As a student, especially from a previously elitist university like Rhodes 老虎机游戏_pt老虎机-平台*官网, one sometimes finds oneself moving in between starkly different spaces. This obviously means different things for many people. I recently went home because my parents were being congratulated for an award that I had won at the PAPU conference held in Durban. Now, because social media is so universal, this news went viral in my hometown especially at my High School. My parents knew I had won an award but they felt that I had downplayed its magnitude so my father ‘summoned’ me home to share the news properly with him (he told a maester who sent a raven to deliver the message to me). Lol, how I wish this was my reality; no, he just called and I agreed to go home for the weekend.
I brought him a copy of the Grocotts that had featured the Rhodes article and he made millions copies of it and gave a copy to anyone who so much as smiled in his direction. He was feeling extremely proud and equally embarrassed to discuss the contents of my thesis. He was okay with just knowing that I had produced great research and presented it well. The sex talk part [1] briefly discussed in the article, he chose to split off or pretend it didn’t exist. After ‘bravely’ trying to discuss my research findings, I decided that maybe it was better if we all held onto the “we won” or “I won” part: it was good for everyone’s blood sugar including mine. For me, it was shocking that the subject matter I dealt with every day at the CSSR was accepted or well received by my peers and siblings and yet almost rejected by my parents. Well maybe reject is a strong word; it was avoided by my parents because of the exact intergenerational awkwardness my thesis was problematising. Am I making excuses?
Anyway, after enjoying time with them for 3 days it was time to go back to Grahamstown so I think I should go back a little, give some background information about my hometown. I am from Indwe, a small town in decline, no longer important for its coal mining. It is so remote and tiny that people usually joke and say only people from Indwe know where Indwe is or if you were going to drive past Indwe and doze off for 2 seconds you would completely miss Indwe and not see it (please don’t doze off while driving). Anyway, because of the size of this town the transport system to and from Grahamstown is often complicated. The bus system can get you to Queenstown sometime at midnight and then you will have to wake some distant relative or friend to pick you up at the bus station, sleep over at their place and then take a taxi the next day to Indwe. By then, it’s already Saturday and you have to go back to Grahamstown the next day so the whole weekend trip just ends up being a waste. So, over the years I have resorted to hitch-hiking or taking taxis. Sounds dangerous, right? Well not so much. However, the gross masculinity that I have dealt with on my way back almost makes being stuck on a bus, waking someone up midnight to pick you up at the station and only spending Saturday night at home somewhat seem like the attractive option.
It was time to go back to varsity on Sunday so my cousin dropped me off at the taxi stop in Lady Frere (neighbouring town) and, after being warned by everyone that the taxi drivers would not allow me to hitch hike, I started looking for a taxi. My agency in terms of what to do had been striped entirely and to keep the peace I went looking for a taxi. After being asked by every taxi marshal where I was going I finally found a taxi that was going to Queenstown. The taxi driver came to me and charismatically asked me where I was going and I said Queenstown. He then told me to get into the taxi. I was the first customer, meaning I had to wait for the taxi to fill up before we could go. As I was climbing into the taxi, the driver assured me that because it was a Sunday he wouldn’t wait for the taxi to fill up before we could go. I said that would be great as I am on my way to Grahamstown. He then offered to help me find a lift Queenstown and I kindly declined because, dude, I don’t know you. The taxi eventually filled up and we left. We got to Queenstown I was the first to shout out as to where I would like to be dropped off. The taxi driver purposely ignored me. He proceeded to drop everyone off until I was last one in the taxi. I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. He then began making small talk with me, often looking through the rear view mirror to make eye contact with me.
At this point, I took my phone out ready to call someone for help in case the taxi driver decided to take another direction and not head straight to my drop off point. Yes, the stop I had called out loudly many times. He asked for my cell phone number and said that he would like to meet up with me next time he is in Grahamstown. Given that he had orchestrated the situation in that it was just him and me in his taxi by dropping me off last, I was uncertain that declining was not a threat to my safety. Martin (2017) calls this the rape atmosphere. It is part of rape culture and this interaction is the stuff that feeds it and keeps it alive. Anyway, he took my declination and dropped me off. Just as I was getting my bags from the taxi, another taxi driver approached me with the same male ego and entitlement-to-my-money attitude. So I pretended as if I was speaking on my phone and they left. However, they came back again with smug smiles which implied that; it doesn’t matter anyway because we won’t allow you to hitch hike, so save us the drama, get into the taxi and wait for it to fill up while we hit on you AGAIN. They asked me where I was going but I said I was waiting for my cousin. They left but they knew I was lying because of the big bag that was sitting next to me. If a car had stopped for me, they were going to chase it and demand that I climb off because this was their route and only source of income. The taxi situation in many of these towns is almost as hostile and violent as the Uber situation in Johannesburg.
Now I am not writing this article to criticise masculinity but to criticise masculinities that aggressively make you feel helpless, that cannot take no for an answer but deem no as an invitation for being pursued further. I get suspicious of anyone who only has a single view of masculinities. I stood there feeling out of control again and stripped of any agency that I thought I had. Luckily, after they had left a car did stop for me. I jumped in and it dropped me off at my residence where I felt safe again. This is only one instance of how stepping out of one’s ‘comfort zone’, that is varsity where people at least pretend to be decent and politically correct, can cause a feeling of angst. There are many more instances we encounter these situations and thus going home can be anxiety provoking. Probably also why the “when are you getting a job” question sometimes makes sense because having a car shields one from all this emotional turmoil which a simple decision to go home can bring. We sometimes forget what we go through ‘out-there’ or we make these issues an ‘out-there’ problem when we’re in postgraduate studies. Although, we feel as though we are preaching to the choir when discussing social issues during a coffee break at the library or during Muffin Monday. I appreciate the wakeup call and re-realising (this is a word) that we have a duty to society to challenge gender norms. However, I do not appreciate going through the motions by feeling unsafe as a woman in the very place that birthed me.