HELP! Spaniards Think I'm a Prostitute!

Catherine Deneuve in Belle du Jour

Currently loved up with her boyfriend in Málaga, here's a question from fellow expat, interracial dater and blogger, Nedra:

Well I wanted to ask your opinion (or advice) because I'm having a hard time with the fact that before (Study Abroad '08) when old men would give me lewd looks I just chalked it up to fetishism/being old. (Now living here till '08.) One day I told my boyfriend about one such brazen old man who actually invited me out for coffee so I simply turned him down, but nicely. My boyfriend was INFURIATED and explained that if someone approaches me like that on the street it's because they a. think I'm a prostitute, or, b. think I'm looking for Spanish citizenship (a passport prostitute). This was my first time ever hearing anything of the sort. After more convo he pretty much told me that most African women here are prostitutes and I a m having a REAL issue dealing wig that because obvi black=African here and it bothers the shit out of me that my friends (white) can be mistaken for bay and everything, including Spanish, and I AUTOMATICALLY have to be an African prostitute. Now this isn't the case ALL the time, when I go out and stuff--a prostitute isn't going to be in bars drinking and dancing it up like I am every Thursday-Sat). They mostly think I'm Dominican because I speak Spanish. But it bothers me a lot walking through the streets, being on the bus, and wondering if the guy next to me would like to pay me to blow him (graphic, I know, but I've read your blog and I know you'd appreciate it :-)). I guess my question. Is, how would you deal with it?

I know that I just have to kinda wander around and not worry about what people think but it's kinda lonely sometimes when all the Españoles may or may not think you're a prostitute and the Africans give you dirty looks, for one, that hair...get a perm! And two, "who does she think she is?" I know you have way more experience dealing with this than I do so I thought, why not reach out?

Nedra, I love you. And though it's taken me about 3 months to answer it, I love this question. Let's start with a true little ditty set in the South of Spain, cerca last year. Seville to be precise.

So, I'm walking from a dinner party to an Irish pub with a big group of artist friends. I've fallen into conversation with a rather famous artist; trained in France, works hanging in every major museum in Europe, residences in South of France and all over South America. He is major. And I've been trying to get next to him--for an interview!--for days. So we're walking through the city center, past this cathedral and that palace. And we do that dance groups in motion do, flowing in and out of conversation with one person or another, falling in and out of step with one person or another. Finally, I end up side-by-side with Brilliant Spanish Artist Man. He's short, bald, pot bellied and kinda liquored up, but his brilliance doesn't disappoint.

I should have known what was up when he said, "Stop. Look at the moon."

But what came next was the give away--

"This reminds me of that poem by Gabriel Garcia Lorca, where a little boy tells the moon, Si vinieran a los gitanos, harían con tu corazón collares y anillos blancos..."

I'm so geeked out by this point, I'm that kiss ass co-ed in the front of the class with her hand up, totally missing the signs--

"If the gypsies came they'd make white jewels of you, love... from Romance de La Luna, no?"

He slips his arm through mine. He's a little drunk so I let it slide, but soon realize that we've lost sight of the rest of the group. Just as we're nearing the hotel, he stops me again, stands directly in front of me and puts his hands on my face.

"What're you doing?"
"Just a kiss."
"I don't think so."

The next morning, at breakfast, I tell KK, a children's book author and good friend. "No he didn't!", she says. "Unfortunately, yes. He ruined everything. And now he's looking at me like I pissed on his paint set." Who did he think he was? Did he think just because I'm black that I'd be easier than, say, my friend?

A few nights later, we meet up with another artist woman. White, from the Basque region of Spain, and knows the whole crew. KK insists I tell Basque Artist Girl the story of Brilliant Spanish Artist Man.

"Girl, you know he tried to kiss me...", I venture.
Basque Artist Girl's response is one for the ages---
"Did he quote Lorca to you, too? I don't know why he thought that would work on me..."

Moral of the story: MEN ARE NASTY. Sometimes they try it on with you not because your black, but because THAT'S WHAT THEY DO.

Don't take this no kinda way, but your man's gonna have to mellow the fuck out.

You're living together, all up in the fam, and so far he has ante'd up. Seems like a good solid dude. But I'm confused... Why exactly he is infuriated? Because men approach you for coffee or because he thinks they think you're a prostitute? That's a long mental road to pissed off. Not to mention, it seems his reaction has triggered your anxieties. No bueno. When the shit hits the abanico, somebody's gotta keep a cool head. I mean, do his male relatives think you're a prostitute? Did he think you were a prostitute when you met? No? Then it's impossible that all Spanish men think this way. Tell him to save that fire for when something really happens, like in the Catskills 5 years ago with my ex, the Genovese, when the B&B owner refused to shake my hand...

As an interracial couple, you will be a target. And this race thing is janky enough without him being "infuriated!" about what he thinks men are thinking when they approach you when he isn't even around.

Furthermore, don't stifle yourself. You obviously already get that you do have to "sort of wander around and not worry about what other people think". But there's more to it. It's none of your business what they think. It only matters how you feel, then, what you do.

In case you missed it, that was your permission to react. Careful not to overreact, but if you're feeling belittled, offended, or insulted by an invitation to coffee, it's perfectly okay (even necessary) to let it out. Blow off some steam. I like to let folks know who they're dealing with.

For example, a street conversation with an undesirable could go like this:

"Quieres tomar algo?" (Wanna get a drink?)

"NO. NO I DON'T."

or like this..

"Quieres tomar algo?"

"I'M SORRY, WHAT? HOW CAN I HELP YOU?"

Take their African prostitute and raise them an Annoying American. Cool that you speak perfect Spanish, but that can work against you. The language you speak often says more than what you're actually saying...feel me?  

Of course they're gonna holler. Can you blame 'em?

Lastly, Don't Go It Alone! Expat life can have you feeling like Tom Hanks in Castaway. In return, you get the chance to [re]build your life exactly how you want it, from scratch. Including your support network. So do it.

In Barcelona, I'm lucky to have my group of sisters. A nation of millions, we're not, but it's a great comfort to have people who can chop it up on it means to be black in Spain. Besides Madrid, the rest of Spain is not so mixed. You simply may not have the raw material to weave this type of net. Still, there are things you can do.

I say, don't underestimate your American friends. Maybe they don't have the same views or experiences as you do as an expat, but I find that my white American friends are more likely to talk about race abroad, than I imagine they'd be at home. Perhaps because racism in Spain doesn't implicate them, most at least lend a sympathetic ear. Perhaps it's because they, too, are misunderstood and stereotyped abroad. If you've got very close friends here, trust them. It may take your friendship to deeper level. Or they may hate you for making them uncomfortable. In which case, I'll accept full responsibility for being wrong as the day is long...

Are you absolutely sure you're the only black American woman living in Malaga? Maybe there are some Frenchies or black English girls living in Malaga? They may be alone, asking themselves the same questions, looking for the same type of solace. Find them. Check the Black Women In Europe Social Network. Send out an Internet APB. Something...

Let's start here: Anyone know a black woman who's not a prostitute living in or soon moving to, Malaga?

And for the record, because this post just isn't long enough, I wouldn't worry about what the actual prostitutes are thinking either. They've got much bigger issues to deal with than your hair.