powerlessness

There are times when I feel powerless in Senegal.

Much of the time, this powerlessness centers on gender.

I feel powerless when I am told the only thing a woman can do when a man harasses her on the street is to keep walking, any sort of counter-remark or telling off by the woman would be a disgrace to her.

I feel powerless when I realize I’m going to have to change my route home because a man won’t stop trying to get me into his house and asking for my number.

I feel powerless when my host dad looks me into the eye and says: “men are first, women are second,” as if it is fact.

I feel powerless when we read stories of women who are raped in their bedrooms and who can not only seek no legal counsel, but are also blamed by the community for the tragedy because the woman should have been responsible and not ‘invited’ the man into her room.

And so on, and so on.

I feel powerless.

In the past few days, however, I’ve discovered powerlessness beyond my gender: language barriers. Suddenly, I have found a limit to my French.  Suddenly, I find I can’t yet fully express my opinions, my feelings, and my beliefs – and definitely can’t do so in a way that is culturally appropriate and sensitive.  Such that suddenly, I feel powerless.

I feel powerless when statements of presumed fact are said to me in conversation, facts about race and racism in the United States, the ‘wrongness’ of homosexuality, the universal wealth of Americans and the lack of hard work used to acquire that wealth, the frowned-upon ‘weakness’ and ‘shamefulness’ of those who commit suicide, my needing to stop looking and dressing in a pretty way if I want men to stop harassing me because it’s ‘innate’ for them to do what they can to ‘catch’ a woman, how the United States does and should hate all Arabs because of September 11, 2001, how a woman’s duty is to do all work related to the house and a man’s duty to be served by women and how even it may be just, that is the way it is and should be, and so on, and so on.

I’ve heard many of these things before; I’ve had these conversations. But before, I’ve had language. Before, they have actually been conversations. And they have been fruitful and those involved have learned from each other about assumptions made, diverse experiences, varying perspectives.

But in the past few days, I haven’t had language. I have French; I can speak it well and I understand everything that’s being said. But I don’t have French that will allow me to adequately communicate my beliefs, feelings, and experiences. And I definitely don’t have French which allows me to speak in a way which I am sure won’t offend or hurt or challenge relationships in a foreign culture with very distinct opinions on these topics.  And so I can’t say anything at all and the conversation becomes not a conversation but one-sided statements and assumptions of presumed fact and it all looses its fruitfulness and I feel powerless.

There are times when I feel powerless in Senegal.

But I have also learned so much about myself and about life through these feelings of powerlessness.

I have learned that I am a stronger feminist than I once thought. I have learned the importance of words and the immense frustration when they can’t be found. I have learned the privilege of communication and conversation. I have learned that I need other people, not so much to defend or help me as to say ‘I know how hard this is’. I have learned a deeper appreciation for those men, both in and out of patriarchal societies, who hold other men accountable for their actions and who aren’t complacent in the face of inequality, and I’ve learned that I am privileged to have those men in my life. I have learned that I am not someone who can easily let an opportunity for learning and growth slip by. I have learned that, as I live as one among the other Senegalese women by acting essentially as servant to the men in the household, I am stronger and can do more than I thought I could.  I have learned that I am capable of finding and remembering the good, in which I say I believe, in all, even a host Pappa who has changed in my eyes through his sexism and discriminatory and simplistic beliefs. I have learned that sometimes I need to allow myself to be angry and hurt and frustrated and to allow myself to sit on the terrace and write for hours to heal myself.  I have learned that I am capable of working through and challenging myself to turn this anger, as Terry Tempest Williams says, rather than into a “polemic,” into “sacred rage”.

I have felt powerless. And I will feel powerless. But I am learning so much.