Isn't That Dress Too Short?

As a kid, I used to be very oblivious to a lot of very obvious cues. For instance, when my mum would give me "the stare", I wouldn't immediately understand what she meant by the very pointed look that everyone else knew meant "go to your room". I was a very expressive child and as such, would hug every "uncle" or "aunty" that came over. Unfortunately for me, being that my parents are pastors, that's a whooole bunch of people.

My parents many times had to have very long conversations with me reminding me that not every "uncle" is a good person and I needed to reduce my random generous hugs by a lot. I definitely did not learn this lesson as quickly as I should have, so I got more pointed stares as the time went by, this time meaning, "stop hugging everybody".

I think that somewhere along the line, this message finally sunk in and I began to take actions a lot more cautiously than my norm.

I was young, no more than 11 when a man who lived in our neighbourhood made it his duty to torment me. For some reason, he was always at the shop when I was sent on errands and he would yell very loudly, his breath a mixture of cigarettes and day drinking, "my wife, my wife, how are you now?" I was not "woke" enough to know that an adult male human who was catcalling a child was probably a pedophile, but with all the caution that had been drummed into my brain, I knew there was something wrong with that interaction. At first, I could ignore him; he was just talking, he would stop eventually. Then, I realized that this man was relentless and would not stop talking, so I started walking to a shop further away from my house than necessary to avoid him. Somehow he noticed that I was no longer coming to my regular shop and I began to run into him on the road. It was a very traumatic time. I would leave my house and walk briskly with my head down so he wouldn't notice me, but he always did. I took to wearing bigger teeshirts, my more tattered-looking clothes, so maybe he would leave me alone but he never did. I couldn't tell anyone; I felt that I was the one bringing on his inappropriate attention. Maybe I was too friendly, maybe I smiled a little too widely at the shops, maybe, maybe, maybe.

On one occasion, I went to the store with an adult, feeling very confident that surely, he would leave me alone because there was someone there with me. He didn't. He catcalled me as was his normal practice. I tapped the adult with me very eagerly. I told her, "look, this man is disturbing me. He always disturbs me when I come here". To my great dismay, she did not do anything about it. Instead, she laughed, like the notion of me being disgusted by the man's actions was preposterous, and the man joined in the laughter. I knew then that I had no ally, and I had to do something about this man by myself, or no one would.

I can not remember whether this happened immediately after the encounter I just spoke about, but one day, I decided I had had enough. I picked up two big stones (as big as my tiny hands could carry) on my way to the store and prayed I would meet the man. I was not disappointed. He was about to begin his regular tirade when I told him, "if you disturb me again, I will stone you", and I showed him the stones in my hand. He thought I was joking and went on to continue his speech but was shocked into silence when the first stone came flying at his head.

I do not remember whether that was the last time he tried to harass me, but I remember that that was the last time I was afraid of him.

I am aware that I just regaled you with a long story that seemingly has nothing to do with the title of this blog post, but please be patient, I dey come.

Whenever the topic of rape or sexual assault is brought up in public circles, the subject of dressing is always brought up alongside it. In fact, one of the most ridiculous arguments I have had concerning this topic was with a thirty-something-year-old man who said that parents should dress their two-year-olds in ways that are not provocative to avoid them being sexually assaulted. I do not think that I have ever been so angry in an argument in my entire life. I am not against the idea of modest dressing; in fact, it is something I do my best to practice in my everyday life. I am of the opinion that the way you dress, speak and carry yourself strongly impact the way you are perceived by most people. However, I do not believe that "indecent" dressing leads to rape. I believe that rapists lead to rape. This culture of victim-blaming needs to die.

Imagine that an 11-year-old could not discuss her feelings of discomfort because she had been conditioned by society to believe that any inappropriate action taken against her was a result of her actions or inactions.

We need to raise a generation of women and men that know that they can speak out about sexual assault knowing that the first question would not be, "what did you do to cause it?" or its other more nuanced sister questions.

Peace out.