I Remember The Times: Travelling Through The Balkans As A #woc

It is what it is. Being a woman of color travelling alone through The Balkans, through Europe, is not nearly what I thought it would be, wanted it to be. Nature here is more than breathtaking, though at times the wind blowing really does take your breath away. Nature here is powerful, humbling, nurturing. I have learned so much about myself, how I am, why I think the way I do, my fears, my intense thoughts, my ever-changing disdain for willful ignorance amongst individuals. It's true, it's sad, it's reality. People are ignorant, we all are, I am. What makes their ignorance rage-inducing is the fact that many of them love this ignorance, love to bask in the warmth and comfortability of their prolonged and willful ignorance. But their vibe is also giving "accept whatever you can get." Some months ago I had a conversation with someone who stated that I may have to get with someone that is short and fat. Is it possible that the person meant specifically for me is "short and fat? " Yes. Will I simply accept advances from a person of that stature because no one else is available/of interest to me? Absolutely not. But, to have someone tell you that that is all you have to look forward to is, telling. I am not an individual that minces words or hides the truth simply to keep the peace, though peace is something for which I hunger. But, here it is. I believe many here, in The Balkans, feel that someone like me, a woman of color, travelling alone, tatted, older and foreign, should settle, settle for whatever I can get. While they may see me as undesirable, unattractive and unworthy of their respect, unworthy of what I find attractive, I myself know who I am and this is very valuable. The fact that I remain unattached to a walking penis seems to trigger their ideas of normalcy and tradition. Are they aware that we are in the latter part of the year 2024 and their ideas are in the latter part of outdated? Maybe this is why they fight so intensely to morph my chosen lifestyle into their definition of unacceptable, unworthy and undesirable. There are those who see different, me, as bad, terrible, "bizzare," (said to me by one of two males as I'm walking down the street in Budva, and no, no one else was around), and/or "nem normalna" (said by one of two females as I was working out while staying at a campsite in Bacinska Jezera, Croatia and on many other occasions throughout my time in The Balkans). Imagine if I accepted the value that all these strangers, both male and female, attempted to attach to me...I would possibly be as miserable and normal as they portray themselves to be. Not every woman wants or needs the forceful, "good intentions" of random, unknown males or the acceptance of traditional females. Serbia was the first Balkan country I visited, travelled through, for years. After those experiences, having been spoken to with such disrespect, dismissiveness and vulgarity by males from Serbia and other Balkan countries, I surmised that Balkan males were 'barbarians.' This assessment of the majority of Balkan males remained with me, in my mind, until I researched Barbarians. While I now have decided not to compare Balkan males to any other humans throughout history, I also know and have experienced how cruel they can be, even after platonic loyalty and kindness are shown and given to them. Have I met kind, Balkan individuals? Yes. The gentlemen at the gas station on the outskirts of Tuzla who gave me an old phone from the lost and found (which lasted me another year), without anything any return from me other than a conversation over tea. The gentleman who brought me food on the outskirts of Sarajevo and made sure I was okay while I wild camped near his shop. The man who bought me a drink at the bar when I went dancing in Sarajevo at Club Trezor; he said he was "trying to bribe you" but I believe, hope, he was being funny. But, that was all he ever said to me. Sidenote, I heard a singer at that same club, Trezor, her name is Tam, if I'm not mistaken. If you're ever in Serbia (I believe that's where she's from) or if she comes to your city, please go and listen to her. Music transcends and helps one to transcend and I thoroughly enjoyed her music that night, now, back to the post. There were two gentlemen from Srebrenik who graciously fixed Csiga's wheel after it bent and we were stuck in the town for a day. One of those gentlemen, Haris, actually gave me a wheel from his own bike and told me which way to avoid. God bless them. There were also two other young men who came by after the wheel was fixed and let me know, correctly, that I needed a wheel alignment. We took a photo together, and that was all the "payment" that was needed. I didn't need to take photos with any of them but if the energy is right, I like to show unity, peace and gratitude by taking photos with kind individuals, if they ask; this was in the past. After a male in Herzegovina grabbed me and tried to kiss me right after a photo was taken, I have stopped taking photos with males, for the most