Sunday, 26 May 2019

This can't be life

When I am hyper aware of my existence nausea and fear wash over me like a cold shower to a wanton man. 
Waking me instantly.

'Talk' they say.  
'A problem shared is a problem halved', they chant. 

Well okay 

I am loneliest in fully packed rooms.  
As I enter a room I fantasize of the numerous ways it could end. 
I imagine choking on my own breath, more times than I care to count.  
Most times I feel like a pressurized propane aerosol can.  
Yearning, waiting to release a cloud of blood and tears.  

Silence,

Slow blink, fear
Slow blink, disgust
Slow blink, confusion

Bewilderment 

I spoke and your reaction shouted back at me
Your mouth unmoving  

I say I am joking
Lighten the load for you 
Clear the air for me   

Have you seen the Jihad John documentary on Channel 4?  

Swiftly change the subject 

The chains tightening around me 
The distance between us widening.  

Our realities becoming incongruent.  

Sunday, 19 May 2019

Fuh the Culture

'Hi cuz' the text usually begins, then awkward conversation that has a destination complete with diversions that lengthen the journey. Then the long awaited 'Sis send me some money, even kidogo kidogo £50 will do,napapata'. Amazambians we do not papata often so you know its real. Always real. 

Also £50 is a lot of money guys. I stand by that. 

Both parties are usually aware where this message is going from the initial 'Hi cuz', but it's an intrinsic dance and everyone has a role to play. I must clarify, not all 'Hi cuz', texts end like this and I am grateful for that. Coz it does go without saying, but some of weren't taught comprehensive reading and it shows.

We speak and joke frequently about 'Black tax' and the multiple 'businesses' that our parents have sponsored. We laugh at the idea of having to explain to a non African partner for them to say 'why don't they just get a job'. Unnecessary stress. Yes it's a generalised 1D way of looking at people but some of you groups are mad predictable. And it's about time you were stereotyped and humbled. 

As someone who dates exclusively black - it's not racist, my best friend's mum's husband's neighbour's dog's owner is white - I thought aaah there are so many cultural bullets I am dodging here by dating black.  

But since being with my partner there are so many culturally things and aspects that feel even alien to broach as mere conversational topics.  

How do you start conversations about money you send back home knowing you sending it with no expectation of coming back? How do you talk about things like lobola? How do you talk about language and how our proximities to the English language and Englishness are so different that we might as well might have grown up in different countries? How do you talk about the importance of language, how its weaponization means certain words feel weird from my mouth and when heard make me shift in my seat. 

The questions and curiosities lay both ways I am sure - if not this is a tad awkward - that's the fascinating thing about intercultural dating, you find out how the other half live.  

P.s - I ate fucking snails, ass and flipping foie gras, each a delicacy in their own right. One I won't be trying again.  

P.p.s - Its interesting how we see the world and interact with the people in it, thats not all based on cultural aspects but their significance can't be overlooked. 

  

Wednesday, 15 May 2019

Penny for your thoughts

Stories of working parents struggling financially are becoming more common and getting closer to home, what was once something that happened to a friend's, friend's, friend's relative is fast becoming a friend's struggle. If the reality for working parents is the absurd cost of childcare, and the ever raising costs of living, coupled with stagnant wages, what is the reality for parents at the miracle of social welfare? 

While I am aware I do not have solutions to these issues I think its very important to critique and highlight, just because it doesn’t affect you directly, doesn’t mean you shouldn't be outraged by some of the stories that come out. A lot of stories will get lost in the noise that is Brexit, a story that recently - at time of writing - caught my eye is the story of the MPs and the Credit Cards.

Another expenses scandal, this time 377 MPs had their credit cards revoked. Devizes Mp and energy minister Claire Perry, used her credit card to claim for her adult children , the kids are aged from 17 to 22 -  the rules are she can claim till they are 18 -, she even used this card to pay for her Amazon Prime subscription. Its almost forgivable tbh, at least she gets next day delivery on us, I just hope she didn’t use it to do pay per view movies on Amazon, my beef isn't Amazon and their Prime ways though.

Claire Perry I can almost roll my eyes at. The name that had me so flabbergasted, the irony slapped me like wet fish. It was wonderful experience.

Amber Rudd, my friend, this is dedicated to you.
My gyal, the Secretary of State for Work and Pensions, her role is to essentially look after everybody and their mama. Her voting history shows someone who has no regard for poor folk, she has voted consistently for a reduction in spending on welfare benefits, and she is just trash.

Rudd has had her credit card suspended more than 10 times. Just incase you miss the irony. The woman tasked with looking after people, the woman who consistently voted against raising welfare benefits in line with inflation, the woman whose office has literally killed people, their policy is murderous, if people in a welfare state are dying of poverty is it not murder?

