readjust the unmentioned power relations between themselves and me.
I might be older, better educated, and better off financially, but the ‘street
corner boys’ invoked a particular understanding of the malefemale rela-
tionship to demarcate that they were on the up in our relationship. I was
not from around there, and my being at ease on the square was not the
sought after equilibrium of their space.
Though with the passing of time the square had gotten used to my pre-
sence and no longer consistently countered my objections that I was of the
police, I still firmly remained an Other. On a few occasions I get sexually
approached in a physical manner. In these instances it is not always possi-
ble to walk away and I have to find a way to deal with the situation.
Invariably I do this by appealing to personal characteristics that I had not
intended to exhibit in my research site. Concretely, I invoke my quality as a
‘wife and mother’. I do this expecting thatin the perspective of the men
engaging upon methis information will delegitimize their actions.
The following field note dates from the same Saturday as the narrative
above:
It is around 10 pm and I am in the Egyptian grillroom. Aside from the two bar ladies I
am the only woman in the place. Also in the bar is a young Somali male I have seen
before on the square. He is in his mid-20s, well groomed and a well-trained corpus. He
starts to focus his attention on me, takes the seat next to me and remarks that I give a
man three legs. I tell him I do not like the insinuation, and he retorts that he did not
mean anything with the remark, I am hearing things he did not say, I am making much
about nothing, it is all in my head.
He stays where he is and starts talking to my neighbour at the bar. Pretty soon after-
wards, he leans over the bar counter to reach for something, and in the process crushes
me between himself and the counter. I am not a small person, but this is a pretty big
guy, and his ‘third leg’ is pressed firmly against me. I manage to squeeze free and
angrily tell him not to do this. In reply, he blows his top. He yells at me, first in my face
and subsequently whilst he removes himself to the other side of the bar. Though I feel
the whole bar monitoring the situation, nobody lets on that they are aware of what is
going on. I sense that if I leave now, I forego my access to this pivotal place in my field-
work site. Hence I stay where I am, sip my ice-tea and eventually strike up a conversa-
tion with another person in the bar. Meanwhile, I try to figure out how to resolve the
situation. Eventually, I do this by appealing to my personal status. When I am ready to
leave I approach my aggressor and ask if I can say something. He makes a dismissive
gesture. I say, loud enough for all to hear, that I have a husband and that I am the
mother of three young children. I want to give due respect, but for this I need to receive
due respect. I do not want to have a problem with him, and I do not want him to have
a problem with me. So can we agree to respect each other? And I offer him my hand
for a handshake. He lets my hand hang mid-air for a moment too long, then shakes it,
does not meet my eyes, but sighs ‘sure’. I figure this is as good as it will get, smile and
say ‘wonderful’. I gather my coat and stuff, say a general good evening to everyone in
the bar and make my way out of place.^13‘You Are Not from Around Here, Are You.’ 9