International relations

My travels have provided me ample opportunity to study the field of international relations first hand. And when I say international relations, I don’t mean the kind that involve diplomats and high-level meetings, although that would be nice. I’m more referring to the kind that line my suitcase with stories of sometimes humorous, often awkward encounters between myself and other men. 

Scene 1: Awkward dates

One time during an internship in Accra, I was asked out by a Ghanaian colleague. He picked me up and took me to a cafe where we sat and talked for a while. He was engaging, smart and gentlemanly. Or so I thought. Until he suggested we go to a dance club. Where there would be strippers. And in the course of that same conversation mentioned that he had a girlfriend. But that it wasn’t her business to be jealous about his being out with another girl. Needless to say, the date ended sooner than he’d been expecting. 

Another occasion, this time during a trip to Sarajevo, saw me being taken on a tour of the city by motorcycle. A man I’d met on a previous trip wanted to take me out, and since I fancied him I agreed. He was older, worldly, accomplished, intelligent, and smooth enough to make me feel flattered but not uncomfortable with his frank interest. We spent a very enjoyable evening conversing and seeing the sights, and he briefly alluded to a sort-of girlfriend with whom he had hit a rough patch. I remained relatively guarded throughout the evening and deflected his two attempts at kissing me, all the while feeling positively giddy because I couldn’t believe a man of this calibre would be interested in me. 

Upon return home, I googled him and found several article interviews in which he mentioned his children. So this sort-of girlfriend was actually his wife. And they had three children together. This isn’t a detail one simply forgets to mention. Needless to say, I felt tricked and a little mortified. 

I don’t like to think of myself as a naive person, but sometimes I can be a little ingenuous….okay fine, those mean the same thing. Whatever. But what can I say? I’ve never had a reason to expect men to lie to me. And when it does happen, it takes me by surprise. Hopefully now I’ve learned my lesson…? 

Scene 2: Unwanted attention

This is the most exasperating. I really don’t know why it keeps happening, but I’ve had several of these types of encounters. You know, that guy who is either drunk, high, lacking in social skills or simply under the impression that he is God’s gift to women. I could tell you about the guy at Budapest airport who started talking to me, then wouldn’t leave me alone, to the point that he actually missed his flight (he was high). Or the Greek guy working as a tour guide in NYC’s Financial District who wanted to follow me back to my office (he thought he was God’s gift to women). Or the guy who started following me down the street, asking me if I wanted to go grab a pizza. It took several minutes until he understood that I wasn't interested (he didn’t have social skills). I could go on. 

I suspect this keeps happening because I’m just not rude enough. I don’t like hurting people’s feelings and I don’t like to brush people off, so I'll try to let them down easy.... and in the mean time, it's just awkward. 

Scene 3: Feminine wiles 

Just recently I went to Rome for a conference and since I arrived late at night, I had to get a taxi to the hotel because public transport wasn’t an option. Having been to Italy before, I knew to do my research and was informed by the hotel that taxi fare from the airport was €65. Armed with the email in my phone, I walked out to the taxi drivers and braced myself for intense negotiation. The first guy quoted me €75 and when I, in my rudimentary Italian, informed him that I wasn’t going to fall for that one he insisted that there was no way he could go lower. The next guy was a bit more willing to reduce his price, but when I told him I would be paying in plastic he shook his head. Same with the third guy. So I went back in to get cash out of the ATM, and when I returned we haggled a bit more and I finally got him down to €65, though he muttered several times during the ride that the price is normally higher, etc etc. His utterances fell on deaf ears - I had held my ground and I had triumphed. I felt pleased with myself.

When I got to the hotel I asked the receptionist about the price again, just to confirm that I had done right. She informed me that €65 was the price for a taxi arranged by the hotel. Grabbing just any taxi from the airport cost €75. 

Oops. 

When I told the receptionist, somewhat guiltily, that I’d negotiated the price down, she was impressed and said, “Good for you,” with a knowing wink. I do it sparingly, but sometimes it really helps to play the poor-attractive-female-in-need-of-assistance card. In South America and the Mediterranean, that card is gold. 

Scene 4: Fatherly concern 

In my interaction with Africans through the years, it’s become clear to me that it’s very important for them to suss out my marital status. If a young woman is single, then they will by all means feel compelled to help find her a suitable husband. I find this hilarious and endearing, but it can catch you off guard if you’re not prepared for it. At the aforementioned conference in Rome, I spent the first morning’s breakfast next to a very dignified and fatherly Sierra Leonine man who, as we engaged in conversation, asked me about my family, if I was single and engaged or single and available, etc. When I told him how it is, literally his first question was “So why aren’t the guys coming around? You’re attractive and intelligent.” As we proceeded to jointly discuss and lament my marital status, along with the broader phenomenon of strong, accomplished women having a hard time finding someone to marry, he said, “I’m going to pray that you will find a husband.” And he did. Right there at the table. 

Ten minutes before I had to leave for the airport to return to Sweden, another of my new African friends came up to me and asked if he could pose a personal question, “on behalf of a friend.” He wanted to know if I was single, “on behalf of a friend.” I smiled to myself. Because it’s just sweet. I find the fatherly concern touching.