'We had 7.50 and needed to buy baby wipes, nappies, dinner and our own dinner', 'My credit hasn't been paid for 8 weeks, my rent is unpaid and they threatening me with court action'. The frequency of these conversations is becoming worrying, but not as worrying as the reactions of people, those who tell these people that proper saving is the only way to get out of their situation. How when every penny has to be maximised?

How do we expect someone who has a diminished sense of monetary value, a suspended prepaid credit card isn't indicative of knowledge. 
When the welfare system is abused and misused*, can we really blame recipients when our own Secretary of state is doing low low penalty free fraud?
TBH Tax payers should have formed one big avenger and beefed the whole parliamentary credit card system, just give them fuel allowance, make them live the way nurses live. 

P.S ** A system of misuse and corruption - lets call it what it is sha-. has been natured how do we expect recipients to be honest and trustworthy when even the Mps aren't held to the same standard. But what do I know my country doesn't even have a welfare system. 

Sunday, 12 May 2019

Broken system

Where do people go for help in a broken system?

A block of self contained flats about 60 give or take 10, fill these self contained flats with young vulnerable people and have 3 underpaid and overworked staff members.

The people here come from the care system, dysfunctional homes and what have you. Most of them under 30, mix in mental health, substance abuse and you have a hotpot of mayhem, a whole world unseen to the wider public and ignored by lawmakers. These are the victims of a system that allows services including, mental health services to dwindle to criminal inhumane levels.

'Bob' is autistic and has learning difficulties, he has bounced from supported living, to this block of flats where he has been served with an eviction notice, but this young man doesn't understand the severity of his situation and there isn't anyone helping him. His friends all hooked on various drugs use him continuously to run errands for him ranging from getting meal deals to running drugs across town. He is a vulnerable man over looked by society and a hidden statistic. 

Without the right support 'Bob' will be on the streets and once on the streets theres it's a 50-50 probability he will be on some kind of substance. Is this not based on proper statistics he either will or he wont. 

'Bob' isn't the anomaly in this place, he is the norm, until people know and understand how desperate his situation is, he is on the fast track to homelessness where he really will be lost in the system, a mere face in the streets.

So where should 'Bob' go for support or help?

Sunday, 5 May 2019

Check in Check up

Yo yo yo!!
Fam!
By 'fam' I am referring to you my one reader - I see you my G, I do this for us -. 

After a month, yes we celebrating a month, end of. After a month of successful posting I want to say why do I stop each time with this shit, it's so therapeutic.
But then honestly it's because happy shit barely rouses anything worth jotting down. I am not saying I don't want happy stuff, what I am saying is that I like to shine a light on sadness/injustice and generally not niceness because what is in the dark must come to light.
It's like 4am I am not sober I am tiyaad. 

P.s I am sure if I sat down and actually thought and wrote this I would make a point, but however this is just a filler post and you read the whole thing. Your country loves you.
P.p.s anyone with a physical copy of Gaddafi's GreenBook holla me innit. I will give you a shout out on all my super active socials.
P.p.p.s snoring friends are only funny when you are awake.

Thursday, 2 May 2019

The gist of it all.


In front of me a new employee is trained by a manager, next to them a colleague has searched 'cancer' into his email. Opposite the manager is a young man staring at his computer, most likely not looking at a work related screen. Next to him is a man whose head I can only see the top of and behind him two, one on his phone one in his emails. In front of me there's 12 or so rows where this or scenes like this play out.  And behind me a mere 4 rows.  

If it hasn’t dawned on you yet, I am in an open plan office. Where the day starts with murmured greetings, tapping keyboards, polyphonic ringtones, numerous phone calls occurring simultaneously, sneezing - Jesus so much sneezing-, whispering, tapping, knocking, chewing, every type of noise imaginable, at every level of irritation.  

You wouldn’t be mistaken if you walked in and immediately visualized a greenhouse, with the large double glazed windows, the orange toned lighting. The only thing that grows in this greenhouse is the toxicity that is fertilized from the higher echelons of management and allowed to sip its way through to very depot, department and team.  

The swirling chairs and the cleared throats that make way for whispering are one of the most sinister aspects of working in an open office environment, at my particular office some of the whispers include, judging colleagues' ability to provide for their children – nothing prompted this, no unusual bruising on a child's shin, not a wayward comment about a child, nothing-, how black guys are thieves – the man applied for a job-, giggles were shared when they suspected a slimmer framed workmate had an eating disorder-  this prompted interrogation every time food was mentioned or seen, and my personal favourite – two black colleagues cannot be friends, unless they fuck. Obviously this is simply scratching the surface of the whispering.  

