I have always been a bit of a feminist, but being a male feminist is a bit problematic. For a start, sisters who are doing it for themselves aren’t always looking for encouragement from men, but quite the opposite. Out here in rural DR, my feminist political beliefs are challenged by the sheer machismo of society here. Most of my male neighbours up here think that giving votes to women is political correctness gone mad.

A general prevailing mood here is that women only serve for sex and food, and so those with big hips are highly valued, as not only does it shows good child bearing potential, but it is the physical manifestation of good domestic produce, the layers of sediment resulting from many great meals. I once overheard some sleazy gringos commenting how they find it odd that Dominicans prefer larger prostitutes, as they think they are getting more for their money. If this is the case, and this is certainly not an area which I am researching, then it explains why the village prostitute does such good business, as following this line of logic she represents an absolute bargain. Actually, she seems pleasant enough – she works out of the drinking establishment next to my house, so I speak to her on a daily basis as I leave to go out. I only wish that she would realise that she isn’t ever going to get any business from me, and that she would stop groping my posterior.

It is perfectly acceptable for a man here to have as many girlfriends as he can afford, as long as the wife doesn’t find out. Needless to say, the same freedom is not extended to women. It is normally an economic limitation on girlfriends, as one friend told me he had to stop seeing one girlfriend in a village down the road as he couldn’t afford to keep paying for things for her, but that he aimed to get back with her when his business picked up. I hear he is getting a good price for his produce nowadays, which is probably why I often see him on his motorbike, heading down the road.

What gets my goat is the idea here that the wife, in cases where she discovers the philandering nature of her fella, is expected to just put up with it. A story went round recently about one woman who discovered that her man had been playing away from home, and in retaliation she cut up all his clothes with a pair of scissors. Although this is not a particularly hellishly furious reaction from a scorned woman, up here it is something akin to the combination of burning your bra whilst jumping in front of the King’s horse. As I heard this story, I was about to make a comment about what a great Sister this woman is, and how it is good that she did something, but before I could do so the rest of the room started going on about what a right so-and-so she is, doing that to her man, destroying his nice clothes. The proper reaction was to do nothing, other than sweep the house and prepare his rice and beans (but without putting cyanide in it).

This viewing of women as objects for sexual conquest is one trend that crosses class boundaries. I was told by one of the rich people who own weekend homes up here, that before I leave the country, I should father a child with a woman from the village – he did, and he didn’t regret it in the slightest. There are eight or so weekend homes in the village, and there are at least two children who have resulted from the brief and illicit union between a rich city dweller and a local girl. Meanwhile several of the villagers have advised me that I should sleep with one of the Haitian women who work in the fields here, particularly on cold nights, as the darker a woman’s skin is, the more heat she is presumed to give off. I am sure that I do not need to inform you that I have followed neither of these pieces of advice.

Of course, there are also some places where woman are simply not expected to be. For example, no women are expected to be seen at the drinking area where the billiard table is, with the exception of teenage girls who can play during the day when men are not there. Likewise, no reputable woman would ever go to a cockfight, which is certainly a very macho environment. The exception to these is, of course, disreputable women. The cockfighting arena for the whole valley is in my village, and so on Sundays, when they put on the fights, all the prostitutes for the whole area come to ply their trade in the arena and the neighbouring billiards place. Sundays are certainly not a day of rest for them.

A friend of mine, who is certainly a proactive feminist type, once went to a cockfight in the DR. She is a particularly pale gringa, so she must have flipped out the locals with the unprecedented spectacle of a woman in attendance who is not only not a prostitute, but also an Americana. Mind you, this is the girl who plays golf in tweeds and pearls, just to wind up the old boys at the club, her particular take on subversive action.

I don’t think Dominican society is ready for my radical idea that women should be treated as the equals of men. That is currently an unimaginable situation, not least for the women of the village.