The Time I Was a Prostitute
It was junior year of undergrad and your home girl (me) was gearing up to spend a semester in Madrid, Spain. The Spanish department highly recommends the study abroad program for Spanish majors, but I was mostly in it for the cheap travels, good wine, bomb food…and I suppose the chance to finally speak proper Spanish. Now this wasn’t my first time traveling outside of the country, but I understood I wouldn’t be with the fam-bam, and more importantly I would actually be living in Madrid, not just visiting. There isn’t a book on traveling while black, so I took to Google to help me prepare for life as a black woman traveling through Spain.
Search results: Prostitute.
Numerous blogs and reviews featured black women detailing their accounts of being mistaken as African prostitutes. Being a savvy researcher, I decided to get a second opinion and reached out to a sista who completed the Spain program a year prior. To my surprise she had no issues and encouraged me to stay positive, “What you give is what you get.” Okay cool. Said sista is hella light skinned, so I also kept that in mind because let’s be real, fair skinned black people are treated differently than dark skinned ones. After my investigation, I made a point to hit up my friend — the only other black woman who would be on this excursion with me. “Hey be ready to be treated like a prostitute or whatever, but what you give is what you get you know.”
Fast forward: Three weeks later I step off the plane in beautiful Madrid! Ya girl is feeling good, happy to be out of the US, excited to meet the host fam, I had hella positive vibes. I hop in a taxi, hand the driver my address written in perfect Spanish (I verified), and this fool still manages to get lost. Meanwhile I’m in the backseat planning my escape route just in case he tries to pull a fast one ’cause female, new country, different language, by my lonesome, just a natural case of “watch your back.”
Anywho, taxi driver pulls up to a car with three guys, and asks the driver if he knows anything about the address. Instead of providing a yes or no to what I thought was a simple yes or no question, the driver looks at me sitting in the backseat and says, “No puedo pagarla” (I cannot afford her). Um excuse me! How you know I got that platinum good good! *smirks Cardi B face* But seriously?! Day one and already I’ve been mistaken for a prostitute! So much for my give good get good attitude. -_-
I wish I could tell you this was the last time I was taken for a prostitute but, no. Going about my merry business (fully clothed, mind you) I was called puta (slut), perra (bitch), zorra (vixen), putana (hooker)…that wasn’t all, but I’ll spare you. One night a group of guys followed me for about a block calling me perra morena (black bitch), until one of them decided I wasn’t worth the chase. On another occasion I was cornered by a white Spanish man who exclaimed, “I have always wanted to try a black girl, but just didn’t want to take her home.” Yea, people are pretty vile.
Now don’t get me wrong, I had an amazing time in Spain gallivanting with the homies, but this was my experience. Is there a large population of African prostitutes? Yes. Unfortunately this is the life many resort to as it is incredibly difficult to find work in Spain unless you are a citizen. Thus, many of the Africans there are scalpers, drug mules/dealers, and prostitutes, desperately looking for a way to make a better life in a country with a tad more opportunity.
The fact I even needed to run a background check on being black in Spain speaks volumes to race relations worldwide. Living in Spain was the first time I had a black experience other than my black American experience, which, shed light on the challenges of black women residing in Spain. To be consciously aware of this new identification caused me to view the world differently, and to understand my black will mean something different everywhere I go. To those black and brown folk who took the time to read this through; I encourage you to take precautionary measures and do your research before travelling. Who knows where life’s journey will take you, better to prepared than not. And remember what you give is what you get. Don’t let one, two, or a few negative encounters ruin your travel experience.
Travel light, love heavy, and always keep sweet
Ricka
