Without knowing how I would proceed, I at once found myself interceding on the woman's behalf. As my adrenaline rose, and her assailant's attention turned my way, it occurred to me that his English might be terrible or nonexistent. The mere effort to understand me could be made so costly that it might prove a near-total diversion. The inability to make my intentions clear would also serve to forestall actual conflict. Had we shared a common language our encounter would have almost certainly come to blows within moments, as I would have thought of nothing more clever than to demand that he let the woman go, and he, to save face, would have demanded that I make him. Since he had at least two friends that I could see (and several fans), my evening would probably have ended very badly. Thus, my goal, as I saw it, was to remain unintelligible, without antagonizing any of the assembled hooligans, long enough for the young woman to get away.
"Excuse me," I said. "I seem to have lost my way, my PPA. Can you help me? Where is it? Where is it?"
"Sex?" The man asked with obvious outrage, as though I had declared myself a rival for his prisoner's affections. It now occurred to me that the woman might be a prostitute, and he an unruly customer.
"No! Not sex. I am looking for a specific building. It has no aluminum siding or stained glass. It could be filled with marzipan. Do you know where it is? This is an emergency."
In an instant, the man's face underwent a remarkable transformation, changing from a mask of rage, to a vision of perplexity itself. While he attempted to decipher my request, I threw a conspiratorial glance at the woman-who, it must be said, seemed rather slow to appreciate that the moment of her emancipation was at hand.
The man began to discuss my case in fluent Hausa with one of his friends. I continued to rave. The woman, for her part, glared at me as though I were an idiot. Then, realizing her opportunity for the first time, like a bird that had long sat within an open cage, she suddenly broke free and fled down the street. Her erstwhile attacker was too engrossed by his reflections even to notice that she had left.
Mission accomplished, I at once thanked the group and moved on. While my conduct in the above incident seems to meet with the approval of almost everyone, I relate it here because I consider it an example of a moral failure. First, I was lying, and lying out of fear. I was not lost, and I needed no assistance of any kind. I resorted to this tactic because, quite frankly, I was afraid to openly challenge an indeterminate number of drunks to a brawl. Some may call this wisdom, but it seemed to me to be nothing more than cowardice at the time. I made no effort to communicate with these men, to appeal to their ethical scruples, however inchoate, or to make any impression upon them whatsoever. I perceived them not as ends in themselves, as sentient creatures capable of dialogue, appeasement, or instruction, but as a threat in its purest form. My ethical failure, as I see it, is that I never actually opposed their actions-hence they never received any correction from the world. They were merely diverted for a time, and to only a single woman's advantage. The next woman who became the object of their predations will have little cause to thank me. Even if a frank intercession on the woman's behalf would have guaranteed my own injury, a clear message would have been sent: not all strangers will stand idly by as you beat and abduct a woman in the street. The action I took sent no such message.
Indeed. I suspect that even the woman herself never knew that I had come to her aid. There is a lesson here for all of us: THE END NEVER JUSTIFIES THE MEANS!
