The Time I Almost Fought a Guy

I was riding my bike home from volleyball practice when a random man on the side of the road imitated an American accent and shouted “cewek cewek cewek!” at me. What he said just means “girl” in Javanese but it’s not something that he would ever shout at an Indonesian woman. Frankly, I had already dealt with so much unwanted attention that day that he was my last straw.

So I stopped.

That’s my strategy for catcallers here. Men who act like that never expect the woman to engage them, especially here where women tend to be more passive. It really pulls the rug out from under him when I stop and tell him politely in his own language that he’s being rude. Usually it ends in a pleasant conversation about where I’m from and if I see the guy again, he’ll greet me in a more positive way. That’s the only way I can deal with the sheer number of catcalls I face daily–I have to physically stop what I’m doing or where I’m going to deal with the unwanted attention because otherwise it continues or escalates.

Anyway, I slammed on my brakes and told him to come here. Here was my mistake however: I motioned for him to come over in the way that’s natural to me, with my palm and fingers facing up motioning toward my body. Pro tip: do not do this in Indonesia because it means “Get over here so I can punch you in the face.”

Whoops.

That gesture accompanied by my obviously angry facial expression, which is pretty uncommon in this culture, made him run in the other direction. He booked it with a look of absolute terror on his face.The family whose house I stopped in front of tried to calm me down because they too thought I wanted to fight him. Of course they did. What else could I want with such an aggressive demeanor?

Once I started talking to them, I explained that I thought he was very rude and they agreed. They told me he ran to his house in fear. I asked them where he lived and they said they didn’t know but I think they were just trying to stop me seeking revenge because they honest to god thought I meant to.

I sat down and had tea with them as one does in Java. They were incredibly nice. Once I explained that that hand gesture doesn’t mean “fight me” in America and that I’m actually a Buddhist (close enough) so I wouldn’t be fighting anyone, we shared a good laugh about the look on his face as he ran away from me. Pure terror. Completely hilarious. It was an unexpectedly beautiful moment.

The best part is even if I didn’t get to give him a piece of my mind, they’re never going to let that guy forget the day he fled from the angry white woman on a bike.

Disclaimer: the guy did not return after fleeing in terror to take that flexing picture with me. That’s Supri, my good friend who is also a feminist.