I have been being encouraged to go on vacation for a while – I'm not sure if this was due to my crazed smile or the blog where I joke (really) about harming my roommate(s) – so I'm finally taking the advice to heart. I hope to be off for a short while, collecting toiletries and possibly human hair for the Congolese women who have been eyeing mine a little too fondly. I'm unsure as to where/how to find the last, and sincerely doubting my ability to enter this country with the first as border crossings into this country usually feel like a prolonged exercise in futility (or, alternatively, a free shopping spree for the officials involved).
After trying all the brands of soaps available to me over the course of six months and finding that they all cause me to break out in an entertaining variety of colourful spots, I have gone back to my original facewash from Canada, which I had been jealously guarding in the hope that I would discover a Congolese equivalent. As I refuse to pay $11 for under a litre of conditioner, I'm also nearly out of this vital necessity that is at least half my DNA by this point. Unfortunately, the hard truth seems to be that no one but Western women understand the need for conditioner, as the cost of it in India also seems to more than the GDP of some countries.
On the upside, I will now eat crow about my cynicism about our whole water pump set-up. I fully admit that, though I hold Grandpa in high regard, I just didn't think that the piping system nor REGIDESO would meet him halfway. However, after two to three days of work, we can now have water at any time of the day or night!
Theoretically.
In reality, I'm confused. In the past, I'd collect all the water I could from REGIDESO whenever it deigned to arrive and figure out how to share with Butters. Now that the water is collected on the ground floor and pumped to the tank on the third, I feel like I have to figure out how to share with four levels of people to ensure that we're all getting enough. Equally.
To a chronically guilty person, this feels like only using water when it's there and wallowing in filth the rest of the time. To a hoarder, this feels like the end of the world. How do I know how much the ground floor received? They have three small children and a never-ending stream of laundry - can I ask them to pump water up at any time without a care in the world? Can I never collect some for a rainy droughty day? The woman who now lives on the third floor (with at least one toddler) goes and fills water from... somewhere in the neighbourhood that I don't know – do I just keep yelling down when my two roommates and I need more? Will we keep getting our way because we're 'white'?
You may say I'm an over-thinker, but I shouldn't be the only one.
Of course, Butters reasonably hypothesized that Mrs. Third Floor may not understand how the pump works or that she can now receive water in her homes whenever she wants. Which means that someone should explain it to her. Any takers?
The curse of my so-very-white skin goes both ways. Yesterday, a man in the market asked me to buy him a beignet for no other reason than our mutual existence on this planet in the skins God gave us. None of the usual Wow, you're beautiful just so wow are you Indian can you marry a... Just straight-up You're, like, a 2, but I find your passport and wallet very attractive; I'd love to see you go, but I'd hate to watch your bank account leave - knowaddimsayin'. This method is obnoxious, but at least it's honest and easier to deny.
Colleagues are warming to this idea of openness and honesty as well. Some of them have finally admitted to being disappointed with the 45th president of the United States. I was baffled by this about-turn – many of my friends had been supporting him in his run (misogyny is incubated here). It turns out that they'd been expecting him to depose certain despots around the world. You know, maybe eradicate some corruption and poverty. Basically give a flying fig about them.
...Humans are really cute sometimes, aren't they? You just kind of want to pet them on the head and gently remind them that life sucks and then you die. But you can't, so you just stifle a giggle.
I've been having to do this more and more often as my Facebook news feed blows up with articles from women of colour (WoC) about how white women (WW) should sit down and shut up because feminism is not about them.
Or something (See Appendix A).
I've seen some incredibly intelligent, sincere, kind people work through these issues on Facebook (even though it is not the best forum due to the mistranslation of emotion to type). I've also seen some similar (to be brutally honest) women absolutely shut down discussions because they were coming from men. I feel lost in a sea of words that concentrates on how we can never be the same because abortions, because privilege, because he's a man, because she's white, because I'm just so tired of trying to connect with you people. And this is fair. But it doesn't help.
The feminist label has been one I've only reluctantly accepted (because people I love and work with both misunderstand it and think it unnecessary and I have to very respectfully disagree), and now to be pushed into a coloured brand of it is scary and incredibly divisive. Alienating women who have a more powerful position in society will do nothing for feminism; walking alongside them may push the issues you find important to the forefront. To be perfectly honest, men in patriarchal societies disregard feminism because it's not in their best interests – it's up to women to continue to work, act, and speak intelligently and with dignity. Treating these men as enemies turns them into enemies. WW, though they should make every effort to listen and understand (and many do), have very little incentive to magically understand the struggles of WoC and less still to sit down and shut up, and this outpouring of frustration is doing nothing but creating distances when there should be greater understanding.
