Theme: LEGALLY RAPED

22.04.2021

Two evenings ago I met up again with my poet_musician mate.

We hung out at the beach and he then suggested we could go to the studio to hang out and listen to his new track and have some food.

Cool.

We took a taxi and drove about 10 minutes into an area I hadn’t been before.

Lagos Town.

Not far from my house really but completely different.

Wild.

Hence the name.

It was so busy.

A market slum.

People were out on the street hustling while all kind of vehicles tried to squeeze through.

The buildings were wooden shacks with corrugated iron roofs.

These type of buildings are all over Takoradi but here it seemed more intense.

Poorer.

A dense labyrinth leaning into the road.

At some point we got out of the cab and walked.

And I watched.

All these lives.

Adults, children, animals.

Living in ways Europeans cannot imagine.

Lives nonetheless.

We walked for quite a while until we got to an area called Asseke.

Asseke City massive.

Everyone knew Valency here.

It’s his hood.

I get noticed.

Am watched.

But I feel safe.

It got dark suddenly.

And people were still hustling.

Selling in dimly lit small shops dotted along the side of the road or sitting on lack of pavement.

It’s noisy.

And hot.

We stop at one group cooking outside and he introduces me to his mother.

Who really is his mom’s sister.

She is round.

With cropped hair.

Stirring something.

She turns around and gives me a warm smile and welcome.

We walk off the main road into the back alleys.

No street lights.

I see small puppies flitting about.

A group of naked young boys having their evening water fight holding white buckets.

Their bodies glistening.

White on black.

Raw.

Free.

I follow V weaving between buildings until we reach the studio.

Of @realppblaq

It’s tiny but has everything.

A sofa.

A booth.

The desk.

Fully functional.

And we listen to the track.

It’s a banger.

V wants my opinion.

Approval.

And I see.

He will go far.

There is this energy about him.

We laugh.

He wants to show me a really cool hangout place.

By a lake.

It feels like 10pm but it’s really only 7.

So we go.

Joined by his mate who was in the studio.

Past derelict houses and into backstreet nature.

It’s interesting how you go “ok” … “ok, that would be fun” … “why not?” and then suddenly realise that you are seriously out of your comfort zone.

It’s a moment.

Like the decent of darkness here.

One moment you see.

Next you don’t.

It’s a more than uneasy feeling.

The potential-for-disaster thought is dawning.

Dawn follows darkness.

Nature.

I relax and go with it.

I hate this new awareness.

The awareness for potential end of life defining danger.

But I refuse to be afraid.

I don’t want to project.

We walk about 10 minutes.

Chatting.

And we hit a place.

There is a bamboo and palm leaf seating area by a concrete structure.

By a lake.

It would be beautiful during the day.

But I don’t see much.

I see several guys sitting on a wall nearby.

I’m the only girl.

We sit on the bench and they come over and say hi.

Everyone knows V.

And we listen to his music.

And have a smoke.

And chat.

Safely.

I’m not worried.

I could crazily be.

But I’m not.

Everything is transparent.

Despite the darkness in environment.

And skins.

His music is so good.

We plan.

World domination.

He sends one of the younger guys off to a shop to buy drinks.

The younger ones serve the older ones.

Out of respect.

You say and they don’t hesitate and do.

I order water.

No juice?

No thanks, I’m good with water.

So after what feels like 20 minutes the boy comes back with both.

Do I want juice?

No, cool, I got my water

But why?

Lol, what’s with the juice, man?

It’s like they want to look after me and water is simply not enough.

I take juice.

Everyone relaxes.

And I notice that my eyesight gets blurry.

Shit, my daily disposable contact lenses seem to be dissolving on my eye.

Must be the heat.

I noticed a couple of days ago that they went funny but didn’t pay attention.

Fuck.

It’s dark.

I’m in the middle of nowhere.

And can’t see.

Cause for mild concern.

But I’m respecting my being out of comfort zone.

It’s just that.

Nothing more.

And I’m heading out further by the minute.

I suggest I should go.

It’s getting dangerously close to my self-imposed 10pm curfew.

And we head off.

I’m tense because I don’t want to trip on the crazy terrain but am reassured to just relax.

We walk through long grass.

Snakes?

Naaaa.

And we get to the road.

All good.

And we walk some more.

I have literally been walking all day.

At 1.30pm from home to the market.

From there to the beach.

From Lagos Town to Asseke.

To the studio.

To the lake.

Long.

V has an idea.

I decline.

Better that way.

But why?

You’ll thank me later, I reply.

We walk along the road and pass a food place.

A woman cooking noodles in gas fired wok.

Am I hungry?

I’m good.

And tired.

I just want home.

He orders take away noodles and an omelette.

