal door. I never ran so fast in my life.
After that incident, I was in constant insecurity fearing something would happen to me the rest of the six days that I was to stay in Morocco alone. I had no one to help me, not even my parents and I could not trust any of the Moroccan officials to guarantee my security.
Although I dressed conservatively, I received much unwanted attention from men that crowed the streets. In broad daylight, many men would make gestures or remarks toward me. They’d wink as they pass, say hello, and invite me to talk with them. At first, I couldn’t understand what I was doing that was causing this. Then I began to keep my head down when I passed men on the street, making sure that my eyes were looking at the ground, and the comments significantly lessened, yet men would still ride by me on bikes and literally turn their head all the way around in order to shout something at me. It was baffling. I tried to go into some cafes, but not a single one had a woman in it. I didn’t know what to do, genuinely feeling that I was not going to make it out of the country safely.
My journey progressed on a train to Casablanca, sitting in a compartment of four seats facing each other next to a window. There was one man near the aisle, and then a woman and me near the window. As the train assistant passed he asked the man if he would like the window open and did not even glance at me or the other woman that was actually sitting next to the window to hear our opinion. I remember thinking how strange it was. This was the first incident in Morocco that made me realize how powerless I was in that society, all because I was a woman. I wanted to scream and yell and say that I was equal to that man, why did he not ask me as well, but I declined out of sheer fear.
With an old companion of my friend, I made dinner arrangement in Casablanca, ecstatic that I would be with someone, especially a man that I could feel safe with.
We met up around evening time and we walked around, had dinner together, and he showed me a part of his neighborhood. Then he took me to his home. Not asking what I wanted to do, he decided that it would be fine if we hung out with his friends in his apartment.
Even before entering the building I was a little skeptical, due to all that happened to me that week, but I continued because I did not know where I was or how to get back. When I asked to do something else, he was very persistent in me meeting his friends.
I walked up to his apartment with him to the fourth floor where I met a house of four or five men. We all went into the living room where they were smoking hash and playing video games in the dark. I began to feel nauseous and dizzy, fearing that they would gang up on me.
Sensing I was uncomfortable, he took me to his room telling me to stay there while he rolled hash with his friends in the other room.
By this point, I physically could not control my fear and began to gag. I told him I wanted to leave, but he took me up to the roof of the apartment instead. He began to corner me. It was so dark and nobody was around. I felt that I was going to fall off the roof of the apartment and feared that he would hit me at any moment.
I wanted to go home, but he ignored my persistent requests, deciding to take me back down to his room distracting me with YouTube clips and music. He wanted to dance and I said no, but he was very persistent.
He pulled my arm so that I had to stand up. He clasped my hands and pushed his body so close to mine that I felt his member harden on the side of my leg. I pushed him away and demanded that he take me home. He said there was only one key to the apartment door and his friend that had it was gone, so I had to stay.
At that moment I never felt such fear in my life. He began to push himself on me, kissing my face and neck. I was crying and didn’t know what to do. The thoughts that were running through my mind were thoughts that I never wanted to think of; thoughts that I would never want to admit to thinking of. I didn’t want to be raped, but I couldn’t get away from him.
The only choice I had was jumping out the fourth story window or taking the scissors from the desk and stabbing him. Never in my life did I have to think of seriously injuring someone for my own protection.
In a matter of seconds I decided that I had the courage enough to grab the scissors and jab him before he took off his pants, but I feared the men in the apartment would gang up on me. The worst fear for me would to have been gang raped by men under the influence of hash and vodka.
As I was struggling to get him off me, someone opened the apartment door and I gave him a push with all my strength and ran out the door and down the stairs. He was yelling behind me that I was slut, saying that the man at the front desk of my hostel said I was an American prostitute and that I would gladly do him a favor.
The tears were rolling down my cheeks, my heart was exploding, and I was so light-headed. When I reached outside I was able to wave down a taxi. The taxi driver was a man and I quickly showed him the address of my hostel. He began to drive, but halfway there he said he didn’t know where he was going and asked me if anything looked familiar. I said no and he began to get angry with me. I began to gag and he grew even angrier. I thought I wasn’t ever going to make it safely out of the country.
Inexpressible feelings constantly within me and surfacing unexpectedly, tears fall as I relive this experience. I never felt so helpless, so vulnerable in my entire life. Everywhere I turned there were men.
Finally at the hostel, my thoughts began to invade. I felt insecure in my room alone. Was there a camera inside watching me? Did the man at the front desk have a key to my room? Would he come in at any moment and rape me? I had no one to talk to, no one that could reassure me, no one that I could express what happened to me. Never have I felt so scared, vulnerable and alone.
During my week in Morocco I truly experienced how objectified women are as sex objects there only to fulfill the needs of men, and how defined the gender roles are in the society. The men I encountered were persistent and did not take ‘no’ for an answer. After this trip I realized how much I appreciate my liberties I have in the US as a woman and imagine how differently my trip would’ve been if I was a man.
Everyday I count my blessing that I am back in the US without fear of being objectified by men who consider the value of my life lower than the ground they walk on.