Here's to coming together.
After trying all the brands of soaps available to me over the course of six months and finding that they all cause me to break out in an entertaining variety of colourful spots, I have gone back to my original facewash from Canada, which I had been jealously guarding in the hope that I would discover a Congolese equivalent. As I refuse to pay $11 for under a litre of conditioner, I'm also nearly out of this vital necessity that is at least half my DNA by this point. Unfortunately, the hard truth seems to be that no one but Western women understand the need for conditioner, as the cost of it in India also seems to more than the GDP of some countries.
On the upside, I will now eat crow about my cynicism about our whole water pump set-up. I fully admit that, though I hold Grandpa in high regard, I just didn't think that the piping system nor REGIDESO would meet him halfway. However, after two to three days of work, we can now have water at any time of the day or night!
Theoretically.
In reality, I'm confused. In the past, I'd collect all the water I could from REGIDESO whenever it deigned to arrive and figure out how to share with Butters. Now that the water is collected on the ground floor and pumped to the tank on the third, I feel like I have to figure out how to share with four levels of people to ensure that we're all getting enough. Equally.
To a chronically guilty person, this feels like only using water when it's there and wallowing in filth the rest of the time. To a hoarder, this feels like the end of the world. How do I know how much the ground floor received? They have three small children and a never-ending stream of laundry - can I ask them to pump water up at any time without a care in the world? Can I never collect some for a
You may say I'm an over-thinker, but I shouldn't be the only one.
Of course, Butters reasonably hypothesized that Mrs. Third Floor may not understand how the pump works or that she can now receive water in her homes whenever she wants. Which means that someone should explain it to her. Any takers?
The curse of my so-very-white skin goes both ways. Yesterday, a man in the market asked me to buy him a beignet for no other reason than our mutual existence on this planet in the skins God gave us. None of the usual Wow, you're beautiful just so wow are you Indian can you marry a... Just straight-up You're, like, a 2, but I find your passport and wallet very attractive; I'd love to see you go, but I'd hate to watch your bank account leave - knowaddimsayin'. This method is obnoxious, but at least it's honest and easier to deny.
Colleagues are warming to this idea of openness and honesty as well. Some of them have finally admitted to being disappointed with the 45th president of the United States. I was baffled by this about-turn – many of my friends had been supporting him in his run (misogyny is incubated here). It turns out that they'd been expecting him to depose certain despots around the world. You know, maybe eradicate some corruption and poverty. Basically give a flying fig about them.
...Humans are really cute sometimes, aren't they? You just kind of want to pet them on the head and gently remind them that life sucks and then you die. But you can't, so you just stifle a giggle.
I've been having to do this more and more often as my Facebook news feed blows up with articles from women of colour (WoC) about how white women (WW) should sit down and shut up because feminism is not about them.
Or something (See Appendix A).
I've seen some incredibly intelligent, sincere, kind people work through these issues on Facebook (even though it is not the best forum due to the mistranslation of emotion to type). I've also seen some similar (to be brutally honest) women absolutely shut down discussions because they were coming from men. I feel lost in a sea of words that concentrates on how we can never be the same because abortions, because privilege, because he's a man, because she's white, because I'm just so tired of trying to connect with you people. And this is fair. But it doesn't help.
The feminist label has been one I've only reluctantly accepted (because people I love and work with both misunderstand it and think it unnecessary and I have to very respectfully disagree), and now to be pushed into a coloured brand of it is scary and incredibly divisive. Alienating women who have a more powerful position in society will do nothing for feminism; walking alongside them may push the issues you find important to the forefront. To be perfectly honest, men in patriarchal societies disregard feminism because it's not in their best interests – it's up to women to continue to work, act, and speak intelligently and with dignity. Treating these men as enemies turns them into enemies. WW, though they should make every effort to listen and understand (and many do), have very little incentive to magically understand the struggles of WoC and less still to sit down and shut up, and this outpouring of frustration is doing nothing but creating distances when there should be greater understanding.
Here's to coming together.
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At the risk of sounding desperate - PLEASE WRITE TO ME!