By Dinika Govender
*This is a public letter to my parents about life and lust in Cape Town’s cycle-lanes.*
Hey Mum and Dad,
I know you worry about me spending so much time cycling around, exposed and often alone on busy roads in a city far away from home. Well, my informant of a younger sister has recently exposed your other concerns. I hear that my love for my bicycle could be a ‘deflection of human emotion.’ Or that maybe I’m ‘some kind of eco-friendly man-hater.’ (Voice notes and What’s App, parents. I know everything.)
Now I do value your continued concern for my well-being and I love you both unconditionally for that. But eco-friendly man-hater? Have you been watching re-runs of Xena The Warrior Princess?
Cycling is a big part of my life; much like driving is a huge chunk of your lives. It is a means to my next adventure, and is an adventure in itself. I’m not saying it’s necessarily better than driving (at least not in this letter)…
Before you roll your eyes Mom, let’s just be happy for me that I’ve come to love the sense of openness that bicycle-commuting provides. If you’d asked me a couple of years ago, before I could barely take one hand off the handle-barsI might have said you’re the idealistic one.
But cycling is not without its frustrations. Trust me. Being exposed on the road I get to see a lot and be seen a lot. And with this comes a startling relationship with the streets, one that is vulnerable and intimate but not always rosy.
*Being ‘the girl on the bike’*
Complete strangers claim to “love me baby” as they throw squelching smooches my way as I’m trying to listen out for approaching vehicles. They’re not minding their own business at coffee-shops until we serendipitously bump into each other. Oh no. They’re stretching half their bodies outside taxi windows and yelling sweet nicknames that only Salvador Dali might have approved.
Not a day goes by when I do not get waved down, only to have Roadside Romeo declare things like, “O! I wish I was the seat on that bicycle,” and my new favourite: “Aww! Can I take you home?” (I couldn’t make these up if I tried.)
*It was all overtly flattering and amusing at first*
…in the way that a cat singing the national anthem on YouTube is amusing (incredulously creepy). But two years of bicycle commuting later — I fear my thick skin is weathering away.
The disturbing thing is: whilst I’m endeavouring to lead a more connected, friendlier, life in this somewhat suburbanised city, this constant presence of brutish behaviour leaves me feeling conflicted… and muted.
Conflicted because some days I want to kick these boys where it will cause irreparable damage; other days, I wish for an Invisibility Cloak so that it would at least make sense for them to be looking straight at me and through me at the same time.
Muted because what I do does not seem to matter to these Roadside Romeos. I could smile, swear, attempt to educate, or simply ignore they’re still going to make a point of publicly declaring their thoughts of me.
Dad, you need to do some explaining here.
– What makes men think it’s cool to verbalise literally everything that goes through their minds when a woman passes by especially when they can see that it is distressing?
– Would they want their sisters, wives, girl-friends, mothers or daughters to be experiencing the same thing?
– Don’t boys want to be gentlemen?
– Do I need to start wearing maternity wear just to get a little solitude on the streets? (It’s hard enough to find cycle-friendly women’s clothing that isn’t ‘tight-fit’ or ‘low-rise’.)
– Do I now need to stop greeting passers-by? (Please say no.)
– Where are all the male role models? They surely exist, because there are the precious few gentler men who cheer me on for my choice of transport.
You raised me to be an independently-minded person to frame the world with optimism and I am trying to be that person in all aspects of life. But it’s tough at times to feel independent when you’ve got eyes and words feeling you up for no reason other than some implicit world order.
*I would simply much rather be greeted as a lady than a pair of legs.*
I’m certainly not the only female who experiences this. Walking around the city can also be an inglorious mosh-pit of unwanted attention for all women all the time. At least on my bicycle I can escape. (Escape…what a pleasant thing to factor into one’s mobility.)
If I am to deflect these personal invasions without generating anger, frustration, resentment and general melancholy about the state of womankind, perhaps I should laugh off these Roadside Romeos…at least I’ll be less distressed day in, day out.
What else is your girl on her bike meant to do?
Love always,
Dinika
P.S. Please don’t say,“Get a car.” That is not a solution.
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