Public Transit in Addis: A Survival Guide for Women
Let’s talk about commute life; the ever-essential, ever-chaotic ride through Addis, with a particular focus on women commuters. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about right? ?That sheer terror and unpleasant experiences of public transportation! Aside, or sometimes with, the delays, the smells, and the awkward encounters… Let me present the different species of men you will meet in public or any transit. Lock in.
The Shawn Paul reincarnation
'Shewangzaw,' as the locals call it, is the classic bus menace. When the bus is packed, so are his balls. He'll find any means to cram himself next to any nearby unsuspecting woman, ready to rub up on ‘dat ting’ with all his might. Rather than basking in the crushing disappointment of his game-deficient self, alone by himself, and dealing with his unsatisfactory coitus with his baby mama, his testicular constipation now becomes the problem of every woman on the bus.
We women don’t know what Shewangzaw looks like. He just appears from the void, sticking to your back like a bad rash, as you try not to sweat the small stuff (pun intended) and try to wiggle free from his thrust embrace. He gropes you back to reality - the reality where Santa might not be real, but this guy just came. You keep wondering if the ten bucks you saved on not taking the taxi was worth it, but Shewangzaw is gone as soon as his mission is complete, leaving you to your hour-long loop of David Goggins’ motivational playlist. You just wanted to carry the boats, not be ground upon and carry loads.
Manual for handling - ladies speak up, men, conquer your bluesies by your damn selves, and stay irie.
The 'Nice Guy'; the one who asks for your number
Need I say more? Oh, I will, I will say more because this breed is special. They'll demand a conversation, or your digits, simply because they were slightly nice to you. He’s nice because he didn't call you the b-word from the get-go, so what more could you possibly want, lassie? These sly foxes will try to sweeten the deal first – a decent gesture, maybe moving from their seat for you – but the perversion and mommy issues will soon surface. They'll sense your discomfort and then proceed to showcase their 'niceness' by offering to help you move your heavy hooters.?
You, with confusion, show a clear 'I'm not interested' grumpy face, and try to set the bar high, with your C-cup, and well, your other C-cup. But darling, his hands will be serving the 'cupping' regardless.
Manual for handling - Ladies, try not to be ??? or ????, and upgrade to a D cup maybe. Men, talk to your mommy, please!
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The 'A ring is a metaphor, not a commitment'.
These kinds possess the combined characteristics of what I mentioned above, but the only difference is that an unfortunate soul has chosen this as a life partner. They're a bizarre phenomenon that can only be described as a thing and not a living, conscious being. These men, in a packed taxi, will carry their children on one thigh leaving the other one for you or so they claim, and will have the audacity to flirtatiously whisper to you. Ah, the sweet sound of a horrible marriage. Put me in a coach... not!
Manual for handling - Ladies, no notes. To the party that is concerned, stop! (I think I've enforced some changes with that). Also, as a better alternative, talk to your parents! No irie for you, man.
The Interrogator a.k.a 'A conversation is supposed to go both ways? Get out of here!' Ones.
These chatterboxes are seemingly harmless unless they incorporate the aforementioned traits, which sadly is the case most of the time. But let's give them grace and assume talking is the only thing they're getting off to. These are the folks who will learn Morse code for fun, crafting a full reply to your polite 'mm-hmm'.? You will encounter them in any mode of transportation, public or private, turning a simple ride into a draining experience. Instead of saving money, you are paying for their endless chatter about politics, their family drama, their latest fungal infection, and everything in between. As they drop you off, you will see the smirk on their face combined with the 'I have trauma dumped on you enough, buddy, go be somebody now' glisteningly written on their face.
Manual for handling - Smile and no. And to the men, your sins are meant to be heard in the confession booth.?
The classic 'I know a shortcut'
In a city like Addis, different scenarios can often lead to unexpected detours. From bizarre tree plantations blocking roads to drivers mysteriously choosing deserted streets. You'll eventually find yourself nervously questioning the driver in your fear-stricken, shaky voice. Asking him which road he is taking as this weird route is not known by you, Google Maps, or even anybody on the face of this earth only to be met with his nonchalant assurance, 'I know it, don't worry.' 'I know you know it, sugar bun. The issue is, 'I don't,' you reply, to no avail.
Manual for handling - Screenshot your location and send it to a friend, try to stay on the call with someone the whole ride, rinse, and do not repeat!
Although I've maintained a humorous and lighthearted approach up until now, a seemingly simple task like transportation has evolved into a significant burden for women. The types of men mentioned above, or even worse, have transformed a routine journey into a fear-ridden commute. We as a society need to be better, because this is nothing short of a shit show, aint it?