The Slap

First came the slap, and then silence. It seemed to me that time stopped for one second on that hot afternoon in Yaba market. It was like the scene out of the matrix where Neo stops the bullets mid-air. In that moment, I took in the angry face of the young man and the bewildered faces of the people around me. I perceived the overpowering smells emanating from the gutter mingled with the smell of meat and blood from the butchers’ stalls. I heard the relentless buzzing of the flies and the cacophonous beating of my heart as I looked down at my right hand in amazement, wondering where the force of the slap had come from and then, time unfroze.

Yaba market is one of the bigger markets in Lagos Nigeria. For those living in mainland Lagos, it is the go to place for groceries, unsewn cloth bundles, clothing accessories and many other household items. Yaba market would ordinarily be quite a visually exciting place to visit because of the colourful array of objects that titillate the senses, however for many women, that is not the case because a subset of Yaba market traders are infamous for sexually harassing women. The level of harassment received varies from woman to woman and is dependent on age, marital status, clothing, skin tone and response of the woman, but in my observation, young unmarried females seemed to be subjected to the worst levels of sexual harassment imaginable. The tableau of sexual harassment ranges from verbal abuse, (ashawo meaning prostitute in Yoruba being a favourite insult to hurl at women), hand grabbing, waist holding, bottom pinching to breast squeezing. I have never in my personal experience heard of any incidents of rape, but I wouldn't put it past these men that subjected innocent women to the torture of sexual harassment in Yaba market. These hands ever constant and the faces attached to these hands, sneering with mouths full of vile language.

This is the treatment that awaited me and other women in Yaba market, meted out in the full view of the others who didn’t participate. The non-participants would hardly ever intervene to stop the treatment. They all sat or stood, watching, some with sniggering faces, some whispering that the victim brought it on themselves by what they were wearing. The silent majority, witnessing the sexual harassment and doing nothing thus standing with the perpetrators. This was the side Yaba market I knew and hated but I had no choice but to go because I had to live.

And so, on this humid day, I took my younger sister who was visiting from Abuja (the capital city) to Yaba market. She wanted to pick up some supplies which she couldn’t find in Abuja. Before we went, we mentally prepared ourselves for the battle, our skin, already crawling at the thought of the hands. As we walked past the market stalls, the onslaught began both verbal and physical. The hands started to snatch at ours, to grab our arms, the voices called out to us first to buy their wares followed swiftly by verbal abuse when we didn’t stop. We walked on, batting them away like flies, twisting our bodies acrobatically to avoid as many as we could. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a young trader grabbed my sister by the wrist and wouldn’t let go of her. I asked him to let her go but he wouldn’t, I asked him again and he ignored me. I tried to physically remove his hand but he had my sister’s wrist trapped in a vice like grip and that is when it happened. 

The slap, fast and hard across his left cheek made him drop her hand. First came the look of surprise, followed quickly by a look of anger and then, the cricket dance. He hopped around and shouted, raining abuse on me, threatening to beat me up.  To be honest, I surprised myself by slapping him because I am not the violent type but what was done, was done. So with adrenaline pulsing through my veins, I pulled myself upright to my full height, planted my feet solidly on the ground and dared him to touch me. I remember feeling fear but calmness at the same time because I felt justified in my actions.

Luckily for me, the watchers jumped out of their apathetic stupor and called for calm. They told the man that he should have let go when I asked him to. He continued to rant and got caught up in the market place court that was taking place. While this was happening, someone whispered to me to leave with my sister, a command that we promptly obeyed while continuously looking over our shoulders to make sure we weren’t being followed by the irate trader. Needless to say, we left the market without fulfilling our objective but I felt good that one of the pests had received in my mind, a just recompense for his sins. I hope he learnt a lesson from that day’s events but I doubt it. It will probably take more than a slap to stop the harassment that women face on a daily basis in Yaba and other markets in Nigeria and round the world. Maybe a million slaps?

All jokes aside, something needs to be done to address the abysmal situation. For instance, the leaders of the market traders associations need to be approached and told of the situation and how it makes women feel. They may have seen the harassment going on but haven’t really seen it, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, it takes a personal description of the feelings associated with events to make another person’s eyes open. Additionally, awareness campaigns can be implemented to raise the profile of the silent suffering of women, using art forms like drama and dialogue to cause empathy to take root in the hearts of the watchers. Posters and pamphlets can be distributed; songs can be written and sung by local musicians all to encourage awareness of the situation and to plant the seed of change. A boycott of the market may be a final resort, one that would require immense planning and convincing effort.

So many things beyond what I have suggested can be done to curb the trend, and yes I hear the question, ‘who is going to do it’? My response is you, me and everyone else who is fed up with the status quo. If we want change, we are responsible to make that change.

Disclaimer: No one was wilfully harmed beyond what they deserved during the course of events described in this blog. It is not wise in the writers view to attempt to recreate the situation described. Please don’t try this at home.