Spending 12 month where I am, I am convinced that there is some kind of mass hysteria. 

Initially all the cold sweats, the pains, the dizziness, tight chest, the faintness, was explained by something, maybe my sugar levels too low, the broken sleep got a lot of the slack, I would catch colds and flus like it was nothing. Always tired and frustrated I started to take vitamins in hopes once my vitamins are at least levelled I would be energetic at least. Or so I thought.  

One morning while laid in bed, my alarm went off. Unbeknownst to me this was the start of an ugly ugly wake up style.  

With my heavy heart weighing heavy on my chest, like sleep paralysis, but all I could see was the carpark at work, and the large purple logo engulfing me and my car. I giggle now but believe me it's scary as fuck.  

It was then it dawned on me I was anxiously depressed from Monday to Friday from 6-6 and free on the weekends and days off. My mental health was affected in shifts I thought it was great and would make it manageable. My triggers were clearly work.  

While I was trying to get my head around this new epiphany,  the whispers intensified and because I was tired, tirreeeeeeed. I got HR and my line manager involved I couldn’t be coming for work always feeling like one more polyphonic ringtone would make me jab a homemade pen worked into a prison style shank to the neck of the nearest fucker.  

Then they told me all my feelings were just opinion and I shouldn’t care what others think of me. I sat in that room fighting back tears. So I did what I had to do and kept coming to cesspool of toxicity.  

Months passed and I was barely coping at work, but who would listen if I spoke up again, I just had to make sure my life outside work was full of life and joy. Only that there is no such thing as work life and life, FAM its all just life.  
Essentially this is about how my 'work life' and life started to merge in violence - metaphorically- and my brain became a cocoon of misery. Side note - cocoon is a weird word coz sounds more like ca-coon, anyway English is not my mother tongue languages.

The depression and anxiety I was feeling at work started to linger, it wouldn’t leave at 6pm and would already be there before 6am, everything I was doing outside work to try and fulfil my life started to feel emotionally taxing and physically no amount of 'doing nothing' weekends energised me. My appetite had practically disappeared and I was essentially force feeding myself, my gynaecologist told me my job will kill me if I wasn't careful, I joked and asked if he would pay my bills, then promptly directed his attention to my spread legs, thats what he was to exam not my work situation. The weight melted off me and people congratulated me on my weight loss, a change in weight I didn't really care for as it was a result of my failing mental health rather than disciplined training and eating. But I would smile and say 'oh thanks', and strike one fierce pose, laughing internally at the ridiculousness of the situation. My mind couldn't think past the next sentence, I was unable to think or even compile coherent sentences,just dropping adlibs, like I was a lil Jon tribute act. 

I still couldn’t say more at work, so they can tell me again that it is in my head? Nuh mate, not gonna waste my time.  

 Instead I kept applying for the few jobs that were around, but not one of them resulted in an interview in anything, now my depression and anxiety cannot and does not take rejection well. I was rejected left right and centre. I couldn’t do it anymore.  

Then the survey came.   

I was perplexed when the managers expressed the disappointment in the results. Turns out I am not the only person who was unhappy in the department. Was anyone going to apologies or at least acknowledge that they swept my concerns under the rug? Was anyone now going to try to get to the bottom of this? Was there anything to change these conditions? If the people who soured the place in the first place are now saying they don’t like it where do you go? Will the western world acknowledge the human rights violations they oversee to protect their worldview? Will the Zambian president put his people's needs above his own? Okay I got carried away. Lets pretend I was hopeful.  

Instead a group meeting where the anonymous survey was questioned for authenticity, where instead of actively trying to look at ways of improving the conditions, people where aggressively questioned about their presence at work if they don’t like it that much. As if anyone's bills will say "forget about me, I am going to take some time  while you work out your work situation".  

My job was killing me, I still need to find a new job.

My job was emotionally ruining me, I would roll my eyes when watching sad stuff. 

I had a breakdown.  

I actively remind myself to eat.  

I occasionally have paralysing anxiety at the thought of being at work.

I was stuck at work with no feasible way out. 

Then my doctor signed me off.

I spent the time reminding myself I am the baddest EVER, with the help of my loved ones obviously big up yourselves. Not to brag but I am pretty cool, ask my harem.

While my experience is not unique but is valid.  

P.s - dude do not let these 'systems' kill you sha, go get that time to rediscover yourself coz the butterfly that flies out that CACOON is worth protecting, celebrating, loving and thriving. It's no longer enough to just live sis, lets motherucking THRIVE.

Keep the people who be blowing your horn when you don't have the strength to do it yourself, they celebrate the hardest when you back to blowing your own.

Peace Out.

p.p.s I postponed my masturbation to rewrite this and I must say time well spent.