It’s a truth universally acknowledged that when you complain to an ignorant man about being catcalled, they’ll say you should take it as a compliment. And when you further explain that being catcalled abroad is even worse, they’ll mansplain to you that it’s just the way the culture is and you should just suck it up and expect it if you’re going to travel.
I don’t recall being whistled at or spoken to like a sexual object much in my youth. I wasn’t exactly the ideal standard of beauty in my small town, so it wasn’t until I moved away to bigger cities that I realized that this unfortunate act of catcalling was something that could happen to me. And sadly, as I’ve gotten older and lived in cities such as Los Angeles, London, and New York, it’s only gotten worse. I’ll never enjoy being on the receiving end of it and certainly do not consider it flattering.
My adventurous nature took me on a trip to Morocco after finding extremely inexpensive flights. It was a country I had heard so much about and just had to figure out if all the hype was justified. Thankfully, I was overjoyed to find out that it exceeded my expectations. Morocco is an intense blend of old and new. The vibrant colors, smells of spices, and old ruins were fulfilling my Indiana Jones fantasies.
In my research, before I arrived, it was made clear that the men of Morocco tended more toward the aggressive side when it came to interactions with women. I had faced many sexual remarks toward me in my travels to other locations but didn’t want to go in with a bad attitude about this and have it ruin the trip. From the moment I landed in the North African country, a barrage of physical remarks rained down upon me. My inner angry feminist was enraged.
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