Saturday, June 23, 2012


A few days ago I passed a group of men on my way home from the office. “Good afternoon” I greeted them, as I greet every person I walk past. “Good afternoon!” one of them said, leering at me, “you are very pretty!” I continued walking quickly by them. “Hey!” he yelled at me, his tone changing to reprimanding and angry, “when someone tells you you’re pretty, you say thank you!” Hmmm, so now you’re lecturing me on manners?
I ran into a few of the trainees yesterday and they said “we rode the chapa here with your friend, he kept saying he knew Anata.” I had no idea who they were talking about, so they elaborated “he’s the border police who climbed the mountain and took pictures with you.” I laughed, his memory is a little different from the version I remember. The way I remember it, I climbed the mountain with Andrea and got harassed by this guy and another border police when I was returning. Apparently he learned my name when he took my passport and remembered that I had said I climbed the mountain that day to take pictures. I laughed and wasn’t surprised slightly that we would recount the encounter and our relationship so differently, but the trainees seemed a little more put off and puzzled by this.

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