Walking down the street is an act of courage
When I was 13 years old, I started walking home from school. As soon as my talking, brown leather shoes hit the ground outside the school gates, however, I wasn’t 13 anymore.
I was guarded, suspicious and afraid. Walking down the street as a woman, of any age, can be a traumatic experience.
One particular day when I was walking home, jaw clenched, hands rolled into fists, eyes darting around corners, I saw a man leaning against a waist-high wall.
The vice grip in my stomach tightened.