The catcalling started from the moment I first stepped out of my cab into the streets of León, Nicaragua.  And it never ceased the entire month I stayed there.  Catcalling is tiresome and irritating, but it’s harmless, right? Or is it a sign of something more sinister?  Like harassment from a misogynist? 

I’m used to walking alone.  I’ve lived in Chicago, San Francisco, Los Angeles, San Diego, and Maui.  All of these places have areas where you need to be street smart when walking alone, especially as a woman.  I’ve had situations when I’ve felt uncomfortable, but I always knew how to deal with it.  A man follows to close behind me, and I cross the street.  A man makes comments about my body while he walks near to me, and I hail the next cab I see.  I see a suspicious group of men, and I walk into the police station until I get a ride home.  These have always been mild situations, and perhaps I was being overly cautious.  I also had the advantage of being in a city, country, and culture that I understood.  I knew what the social rules were, and if men appeared to be putting their toe across the line, I would take some defensive moves.  

In Nicaragua, I was suddenly exposed to a culture where the social rules of my culture no longer applied.  I wasn’t sure where the line was drawn for inappropriate treatment of women.  I did realize, that it appeared to be the majority of local men that catcalled women.  I generally saw white women being catcalled, but Latina women were hollered at as well. .  The catcalling happened regardless of the circumstances: day or night, crowded or uncrowded street, a girl alone or in a group.  To avoid catcalling entirely, I would have to jump directly into a cab from my front door, have the cab take me ten meters to the entrance of my school, and sprint inside the door.  Even then, I think somebody might sneak in a catcall.  

Granted, white women tend to dress a little differently than the local women.  Women in León typically wear jean pants or long skirts.  Since the temperature was on average 100 degrees Farhenheit, I personally enjoyed wearing shorts and a tank top.  I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my comfort and start wearing jeans.  By changing my clothes, it still wasn’t guaranteed that I would avoid catcalls.  

The first time I was grabbed was on the bus to the beach.  My friends and I were standing in the back of the bus.  My friend David was on one side, and a teenage Nica boy was on my right.  He tried talking to me in Spanish, but his words were slurred (seemingly due to alcohol).  He began to touch my thigh, I deflected him with my messenger bag.  He continued to try to maneuver around it.  I gave him a good shove with my messenger bag.  He got the idea.  

The following morning, I was walking alone to meet my friends for breakfast. As I took my first step into the restaurant, a man grabbed my ass and disappeared around the corner.  The waiters in the restaurant saw it and quickly turned their faces from me to hide their laughter.  I think the men that find this treatment of women funny are just as guilty as the men doing the touching.  

The third time, I was walking home from dinner with a group of girls.  The street we were on began having less people, so we decided to cross the street and head to a more public road.  As we crossed the street, a man rode up behind me, and firmly grabbed my ass while saying God knows what to me.  I was completely shocked.  I instantly screamed.  My friends gathered around me to find out what happened.  They put their arms around me, and I started to cry.  It was overwhelming to me.  I had only been in the country ten days, and three men had violated the privacy of my body.  I was angry.  I had no way to retaliate to these men.  They either wouldn’t understand the words I would say to them, or maybe they would even enjoy the reaction.  Besides, in two of the instances, they were gone before I had a chance to think of a response.  

I continued to cry as I walked home with my friends.  I got home and sat in the courtyard, cradling my head in my hands.  I tried to process why these men were doing this.  I tried to process why it bothered me so much.  And I tried to process what I had done to invite this treatment.  I felt guilt, and I felt shame.  Why is it that women so often blame themselves for the mistreatment others bestow on them?  We, as women, are never at fault when being harassed or assaulted.  I considered leaving Nicaragua early.  I didn’t want to stay another three weeks in a place where I would feel unsafe.  

I decided to stay after talking with my friends and the advisor for the class I was taking.  My new strategic plan was to walk everywhere with either my butt against the wall or my butt hidden by my messenger bag.  I was told to be extremely cautious while walking in the street, because sometimes men will slap you while driving past.  Apparently, it can make quite a loud sound.  Good to know, and I’m glad I never got to experience that firsthand.  

The first few days after walking in the street my body tensed up every time I had to walk near a man.  I was suspicious of everyone.  I was constantly crossing to the other side of the street to avoid walking near a male of any age. Sometimes I was crossing three to four times within one block. When men would catcall, I cursed them silently in my head and hurried away. Thankfully, the remaining three weeks went by without incidence.  I think this is only partially due to me keeping my ass against the wall and hidden behind my messenger bag.  I also walked through the the city with my eyes on the ground or staring straight ahead.  I tried to dissipate any feminine energy that I had by changing my body language.  It hurt my heart to try to hide my self-expression as a woman.    But I decided to do it because I couldn’t emotionally handle being grabbed again.

After the subsequent week passed and I hadn’t been grabbed, I started to relax. I managed to find a bit of understanding. I would see men catcalling women when their sons were with them. This is a deeply ingrained behavior. I can’t expect people to change from how they were raised. I also managed to find some humor in the situation. A man was driving past me and my friends, and he catcalled us. His girlfriend was on the back of his motorcycle and she gave him a swift punch in the side. Thanks sister!!!!

I also enjoyed the poor translation that happened when men would try to speak to us. When people in Nicaragua want to say “what’s up”, they say “adios”. So sometimes men would walk up to us and say “Bye, my name is Danny.” we couldn’t help but giggle every time a guy would say that!

While learning to find humor and understanding of this culture, it’s still important to hope for change.  Catcalling and ass-grabbing is a symptom of something darker.  One third of Nicaraguan women experience violence from their partner.  Law 779 was written to help protect women, and it went into effect in 2012.  Unfortunately, they weakened the law to allow for mediation.  Mediation appears to often mean no punishment and that these issues should be resolved within the family and the church.  But I’d like you to take a moment and read this account of a  woman.  Her husband tried to suffocate her in the middle of the night, and the police suggested ‘mediation’.  

I have very limited knowledge of the gender culture in Nicaragua.  But I found hope watching people gather together for International Women’s Day.  I hope women (and men) continue to question and discuss the treatment of women.  Naturally, I wish I hadn’t experienced the catcalling and grabbing while living in León, but I am thankful that it helped to expose me to the reality of women in this society.