part. There was one gentleman from Ljubuski, owner of the apartment in which I was staying, who asked for a photo after the grabbing incident and I didn't feel any negative energy from him, so I obliged, especially since his father took the photo. That is one of the biggest issues I have here in The Balkans. So many individuals have asked for photos...and to buy me tea or another drink. The conundrum is how to be social and build unity without breaking my safety walls. As I have written about before, there was a male who bought me tea only to question me about where my breasts were and to later touch me on my left butt cheek and bare left shoulder as I walked up the stairs (link post here). That's it, that's it right there. Travelling solo is seen as a negative here. One of the first questions many have asked is "where is your husband? " or simply said "slobodna" as I sit in cafes attempting to have quiet reading time. This is damn near impossible in The Balkans, which is understandable. The Balkan cafe culture is dominated by males who smoke with their coffee and sit with other males who do the same. So then the picture can be clearly painted for y'all. A short, dark brown woman reading and writing with her cup of nana tea amidst a sea of, at times, very loud Balkan males laughing and questioning my presence underneath clouds and fogs of cigarette smoke. Many of them may feel that I must enjoy being around them because I'm usually the only female in the cafe; the truth is I don't enjoy this kind of atmosphere. Cigarette smoke really bothers me and I don't feel it's any of their business whether I'm "slobodna" or not because that is not my purpose for being in the cafe. Recently I was sitting and reading at a cafe and an older male came up to my table. After I kept ignoring him and he kept standing there I finally looked up and said 'I'm reading.' This didn't mean much to him, if anything at all. For over the next two hours, he told me about the Jamaican woman in The States, Las Vegas to be exact, whose name he didn't know but with whom he had had sex with multiple times. He told me about how frequently how she changed the color of her hair. He told me how although he has a daughter he "really needs" to have a son to which I responded, 'I can't help you.' He told me how much he loves black women and how he hasn't seen one in Montenegro. He told me about how he would never say the word "nigger" as he said the word "nigger" to explain this. He told me that he was from Las Vegas but when he asked me where I was from and I told him 'Chicago' he responded "No, you are African. The U.S. is the country that gave you your opportunity." My God, my God, my God where do I begin, how do I begin to explain how disrespectful, inaccurate and debasing all of this was? For context, this male was born in Crna Gora, Montenegro, and moved to Las Vegas thirty years ago, he is now 61. Do the math and you will see that all this adds up to another white male who was dying to say nigger to a person of African descent and tell this person in a roundabout way to go back to Africa. So many of them feel similarly to this ignorant male who interrupted my peaceful reading time at a Balkan cafe. I've been told by them near Dubrovnik, Croatia to "go home, go home." By the way, this particular cafe has given me moments of peace but the night this particular male approached me wasn't one of them. Right now as I write this I am on my way to a cafe. I need to get some fresh air and go for a walk, so why not. But, when I tell you it takes so much self-motivation to get to the cafe knowing that there"ll be people there who I may need to defend myself against, verbally and/or physically, the desire to just stay inside increases. And, yes, for most of the conversation with the 61-year old male, I just said 'right' or 'hmm' as my only hope was that he stop interrupting me as the book I was reading (The Damned Yard by Ivo Andric) is an excellent collection of writings. Something else excellent about The Balkans is the family from Gracanica that took me in for four nights and five days. I think about them a lot and still have the drawing of myself their son gave to me. My heart has nothing but love for them and I hope to see them again one day. And many of the individuals who I saw and met at the RnB events in Sarajevo, my heart has appreciation and gratitude for. The last time I went to one of these events, a young lady walked up to me, gave me a compliment and said, "Welcome to Sarajevo." That was one of the kindest, simplest, most memorable things someone has said to me and I am both saddened and happy to recall this memory. Saddened because I know I will not be returning to this part of the world, The Balkans, because of all the nastiness I encountered and personally experienced here and happy to know that individuals like her and others exist. So while my almost ten-year journey through The Balkans has been heart-breaking on man

y levels, I am grateful that The Universe made sure my path crossed through Sarajevo, my favorite city, outside of Chi-town, of course.