If I had as much sex as people thought I had, I would be a very happy woman. I have only been in Uganda 12 hours, and I've already been mistaken for a 'ho.
Get this: I'm down having breakfast on the hotel patio, minding my own business trying to pour myself a cup of coffee, when this Indian businessman walks up beside me. Being a polite, friendly sort of gal, I smiled and said, "Good morning." He smiled and said, "You, come and join me. Keep me company."
A split second analysis ensued. Maybe, just like last night, I KNEW this man, but forgot I knew him! Or maybe he was somebody connected to the journalism workshop I was leading. But no, the workshop is at a completely different venue.
Ultimately, his leering grin told the whole story. So I'm standing there thinking, "Yo, even if I WAS a 'ho, it is 8 AM, dude! I've probably been on my back all night, and I'm just trying to get me some breakfast, a few hours sleep, and maybe a massage later, so I can hit the bricks again in another 12 hours. Chillax, okay???"
Come to think of it, I don't get taken for a 'ho as much in Nairobi. There've been a couple of incidents in fancy upscale venues where the overzealous scrutiny and borderline harassing behavior led to that conclusion, but in general, it's not a problem. But the minute I'm back in Uganda, it's like I'm Holly Go-Darkly, or something.
So, to all the men in Uganda, for the next four days, I. AM. NOT. A. 'HO. I am 47 years old, and I have to get up every 3 hours in the middle of the night to pee, not to pleasure sweaty, disgusting strangers. And even if I WAS a 'ho, at least wait until I actually start advertising before approaching me.
Bottom line? Back up off me.
Get this: I'm down having breakfast on the hotel patio, minding my own business trying to pour myself a cup of coffee, when this Indian businessman walks up beside me. Being a polite, friendly sort of gal, I smiled and said, "Good morning." He smiled and said, "You, come and join me. Keep me company."
A split second analysis ensued. Maybe, just like last night, I KNEW this man, but forgot I knew him! Or maybe he was somebody connected to the journalism workshop I was leading. But no, the workshop is at a completely different venue.
Ultimately, his leering grin told the whole story. So I'm standing there thinking, "Yo, even if I WAS a 'ho, it is 8 AM, dude! I've probably been on my back all night, and I'm just trying to get me some breakfast, a few hours sleep, and maybe a massage later, so I can hit the bricks again in another 12 hours. Chillax, okay???"
Come to think of it, I don't get taken for a 'ho as much in Nairobi. There've been a couple of incidents in fancy upscale venues where the overzealous scrutiny and borderline harassing behavior led to that conclusion, but in general, it's not a problem. But the minute I'm back in Uganda, it's like I'm Holly Go-Darkly, or something.
So, to all the men in Uganda, for the next four days, I. AM. NOT. A. 'HO. I am 47 years old, and I have to get up every 3 hours in the middle of the night to pee, not to pleasure sweaty, disgusting strangers. And even if I WAS a 'ho, at least wait until I actually start advertising before approaching me.
Bottom line? Back up off me.
No comments:
Post a Comment