Moroccan women in the strawberry fields
It is born from a humble plant that you
have to help to get up by putting some suspenders —at
least that's how dad used to grow them in the sunniest corner of our farm— to take a little height and
ventilate its tendrils and leaves. It is a delicious food.
In the region where I live there is a real
sea of plastics, ranging from the Condado
to the beach, almost gobbling Doñana.
Dear Fran, all people (for one reason or
another) seek to improve their situation. Thus, there are many Andalusian who
want to find in other countries what they cannot find here; the young man
leaves his room, his house, his family and friends. Here is his mother, longing
for his return and fearing —here they say estar
en ascuas— that his son does not succeed in that city he has chosen to make
his dreams come true. United Kingdom, France, Germany...
As you know, Fran, in times of harvest,
rows of workers from other countries come to find a little economic relief for
their family. But sometimes the experience is so frustrating and demeaning that
it becomes a torment and a stigma that can lead them to become a destitute.
Especially women.
Yes, I know that these things happen to
few women, but for me, even if it happens to one, it seems to be happening to
me. That's why I write these lines.
When frosts were approaching or temperatures dropped, my father used to cover the plants with cardboard or plastic.
When frosts were approaching or temperatures dropped, my father used to cover the plants with cardboard or plastic.
Strawberries —like oranges— go to my
country and to other countries in Europe. They are consumed fresh or in jam.
Besides the painful work of being crouched
for many hours, with only thirty minutes of rest, these women have to fight
against the insinuating looks, the indecent words and the lustful hands of some
comrades and bosses.
They are penalized for going to the
bathroom (something that reminds me of a movie about prisoners who had to ask
permission to go to the toilets whenever they needed it) or because they did
not perform at work.
In the works of the field and in remote
places of the great cities and towns it is as if the distance and the time were
accomplices of the lowest desires of many men. The man who takes advantage of
the situation of these women who come looking to earn 40 euros a day to support
their children does not have a name.
Woman who suffers this situation
experiences a double feeling. On the one hand, here she is helpless and on the other
hand in her own family —which feels dishonoured— she is not well received and is
repudiated by her husband.
Perhaps the ideas that the Spanish
government has to improve the manner with Moroccan women, working with cultural
mediators among other measures, help to solve the problems that these workers
face daily.
Y. a.
Mary
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