Why Fight It?

I feel like such a fool. I have wasted the past 2 decades trying to build my credibility and skill as a journalist and writer, when Fate keeps sending me sign after sign that my destiny lies in becoming one of the world's oldest purveyors of the world's oldest profession.

After all, as I've written several times before, as a well-dressed, attractive black woman traveling alone in Africa, too often I'm automatically assumed to be a hooker. And yes, it's already happened here, as it has in every African country I've visited. It was even funny for a while last year in Uganda, when everywhere I went with my 23 year old white intern, people assumed he had paid for my company.

But a couple of weeks ago, when I went to one of the poshest hotels in Nairobi to make an appointment for a massage, it wasn't so funny. The African front desk staff eyed me warily, and tersely gave me directions to to the spa in tones they'd have never used with a white female...even one who may have actually looked and dressed like a hooker. When I got to the spa, the African women behind the counter looked at me like I smelled bad, and informed me that non-guests couldn't use the facilities without a letter of introduction from a guest (Obviously, I'd already been told that wasn't the case).

Having lived in DC the past 13 years, I've gotten spoiled by being able to go wherever I want and expect to be treated civilly, if nothing else. In Metro DC, a region with the most middle and upper middle class African Americans in the US, the first assumption when you show up at an upscale venue, appropriately dressed, is that you can not only afford to be there, but you're probably someone whose regular business would be greatly prized. And because so many single, professional, affluent African American women travel alone, American businesses tend to see green above any other color.

Not so in Africa--at least not for me. Even with the American accent, I've still been given the frequent fisheye. I wish I could take some lasting comfort in the possibility that my youthful vigor and bounteous feminine charms have become a curse, but that prospect has long since worn thin.

But guess what? When I asked one of the snippy spa receptionists if I could get someone from the Nation Media Group to write me a letter of introduction, suddenly her demeanor changed and she instantly booked me an appointment. Clearly, if I was connected with NMG, I couldn't be a common trollop.

Sadly, my prostitute problem does not end there. Tonight, I checked my e-mail and found a message from some guy in the US who's traveling to Kenya next year and came across my blog. He's looking for a female travel companion for 7 to 10 days, all expenses paid, and would even consider a fee, if appropriate. He was hoping I could help him find someone.

Please, dear friends, I'm begging you to tell me if there's something about this blog that gives the impression that I am a whore. Or a whore monger. Cuz if that's the case, I want to stop sending that message. I mean, sheesh! For somebody who hasn't even had a freakin' DATE in aeons, I am developing quite a reputation.

Perhaps I should just stop fighting it and launch my own little sideline? Maybe I'll call it, "Homegirl Holidays," or something.

Or maybe I'll just go pull the covers over my head and pretend it never happened. Yeah, that's the ticket.

P.S. The most logical name for my new sideline just occurred to me. Considering my rather seasoned stature, how about "Hot Flash 'Hoes"? Look, people, I GOTTA laugh at this stuff or I'll be go completely loony!