Theme: FUCK BULLIES
24.04.2021
Right after having decided to let go of my erring belief about an aspect of the concept of time and money yesterday, to stop being a victim to both, something extraordinary happened:
A bully tenant who was torturing me by not paying rent and not moving out for over a year, suddenly messaged me that he is.
Moving out.
Beginning of next month.
That he had enough of my mind games.
HE HAD ENOUGH?
Hahaha … nevermind.
I’m so happy.
The poison which had been infusing my mental state for over a year now will finally be gone.
Be gone, motherfucker.
I felt such a relief yesterday.
So free and happy.
It was a wonderful day.
On top of that I had an invitation by two fun friends of my brothers’ to go to the beach.
It was brilliant.
Milly Beach I think just outside of Tadi.
It was a bay partially closed off with a stone wall to calm the waves so we were able to swim.
The first time to swim in the ocean.
Because only a few weeks ago 18 youngster were swept out and died.
There were the three of us today and only Patrick and I were swimming.
It was like Hastings but warm.
And with sand.
A fun afternoon with drinks, and food my mom had prepared.
And chatting, sitting on the shore and letting the wave ends wash around our legs and digging our hands into the wet sand.
We talked about reality and religion.
And humans having the power of gods.
Pretty damn perfect.
On the way back the guys invited me to a funeral.
Which are big celebrations in Ghana and basically everyone can go.
Free food and drinks and hangouts.
Sure, I’m up for that.
The only black clothes I brought from Amsterdam is an Egyptian cotton T-shirt my homie Ahmed gave me because I had sold all my clothes in a flurry of inspiration, and my favourite pair of black jeans which looked extremely erm … loved.
Is that ok to wear?
Sure, no problem.
So I got dropped off to get rid of the sand and the waves to be picked up again later.
I bumped into my dad in the yard.
Did you have a nice time in the beach?
Yes, thanks.
Why do you want to go to a funeral?
Because the boys invited me.
But why don’t you go during the day?
Because they are going in the evening.
You don’t go to funerals in the evening.
Well, apparently you do, otherwise I wouldn’t have been invited, right?
I went on getting ready.
And couldn’t find my black T-shirt.
It was recently washed and taken off the line and put somewhere.
And none of the girls were home for me to ask where it had gone.
So I decided to borrow something from my brother’s closet.
I figured it would be ok.
Since it fitted me perfectly.
I got dressed and went upstairs to the kitchen to hang out until my pick up.
The girls were back.
Mom complemented me on the shirt.
So I stood in the hallway and suddenly my dad comes charging at me shouting to take the shirt off.
Like a bull.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
He pushed and punched me and pulled at the shirt.
I was stunned.
Taken aback by the insane aggression.
Wtf.
He pulled so hard at the shirt that it ripped at one side.
The girls came to my aid shouting and trying to pull him away but he was relentless.
The anger and the force with which he came at me was astounding.
A 75 year old man.
Finally mom managed to handle him away to the back of the building to calm him down.
Arguing.
I noticed briefly that the girls had moved in a routine operation.
To separate us.
They’ve done this before.
And I remember that my German mom had mentioned flares of intense anger while she was living with my dad.
I was living abroad at the time but
once had a brief taste of it but had somewhat dismissed it as a fluke.
He was probably just stressed at work.
But this was over nothing.
Poor mum.
Something had built up in him.
And got violently vented tonight.
Triggered by not being happy for me to go out apparently.
But what … THE FUCK
This is unacceptable.
Nobody lays hands on me like that.
Without consequences.
I took the torn shirt off and went downstairs to check out what had just happened.
Wasn’t in the mood for going out anymore.
Maybe I should’ve.
In defiance.
Tomorrow.
This is curious.
The very same morning I had got rid of one bully and suddenly there is another.
Am I being tested in my belief?
In my resolve?
Looks like it.
There is an overarching concept the lessons seem to be about.
Which is (the belief in) MENTAL SLAVERY.
The evening scenario had nothing to do with the time and money constraints from the morning scenario, this is something different.
This is a freedom constraint scenario.