And just like that I sit in a taxi on my paid ride home.

With the noodles.

Everyone wants to feed me.

Nonstop since I came to Ghana.

It seems that, what feels to me like my most perfect shapely self, one I strifed for all my life and finally achieved while living in Amsterdam, looks or feels unnatural to the people I’m with.

Fascinating.

But I’m happy with my figure.

Most women here are bigger, the food is just so heavy.

Weight and the heat is a scary combination for me.

I can see the strain on my step mom.

And I’m constantly and lovingly battling with her to reduce my portions.

I hate leaving food and waste.

Food is a Ghana love thing.

You better take it.

I’m finally home.

Climbing over the garden wall because the gates are already locked.

I’m late.

Again.

And greeted by Derrick, our Doberman guard.

Back in the comfort zone.

My new comfort zone.

Sort of.

Isn’t it funny how far I was gone just an hour earlier?

Considering the stories which apparently are in the news about rapes and ritual killings and kidnappings, my parents would’ve not known where to even start searching for me.

But I was taken care of.

Being in the company of V was my multipass.

I was untouchable.

The white girl and the poet.

Exposure.

He would raise heaven and earth if something happened to me.

There would be consequences.

Serious ones.

Ugly ones.

I know.

Or rather don’t want to.

So isn’t it funny how I feel raped in the UK?

Without protection and completely helpless?

Financially raped by a tenant who has been refusing to pay rent for most of last year.

And there is absolutely nothing I can do about it because there is no help from the legal system.

As a landlord you are fucked.

And the tenant protection system is being beautifully exploited by individuals like my tenant.

I feel a burning rage about it every day.

And utter helplessness.

I can take the asshole to court which costs me at least £1500 upfront (2 months rent) which I don’t have because of over £6k rent arrears he owes me.

He owes me and I am the one who has to take him to court.

And several solicitors have already assured me that there is very little chance to retrieve any of my money.

And to add insult to injury, my tenant can countersue me for £3k because I didn’t have the chance to pay in his deposit because he defaulted straight away back in March and I had lost my job and would’ve lost my home.

He is protected.

I am not.

This happens in the UK.

Legal rape.

So why am I perfectly protected in Ghana but not in the UK?

It’s so fucked up.

It makes me feel sick.

I’m wrecking my brain of what to do.

This would not be possible in Ghana.

Here if you want to rent, you have to pay a year in advance.

Full stop.

In the UK they just introduced a deposit cap of 6 weeks monthly rent.

And rental contracts are not allowed to have pet restrictions anymore.

Wtf

This is my property.

My parents here are gob smacked.

If you don’t pay your rent or break terms of your contract in Ghana, there will be consequences.

Fuck Covid excuses.

You’ll be out.

Or the consequences would be more serious.

Maybe not by general law.

But the law of the land.

You’ll be fucked up.

And rightly so.

Or I could pay someone to voodoo your ass.

God, how I wish I could arrange something.

Fucking Payback, asshole.

For fucking me over and getting away with it.

I have dreams of torture.

Seriously.

I hate his guts so much.

Hate and helplessness are a dangerous combination.

Gives you ideas.

I feel like I’m imploding.

I understand how rape victims must feel.

#metoo

The betrayal of trust.

I have well meaning help from friends but in the end I’m with it alone.

The lawyers can take my money but can’t help.

I’m in a dangerous zone.

Sometimes I feel like just walking away.

Not having to think about it anymore.

To forget.

But I believe this is a challenge.

A lesson in not going along the easy route.

I want justice.

To push forward against all the odds.

To throw money at it and bust his ass.

I want to win!!

I want him to feel as uncomfortable as he makes me feel.

I want him to wake up every night in the same pain I am feeling.

Why am I actually feeling pain?

Why helplessness?

What do I believe he is doing to me?

It’s not about the money really.

He is not respecting me.

It’s a feeling that someone can just violate you.

Violate an agreement of trust.

I trusted him.

Although he is a face tattoos builder alcoholic.

But I felt compassion.

For some reason.

Wanted to provide him with a safe home to sort himself out.

I saw potential.

I ignored all the red flags.

I should’ve never rented the flat out to him based on his looks alone.

I should’ve done a proper background check.

I should’ve paid the deposit into a scheme.

So you can argue it’s my own fault.

I brought this situation upon myself.

Well fuck you.

It would be the same as saying that because I wore a miniskirt, it was ok to be raped.

This is the state of affairs in the UK.

And I hate it so much.

So how do I want my revenge to look like?

I want to cut off his dick.

Make him feel scared and small.

Dickless, powerless and raped.

How can I do that?

Suggestions welcome.

Until someone comes up with something tangible, I will continue to hang out in slums with strangers in Africa at night.

Blind.