On the downsides of being a guera

So one of the first words that I learned in Spanish was guera (there's accent marks over the "u," but I'm being lazy at the moment), literally it means blond girl but it is used to refer to almost any white (looking American) woman, especially if she is in her 20s 30s. My first summer here I was so disturbed by men coming up to me on the street, wanting to know about me, and of course the first things they asked were whether I was single and where I lived, that I bought a ring to wear on my wedding finger. It's also made me very conscious of the height of my necklines and the length of my skirts, and I’ve gotten used to mostly ignoring the heckles of men on the street, which has slowed as I approach 30 and look less newbie-esque.

So tonight I was out with friends I’ve made here after going to the year anniversary mass of my landlady’s aunt (this is the substance for another post), and the friends that I am closest to are both American women, one of whom is married to a Oaxacan man and the other of whom is dating one. At the end of the night, we were waiting to get into a club downtown (this sort of interesting intellectual and slightly pretentious one that at midnight had a loose crowd clustered around the door and doesn't get started until 11), and decided that no one was feeling it enough to go in so we would make alternative plans. At this point J and I realized that our friend K was not in good shape due to relationship issues and so stood on the corner talking with her as a station wagon full of young men pulled up along side us (F, J’s husband, was giving us some space a little up the block). The 6 young men in the car stuck at a red light started yelling stuff like “ay que guapa “ “ay guera” blah blah blah and I basically ignored it until I realized that they weren’t stopping and J and K were getting increasingly upset.

J has lived in Oaxaca for over 3 years, and been married to a Oaxacan man for over 2 of them, and K has lived here for over 2 years and they had had enough. Once realizing that ignoring them wasn’t working and the light wasn’t changing, they started yelling back, “go away, stop bothering us” and then finally “f*** your mother, we’re not interested.” And they didn’t stop and didn’t move once the light changed, and "chinga tu madre" is one of the worst things you can yell at someone. F finally came over and yelled at them making aggressive moves to get them to leave but not ready to fight (something none of us wanted) and K stepped in the middle to tell them to get back in the car, to leave us alone, that none of us wanted a fight, but also that we didn’t wanted to be yelled at/ whistled at. Finally with horns honking behind them, they peeled around the corner, double parked and came back, going for F. J stepped forward and told them firmly “I have lived here for over 3 years and I’m tired of being whistled at / having men shout things at me, I am his wife, what would you do in his place if men were yelling at your wife?” And they eventually conceded the point after some tense moments, J was amazing they even apologized. But I was very conscious of feeling very unable to defend myself (especially when one of the guys defended himself with the way that I look/ was dressed). I quickly pulled on my rebozo (shawl) and it wasn’t until I got home that I realized that my wrap dress had migrated into my cleavage, showing more (but by no means scandalous amounts, or even what I would wear out in NY) skin than I had originally intended, even though I had tested and tested the top, to see if it required a camisole. This is what I am tired tired tired of, this constant feeling of conspicuousness, this constant having to check my clothes to make sure that I am not “inviting” harassment.

And, when they took me home there was a homeless man masturbating on my doorstep (ew), which I guess is sort of part for the course no matter what city you live in-- he was very nice about moving so I could get in at least.

Before all the drama ensued, I almost adopted a dog, it was a close call but for better or worse I’m not the impulsive type in this regard. As K, J, F and I turned to leave the club, we found a puppy, probably 4 or 5 months old, mostly golden retriever on the corner who had obviously been someone’s, she rolled over for us to scratch her belly and she pushed her head into our hands. Her neck fur was all rubbed down and they explained to me that it was because someone had tied a collar or string around her neck to claim her and then obviously left her and it as she grew and it did not. The men with a hotdog stand on the corner laughed at us when we asked if she was theirs’ and J pleaded with K and I to take her as they already have two I just couldn’t imagine having a dog in my apt without preparations (not to mention I don’t think my landlady would be too pleased), but it broke my heart to leave her.