The day after I first arrived in Mexico I began exploring my new city with a fellow Xavieran, Luzma. As we walked the cobblestone streets marvelling at the colourful houses and the old buildings she said to me, "You know, I just don't think I'll ever find Mexicans very attractive." I laughed and assured her that she would change her mind. I on the other hand had always been very assured that a country full of dark haired, dark skinned men would never fail to deliver. Days later we were off to latin dance class offered at our language school. Completely assuming that the only Mexican that would be in the room would be the teacher I was surprised to see a few Mexicans, who were definitely not in need of lessons, across the room.
The class began with a short man, with the build of a high school gym teacher, arranging us into a circle and then calling out, in the inaudible way a southerner does with a mouth full of chew, directions on how we should move. In between trying to make my body move to the steps, the turns, and the hip thrusts of salsa, bachata, and merengue I watched as pairs of brown creamy eyes scanned the room. Unabashedly selecting who they would soon be dancing with. By the exchange of snickers and whispers dancing, I am sure, was only the opening scene for the foreign fantasy film they had planned in their heads. Before I had really made up my mind whether or not I wanted to dance with one of these Baila-nators here HE was. Geredo was his name, but with his balmy black curls and boyish smile he might as well have been Don Juan.
As he swaggered away from his gang he put his hand out and shyly asked, "Jhew wan tsu dance wiv me?" How could I say no?
The sounds of the spanish guitar, wailing Latin voices and horns blared that hot August afternoon. I could feel Gerardos hand firmly presses on my lower back. I became increasingly aware of it as it grew increasingly damp. For the next hour and a half he pushed and pulled and spun me around. He could have cared less that it was my first day. I couldn't say a single thing to save myself, not even the ones that I wanted to yell out, like, "HELP!" "Dizzy" "Slower?" "You want me to what?" "No really! You want me to WHAT?!"
So there I was completely merciless to the moves of Gerardo, only armed with my nervous laughter and the mixed looks of horror, angst, and embarrassment that must have been oozing through my every pore. The night ended as many to follow with Don Juan trying to conquest me through broken English and stolen kisses.
In the end Luzma discovered her great love for Mexican men, one in particular, and I for days and nights of sweating bodies, dripping faces, laughter and the endless pounding of Latin rhythms filling the air.
Screech! Rewind.
It would be a little misleading if I didn’t mention the day when boys being Mexican boys and girls trying to be Mexican girls, but really being Canadian girls, all cam ripping apart.
For the first month or so salsa classes were the highlighted events of the week for me. In my spare time I would YouTube professionals and try to imitate them in front of the mirror waiting for the day when I could practice again. How nice it was not to have to try to speak Spanish, just dance and laugh. Gerardo was everything I wanted. He was good at dancing, and didn’t mind that I wasn’t, he invited me out, he dotted over me, and flirted unabashedly. Things were going so nicely. Then one day I entered class and he glanced at me…no…he glanced over or maybe even through me. Without so much as a hello, or even eye contact, he gave me a quick cool kiss on the cheek and proceeded to dance with someone new.
I couldn’t believe it. Imagine!
The clock slowly ticked as I waited song after song for the chance to dance. I fumed while pondering why he might be acting this way. What a child! What a moody little baby! There I sat on the edge of a table that had been pushed into the corner of the room feeling like last weeks flavor. I was not going to put up with this! I would not dignify his behavior by joining in on his games. I didn’t have any romantic interest in him; all I wanted was my dance partner back.
The class ended with me quick on his heals. He wouldn’t look at me but acted as though everything in the world was absolutely perfect. Infuriating! He laughed and spoke loudly to his friends. Super infuriating!!! I had been effectively deleted and I was going to put up a fight! Heated debate and much rough translation followed as I found myself fighting for my worth. Gerardo had decided that he wasn’t getting anywhere (anywhere specifically being the bedroom) with me and since he was in no need of knew friends I was no longer of any value. So what just because he couldn’t own me we couldn’t dance together?!
“*@#!ING MACHO MEXICANS!” screamed out in my mind for months to follow.
How very typical. Fricken Don Juan enters the scene all dark, handsome, romantic and suave only to end up being a possessive asshole. Super, all the stereotypes were so unfortunately coming true.
Could they all really be true? I came home to see my host dad giving kisses to my host mom while doing his favorite kitchen duty, cutting fruits and veggies into perfect bite sizes. That didn’t seem all that macho. He was kind to her and she didn’t seem to be owned…maybe they were just an exception. Thank God for exceptions. Too bad everyone else was so lame and macho.
I continued going to Salsa class and danced with other people, Gerardo started to come less and his friends began to joke about him being bisexual. Wait, what?! A macho bisexual? I didn’t expect that being that he fit so well into my stereotype. Well now what? Maybe he was and maybe wasn’t, whatever the verdict people were lightheartedly joking about what I thought to be an issue that would bring anger and ass whoppings in a macho society like this. Maybe everyone wasn’t exactly how I thought. Who knew? Later Gerardo and his friend Francisco and I went for a walk around town. They started making rude jokes towards me about being a prostitute and other things that I’m sure I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t believe it. Finally I got my words together and asked how Gerardo thought it was ok to talk to ladies like that. He then told me that he would never talk to ladies like that. Apparently only Mexican girls had the possibility of being ladies and were therefore the only ones that needed to be treated respectfully.
There it stood in my face, the counter stereotype. If he and all his Mexican comrades were macho then I and everyone from my country were easy and lacking in sexual morals.
Whether or not I became an exception to his stereotype I may never know, but we did become friends. To each of our surprise I never became his foreign fantasy and he didn’t remain forever possessive and macho.