I know I begged for summer. I begged for its warmth, its sunshine, and its familiarity. I take it back. I take it all back. I don’t like summer here.
In summer, I must deal with an increase in shady Moroccan men. This warm weather encourages them to be more “friendly.” I have come to some sort of acceptance with the verbal harassment. It was always present in the winter but compared to now, winter harassment season is mild. In summer harassment season, I must deal with explicit French and English phrases; being touched (re: grabbed, which has now reached into the double digits); and the obvious staring (and staring).
Sooner or later, the harassment (or I) is going to reach a tipping point. But for now, I have accepted that it is going to get worse before it gets better.
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