The name Sarah Everard travelled the whole world in less than one month, as the beautiful woman behind it disappeared in South London on the way home from her friend’s house. Days after, police confirmed that the remains of the deceased body they had found were in fact Sarah Everard. This horrible incident led to an outpouring across different types of social media from women sharing experiences of harassment and assault, as well as what they do to feel ‘safe’ while walking the streets. While reading, I too started remembering and identifying some actions that I am used to doing while I am out. Actually, the story of Sarah Everard itself reminded me of an event that happened to me a few months right after turning 17.
This occurred at around 10.15pm in Iklin on a particular night after my part time work shift ended. The bus stop that I was waiting at, is situated in a curved uphill, with no lights close by. While it was not even 5 minutes away from the workplace, a co-worker offered to drive me to it as to avoid any unnecessary encounters with strangers along the way. After all, the bus was not going to take long according to the app. I called my mother, like always, while waiting for it, as that made me feel safe. After some time, whilst still on call with her, we noticed that the bus had not arrived, and so we both checked the app, and to our surprise, no buses were showing anymore. At that moment, I started worrying about getting home. I was not going to walk it, as it was quite far, and I was exhausted after a 9-hour shift. Moreover, that particular street is very dark. My mom did not know how to drive during that time, and my dad was busy, so I was literally stranded there for who knows how long.
Suddenly, while I was still on call with my mother, I saw a white windowless van slowing down, approaching me. There were two men in it, and as soon as they saw me they started honking and yelling. The driver also took out his head from the window and started cat calling and whistling. Then they started speeding after passing me, but that was enough already, the damage had been done. I distinctly remember my mother asking me whether I was okay immediately after the first honk. I remember, grabbing the phone with both hands as somehow, I felt closer to my mother. I was afraid that they would turn around and I would have to face them again. I remember praying aloud for the bus to come while asking my mother to check the app every second. Every time my mother said that one was coming in less than two minutes, I would start to regain hope again, however, it seemed like ‘bus time’ and real time was different. Finally, a bus appeared after around half an hour post the event.
I still remember the feeling of regaining breath after getting on the bus and hearing that beep the card makes. Yet somehow, I was too cautious of those around me. It did not matter that I was covered in sweat and breadcrumbs. It did not matter that my hair was all over the place. How I looked did not matter – the fact that I was a female did. I did not sit on the bus ride as I was afraid that a man would touch me. I stood next to the entry door as to have an open and clear exit. Meanwhile, I took out the keys from the bag as to show individuals close to me that I am almost home – even though I still had a fifteen-minute walk home; I cannot explain how scared I was. I could not run as that would make me seem suspicious, yet I could not walk slow as it could be triggering to others. I was constantly spotting landmarks and notifying my mother as to make it clear where I was.
I cannot explain the feeling I felt after locking the door behind me and the moment in which I hugged my mom the second I saw her. It was refreshing – I finally felt safe. My mother did her absolute best to ensure my safety even though the situation was way out of her control, and for that I thank her.
Some may consider cat calling as harmless; maybe some may even consider it to be somewhat flattering. However, in my case and based on past experiences I’ve had, this episode acted like a trigger. And the fact that I was alone in a somewhat deserted road in the dark didn’t help me either. I wasn’t harmed physically in any way, yet the experience shook me and led me to start acting differently.
While this is not near as scary as Sarah Everard ’s experience, it still led me to take some precautions when out at night after that episode. For example, I tend to prepare my house keys as soon as I am in the street and keep them in my hands. I do this as it shows people that I am close to my house (although I would be far), but I can also use them for self-defense. As mentioned earlier, I also like to stay on call with someone, usually my mother, as to hopefully ‘scare off’ others. I learnt that identifying specific landmarks in the street I would be walking in and notifying trustworthy people of them can be very helpful in case something happens. Additionally, I used to find myself holding my breath until passing men on the streets, crossing the street to avoid them, and also putting on a ‘tough’ face – if I seem too cheery, it might somehow make certain individuals feel like I am leading them on.
I had also read an article which explains what harassers would be on the lookout for when targeting their victims. Technically, it stated that offenders choose their victims according to how accessible, vulnerable, and available they are. For example, someone with a ponytail might be targeted as it can be easily pulled. Additionally, if a woman seems distracted, is under the effect of drugs or alcohol, is using her hands and is unassertive, she can be easily targeted.
This shows that no, it is not only how we dress; it seems as if just by living, we could be targeted and potentially harassed. Why should we women be afraid to go out of our houses? When did the ‘ponytail’, a hairstyle, turn into a ‘yes’ for assault? Is myself waiting on a bus stop and not even looking at you, giving you the approval to cat call me? Why should we, in this day and age, be afraid of men’s actions? Why do men believe that they have the authority over us? Who gives them this authority? Why can’t I go for a walk alone when I am feeling sad?
As a 19-year-old woman, I feel helpless, as these true stories just add on to the fear of living in a world of men. They say ‘educate your son’ – but in that case, who is teaching his/her son to assault, rape and harm women? I am afraid every time my younger sister or mother are out that they would somehow be hurt by men. I am ashamed to say that sometimes I wish to dress up as a man when going out, as to avoid attention. And honestly, I feel ashamed that we still live in a world where women are afraid to live their normal lives. We must take care of each other, and support each other, as only by doing that, can we start moving in the right direction.
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Mariposa’s Blog features real experiences and emotions written by a mother and her daughters. Together they cover various aspects in relation to the journey of life, such as emotions, fertility, domestic violence, student struggles, female issues, teen problems, health and childhood education material and much more.
Click here to check out Mariposa’s Blog bio as well as a list of all its Wham published articles