Freedom of movement.
I’m an adult so my dad cannot restrict my freedom in any way.
He can go fuck himself instead.
He has never been in my life, he surely cannot claim any parental rights now.
I came to Ghana to connect to my dad. Looking back, I thank God that we never moved to Ghana as children like my mother had planned.
To Africa into the mental dependency of a psycho.
It took a military coup to prevent the disaster.
I wonder what my life would’ve been like?
I probably would’ve married young just to escape slavery.
And had shitloads of kids stuck at home with a philandering husband.
Like so many women here.
The only comfort being church.
But things are changing.
Divorces becoming more common.
Thank God.
It transpires that all women in my household are scared of dad.
They all are having frequent run ins with him.
Especially mom.
Over nothing.
Mom’s shoulder is mashed because he once threw her across the room I learn. When I gave her a massage the other day I thought it might’ve been an injury from being a busy caterer.
This is so wrong.
Mom and Ama come downstairs to find me.
We have a long chat.
During a power cut.
The only reason why mom stays is because she has invested blood, sweat and tears into this house and does not want to walk away from it.
Into what?
Uncertainty.
So she is investing more blood, sweat and tears into it!
Depositing on a daily basis.
Enough paid already.
Now it’s payback time, girl.
Both the fear of him and fear of the withouthim is keeping her hostage.
Makes her a victim.
The withouthim represents uncertainty, insecurity and maybe social stigma.
But freedom and happiness and light and safety it could also represent.
It’s a choice to believe which one.
I was wondering why she rarely sits with us for meals.
Or slams the door sometimes after serving him the food.
Looking deeply troubled.
I cannot imagine what her life must be like.
Well I can actually.
My bully was far away in the UK.
Hers is in her face.
Every day.
But I dealt with one, so I can surely deal with another.
I’m on a roll.
How will I perform face to face?
I will be calm.
I want an apology.
I will tell him that he will never touch me again or I will be gone.
Gone forever.
And he will be dead to me.
And to my German brothers as well.
My purpose here in Ghana was to build a bridge.
That bridge can easily be taken down again.
So it’s up to him.
We can be civil.
But when I learn of any of his bullying also towards the girls, I will provide them with pepper spray to defend themselves before I leave.
Motherfucker.
Lol, that’s basically what he is.
Puts babies into the world without taking any responsibilities.
And then being an erratic violent despot.
Not on, mate.
Looking at it, the fact that he was never around for any of us 8 kids for most of our lives was a blessing.
Now I understand that it had to be this way.
That we all had wonderful mothers.
And that was more than enough.
We had freedom.
Or at least I had.
And I will not have it restricted.
I don’t owe my dad fuck all.
He is a sperm donor.
And that sperm will enable me to stay in Ghana indefinitely and make my vision a reality.
Things to do:
- DNA parental test ASAP
- Get my application for citizenship going
- source pepper spray
- face him
- Go out tonight
And I am not scared.
Bring it on.
Fuck you, bullies.
Bully scenarios are a dance.
Like a bullfight.
I wonder who is the bully and who is the victim here.
The bully always to be the one who is perceived to display the aggression.
Who goes first.
In the case of the bullfight, it’s the bull.
Charging.
But if you look closely, it’s the bullfighter who triggers the aggression by waving the red cloth.
Aggression trigger comes first.
So I am the bullfighter who triggered the bull.
By walking to the beach by myself.
By meeting strangers there and hanging out with them until late at night.
In dodgy places.
By hanging out with guys in general.
By climbing over the property wall after hours because the gates are locked.
By suggesting to make a bigger den for the dog and actually giving him water during the day.
By having a tattoo.
And a lip piercing.
I presume.
This could be my aggression.
The red cloth I’m waving.
Shoving freedom of movement and female independence into his face.
Daily since I came to stay.
Lol.
However, the bull can always choose.
To charge or not.
It’s only a red cloth.
But this is a test.
To stand up or down.
I’m ready for the dance.
Calm and collected.
And with precision blow I will submit the bull.
Without a single drop of blood or sweat or a tear.
