I generally don’t feel scared when walking the street alone, I didn’t in Eindhoven and I don’t here in Lisbon. Perhaps this is because, apart from being catcalled – ranging from creepy compliments to being called a whore after declining to have conversation with a group of men in a car – and occasionally being followed, I haven’t been in any actually threatening stranger danger situations. Or maybe knowing women are more likely to be assaulted by acquaintances anyway eases my mind when walking home alone at night. Or perhaps, it’s just a privilege that comes with being six feet tall. I’m not naïve, when alone, I move around with an appropriate level of vigilance, I pay attention to my surroundings and don’t take unnecessary risks but I’m not afraid, I don’t allow my freedom to be limited simply because I am a woman.

Saturday night I was afraid though. After coming back from a few days in Lagos and not wanting to cook, I decided to get some food down in the centre before meeting up with friends for drinks. The temperature outside was pleasant, the sun had just set. Eager to stretch my legs because I had been curled up in a bus for the better part of the day, I strolled towards Parque Eduardo VII, Pombal, Avenida, down to Rossio. Five minutes into my walk I passed my favourite coffee shop (best brownies in Lisbon), at the end of the street I’d have to take a left turn. At the corner of the street there’s a building housing a post office and a restaurant, the ground floor of the building isn’t directly located next to the sidewalk. To enter either the post office or the restaurant people need to walk down a small set of stairs between the columns that support the overhanging first floor of the building. As I approached the building I noticed a man standing in front of the first column. It was only when I came closer that I saw he had his penis in his hand and was jerking off. Unwillingly I locked eyes with him, his facial expression was emotionless but his stare was piercing, I could feel his eyes continuing to follow me as I, as quickly as my brain allowed me to process what was happening, adverted my eyes in shock. I passed the column he was in front of, and passed two more. There was one column left supporting the corner of the building, as I followed the sidewalk around it, I questioned my sanity. What the fuck just happened? There can’t really be a guy wanking of in the street at 9:30 at night, right? As I rounded the corner, I glanced back at the space between the columns and the tall shop windows of the post office and the restaurant. Big mistake. There he was again, he had moved around from the first column he earlier was in front of, and had moved down the corner of the building as I did. He knew that I would come around the corner, and he made sure that I’d see him again. I quickened my pace, scared, I felt the tears pricking in my eyes, wondered whether I should warn the people I passed on the sidewalk. I didn’t want to stop. I passed the entrance of Parque metro station. Should I take the metro? No just keep walking. All I could think was to not turn around, afraid that again I would be made an involuntary participant in this man’s twisted sexual gratification. Do not turn around.

It wasn’t until I reached Pombal, that I felt it’d be okay to catch my breath, turn around and process what the hell just happened. In hindsight, of course, it would have been very unlikely that this man, with his dick in his hand, would have come running down the street after me. It wasn’t a particularly crowded area, but far from deserted. In that moment though, I felt far from reassured. I was afraid, scared, jumpy, suspicious of everyone around me, and desperately tried to keep myself from crying. On top of that I was confused to why this affected me so much? I hadn’t been in any physical danger, after all.

Walking down Avenida da Liberdade I tried to shake the feeling. I tried to rationalise my emotions away – this was just a chance occurrence, I tried to invoke feelings of spite in myself – I’m not going to let this asshole ruin my night, and I called my sister to try to process what happened out loud. None of it worked, by the time I reached Rossio, I still felt more uncomfortable being alone on the street than I had ever felt before. I saw potential threats in anyone who crossed my path and avoided eye contact at all cost. It’s no use, better to just go home.

This happened two days ago, I am currently writing this at my favourite coffee place, across the street from where it happened. I bounced back quickly, the feelings of fear were swiftly replaced with anger. Fuck that guy, and anyone else for that matter, that catcalls, harasses, follows, or in any other way impairs the feeling of security in public spaces for anyone. I wonder if people who do this are just inexcusably unaware of the damage they do or if that’s the goal. It doesn’t really matter, it’s fucked up either way. In the past few months, I’ve grown to call this place my city, I deserve to walk these streets alone, this is my neighbourhood.