After 5 days of hard travel, Vay
and I decided to spend our last few Sri Lankan hours relaxing. After some quick
debating, we chose to head to the little beach town of Negombo. Negombo does
not have a lot going for it. There are prettier beaches to the South, better
waves to the East and more adventures in the North, but what it does have is a
short walk to the ocean, lots of good bars and a 20-minute ride to airport, and
since our flight was leaving insanely early the next morning – it was perfect.
And it was perfect. We spent our
day lounging by the pool and sipping Caiprihnas. I read two girly books and
tried to ignore the idea that we would be leaving the following day. But, much
too soon, the evening snuck up on us and it was necessary to pack. Despite the
fact that Vay had brought 3 times what I had, she was packed in minutes and
ready to hit the town. I, however, needed time and space to pack, so I begged
off walking to the bar with her, and instead promised to meet her in an hour or
so – when my bag was ready and my book completed.
She took off and I stretched out
– luxuriating in the quiet of the hotel room. 2 hours later, I was packed. I
slipped on a tank top and headed out the door. As I shut the hotel gate, I was
surprised by the absolute darkness. It was nearly 10 o’clock and I knew it
would be dark – but I hadn’t really realized that our hotel’s alley had no
street lamps. A shiver of fear ran down my spine – there was a creepiness to
the darkness and emptiness of the street, but the main thoroughfare was not far
ahead and completely bathed in light, so I had little to fear.
After just a few steps, I heard a
squeak pierce the night. It came from behind me, so I threw a quick glance over
my shoulder. An old man on a rickety bike cruised off to my right. This was no
surprise. Every time we had walked the alley, men on bikes had cruised past. It
was the locals’ main form of transportation. Still I clutched my satchel’s
strap with my spare hand and kept my look determinedly ahead to discourage
interaction.
He rode past me
and mumbled something. I didn’t want to be rude, so I nodded my head and
glanced in his direction. He continued on for about 50 meters, then suddenly
hopped off his bike and fumbled with his pants. He was facing the fence and I
assumed he was urinating, so I looked the other way. However, as I walked past,
I realized he was enjoying himself immensely (this is a euphemism)
and staring directly at me. He shouted something and I sped up – the main
street was so close.
With amazing speed, he zipped his
pants and leapt back on his bike. For such an old man, he was surprisingly
agile. He approached on my right again and for the first time I was really
afraid. I realized that I was alone in a dark alley in a foreign country
(sorry, Dad). I clutched my purse and began to calculate how difficult it would
be to replace everything within. He rode closer and I moved as far left as I
could. I was now literally walking between a high wooden fence and an old man
on a bike. He pedaled in a steady rhythm, keeping me trapped.
Suddenly, he lunged. I was ready
for him and I swung my purse around to my other side. But he wasn’t reaching
for the purse and he had perfect aim. I gasped as I felt him grab my left boob
and squeeze. I came to a sudden stop and reacted without thinking. My left arm
came up and slammed him hard in the chest. I shouted, “No. I said. NO.” I hit
him, again – harder. It knocked him off his bike and he stumbled back. Then I
added, “Good. NO. Thank you.” None of this was said in a pleading manner,
rather it sounded very factual or like a parent speaking to a toddler.
Although, why I felt the need to be polite while someone was grabbing my boob,
I’ll never know.
He was still
standing and he reached for his bike. I took this as my sign to get out of
there and half-ran/half-walked to the main street. I was determined to not look
as scared as I felt. As I rushed onto the street, a tuk-tuk driver glanced up
at me. Before I could speak he rushed past and screamed at the old man. The old
man simply shrugged it off though and rode in the opposite direction.
This was much more anti-climatic than I had hopped.
My adrenaline was ebbing and now that I felt safe, I was very, very
angry at the old man and his grab-hands.
Before, I could do something
stupid though, the driver motioned me into the tuk-tuk and drove me the few
blocks to the bar. I thanked him profusely. Seeing Vay sitting on a bar stool,
sipping a beer, was the most welcoming sight I could imagine and I practically
rushed into her arms just to be off the street and with friends. We spent the rest of the night having way too much fun
(which was the plan), but when it was time to leave you can bet I had a large
group of people walk us home.
“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion,
and avoid the people, you might better stay at home.” -James A. Michener
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