Feeling like a fool.

Feeling like a fool.

So recently I make my way into the police station, to report a case. There were several officers in argument about I don’t remember what, and one of them offered me a seat. And to him I poured my unsettled heart, and he listened quite intently, and later called his colleagues to attention.

“So this lady here,” he starts, in Luganda, I don’t know whether he thought I didn’t understand Luganda but it didn’t matter later because when I intercepted later in Luganda as well he still continued. “This lady here is reporting a case about someone that’s calling her.”

“Does he threaten you?” asks one of them.

“No, but-” I try to explain again.

“He tells her sweet things. He vibes her” the officer I talked to comes in, smiling a little and the rest of the male officers look at me.

“But lady,” one of them says, “women are meant to be courted. He is courting you”. I am thinking, Jesus Christ!

“Yeah,” another one says. “Maybe he liked your eyes. You have beautiful eyes.”

“You are a pretty woman” says yet another. And they all burst out laughing, ignoring my protests.

I was so furious. I had explained to them that this guy, who found me in a taxi and lied that he was lost and needed to use my phone to call up someone to pick him up, had played a trick on me. I had called the number, hoping it was someone that needed to direct him and his own phone had rung. I had blocked his number immediately, when he smiled and said “oh yeah, my phone wasn’t working, I just needed to check”. I had even told them how he had made numerous attempts to call me and how when he noticed his number was blocked; he had used other numbers to call me. I still told him to stop calling me and blocked the other numbers but as weeks went by he still called, using other numbers, sometimes even in the middle of the night.

“Let me ask you,” one of the officers said “why don’t I have your number? Because I am a stranger. But the guy has your number, so…”

“Because he tricked me!” I protest, feeling very dumb about that whole incident and how I was fooled.

“Well you said he doesn’t threaten you”

“He calls me in the middle of the night! I came here because I am scared!”

In the end, no matter how much I tried to convince these officers that my life could be in danger or that this was a stalking case, they seemed to see no harm in a guy that calls you up at 2am and tells you he is the love of your life when you don’t know him. I had come to this place hoping I would leave feeling better, but I was already feeling like nobody was taking me serious and they were all standing tall and laughing it off.

There are insecurities that are reserved for short people, and if you are short like me, and went through school being the shortest and youngest in your class, and lots of tall bullies everywhere, you start seeing their images on the faces of policemen who think a stalking case is courting case. I started thinking about the time I used to go through downtown and I would feel like someone is chasing me. Up until now I think my greatest fear is downtown men, sitting on their motorbikes or in their shops, either out of idleness or out of the sheer need to prove to themselves that they are important, shouting insults and sometimes ‘compliments’ at women passing by. Once in a while grabbing on to your arm and telling you they would like to take you home, or just telling you how your legs are too slim or your butt too flat, laughing. This is my worst Kampala nightmare. And every time I pass through downtown I rush through and recently I just plug in my earphones so that I do not have to listen to what they say. Usually when I go shopping with one of my friends down town, we make a pact not to listen or care about what those men say, to reduce the risks of spoiling our day and ending up as angry lionesses who might hit the attack button. The whole difference is that much as these comments might haunt you, when you go home, you know you have escaped them and they cannot find you. And recently since I moved I don’t have to go through downtown to get a taxi home so I had got a break from it all. But the thought of having someone like that at the other end of the line, calling me up in the middle of the night declaring I would never escape him, was giving me real nightmares.

So there I am, all these things going through my mind, and these officers just laughing it off. I am about to burst into a rage. That’s when a female officer, from another office, calls me. She is seated with her other colleague, and the two of them tell me they would like to work on my case, having noticed the lack of seriousness it was treated with by their male colleagues. The lady asks me routine questions like the others, including how long it’s been going on and finally she calls the guy with my number. At first the guy doesn’t pick up and she asks if I have called him before, which I haven’t. But luckily he picks up the second time and she politely tells him who she is and makes it clear that if he calls my number again she will open a case against him and track him down and investigate him. Would he like that? No. So would he please leave the young lady he is calling against her will alone? Deal. She gives my phone back to me and tells me to report back if he calls again, as he has been warned.

Every time I think of her I feel well. I feel safe. And I keep thinking that perhaps women out there who are giving up on work, going home to cook and clean are better suited out there, if not to earn their own leaving, to offer options of service providers to countless people out there who feel safer being served by women. There are places, whether homes or offices, that are made better by the presence of a woman. So every time I see a woman choose homemaking over a job, I feel cheated, and I keep hoping that more and more women will join public service because sometimes, they are all we need to have better service.  Don’t get me wrong, sometimes a man can be helpful, it’s just better to have both options. It’s not just me, is it?