A Man's World (8)

A bead of sweat ran down Zan’s forehead as she walked from the bus stop. The sun was unforgiving, and her dress was unbearably uncomfortable as it clung to every moist curve on her body. She stuck her hand in her pocket and felt around for any change. She pulled out a ten Rand note and grinned. Though the air was humid, she was oddly content on her walks home alone. In those moments, her head was clear of thoughts of family issues or racist comments. She even found herself being amused by the beeping taxis around her.

A young, black couple was holding hands, walking in the opposite direction to her and though she would usually be annoyed at these public displays of affection, she felt heart-warmed by the idea of these two strangers finding happiness in each other. As she walked past the shop windows, she turned to look at her reflection and saw that the man in the young couple had turned to marvel at her figure. Her state of bliss quickly came to a jarring halt. “What a pig!” She shouted shamelessly, staring directly at him. Shocked at her bravery, he proceeded to usher his girlfriend forward. Zan rolled her eyes and shrugged.

As she walked towards the ice-cream store, she was suddenly more aware of the unwelcome stares of strange men. She pulled down her school dress and looked only at the pavement. She grew uncomfortable at the thought that one of the men might walk up to her and try to engage in conversation. With every “smile, gorgeous!” and “slow down, sweety!“, she felt her chin burrow deeper and deeper into her chest. She was only reassured by seeing the glowing store sign on the horizon.

After buying her ice-cream cone, she took a deep breath, adjusted her school dress one more time and stepped out onto the street.

“Lekker jy! I smaak to swap places with that ice cream!” A deep voice with a thick coloured accent shouted behind her. She refused to acknowledge that it was her who was being spoken to and increased her walking pace.

“Baby, I want to talk to you!” The voice continued.

She looked over her shoulder and was met with deep brown eyes staring directly at her. Immediately her hands started shaking as the man tried to catch up to her. He continued to hurl comments at her about her curves and the way she walked. Her mind swarmed with ideas of how to politely reject a stranger, but her creativity had run dry. Eventually, she stopped and said, “Hey, look man… I’m not interested.”

“Come on, baby, don’t play hard to get. Just give me your number, man.” The man was grinning. Zan couldn’t tell whether it was because she had finally stopped or whether it was because he enjoyed taunting her.

“Really, please leave me alone, I’m very uncomfortable.” She said.

“Well then get to know me.” He grabbed her arm and his smile widened.

Zan instantly dropped her ice cream. She wanted to push him off of her, but her body froze. Her mind was flooded with the names of women whose lives had been taken by men who felt entitled to their bodies. Am I next? she thought.

“Please, let me go,-” she whispered finally.

The man’s grin disappeared from his face and his brows furrowed. “Well then, voetsek! You’re not that pretty anyways. Too dark for me.” He threw his hands in the air and bumped her as he walked past her, still mumbling insults.

She stood on the corner of the road, with her mouth agape and her eyes filled with tears. Around her, the beeping taxis turned to dull hums and the shouting voices fell silent. When she came to, nothing had changed. This was a regular occurrence, a mundane event. She closed her mouth, picked her sugar cone off of the floor and threw it away. The world carried on, and so did she.