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He wears his mane with pride, eyes sharp and focussed he sits like a silhouette against the sunrise and watches everything from a distance. At a distance, the lioness is a shadow of her past pride, a once proud pride, she sits forlorn and heartbroken. The storm has been and gone, branches lie strewed across the jungle, tree trunks a history of what was once a tree and all there is, is a deafening silence. She primes her ears for that vibrating roar – a roar to awaken her feminist instinct, an instinct of love and nurturing. Memory is a sensory she cannot comprehend; did the storm that ripped them apart happen yesterday or two decades ago, she wonders into that hollow shadow inside her. The shadow that once was full of aspiration and dreams, where once there was a living soul is now echoing with an emptiness that sinks her heart into unequalled darkness. But she cannot despair even though she has no option or plan b. How can she despair, for she made a promise, a promise to herself and that promise cannot be broken? The words came from inside her, as she intensely watched that coffin lowered to rest, her mind eluded her and insanity took over, her eyes lost focus and she never heard the sound of the last shovel. She was listening to a voice, a voice inside her, the words clear and simple; to avenge for the life of that one lion in her life whose mane made her proud to call him her brother.

There is so much debris after a storm, floods bring with them some of the most fearsome reptiles and the after shock is felt for years. The floods fill the hollow shadows, form craters of their own and in them dwell some of these fearsome reptiles. It is only time that restores the post storm jungle life back to normality. Yet normality eludes the lioness as she sits alone among the debris. She must maintain a sense of calmness and remain alert and focussed to save her sanity. She has to be strong, fend for herself and look after herself. Her jaws are strong enough to rip any reptile that threatens her life, but this forest is no longer her home. As she tries to adapt her mind to her new surroundings, the longing and loneliness eats away at her inside and drains her of what ever life she has like a victim of vampire bats. But she cannot walk away from this hell hall; what if the lion is somewhere trying to find his way back; so she sits through this gruesome loneliness; there is so much at stake if she upped and left.

To get into the mind of a grieving person, you must understand grief. Some people mourn their loved ones, others grieve; there is a very fine thin line in between. It is the intensity of both that varies from person to person. This analogy is about me and my brother Mike. Yes I did make a promise 27 years ago this last July, a promise to myself, to fight for justice for my brother. For years I silently prayed on him, I begged his soul, I retraced our steps together, sang his favourite songs until I drained myself of sanity. I waited and waited, used my imagination, beseeched the spirit world, for the soul of the only one man whose soul I truly loved. There was such a strong bond between me and my brother Mike that I could never break. All those trips to Zimbabwe, a country that up until recently awoke some of the saddest emotions in me were not made out of choice. It was the refusal by the lioness in me to leave just in case the lion was also searching for me.

When they say good things come to those who wait, it does not mean sitting down and waiting. In the horizon the He lion watched the lioness as she was tempted and tried, watched her survive the reptiles and he let her fight her own battles until she was strong enough to stand on her own. Yes lions are the only cat species that forms social groups and it is also true that the lioness does most of the hunting. How could I break the bond between me and the He lion whose presence in my life completed our pride? Yes I had to hunt and kill for survival, but most important I fought for justice for my brother the lion that protected me during our childhood and I brought him back into my life. I now have a choice of which lion does what job – the He lion rarely goes on a hunt, but it surely protects its female pride. Its mane arouses the maternal nurturing instinct in the lioness!

The moral of this story is: Never abuse a lone woman. Never underestimate the power of a woman. Most important, never come in between the lioness and her lion! Not only have I got my brother’s soul in my life, I have now got the best of both worlds. THANK YOU LIONHEART – THANK YOU OTIS!


I took the lessons and the punishment just as you taught me. I applied them in real life, paid the prize but I’ve triumphed – thank you mama. You were the disciplinarian in our family and your word was final. When I came home crying for being punished for asking the nuns a question, you encouraged me to question authority and take the punishment for it. When I recounted a story I had heard from a friend you demanded to know whether I checked the authenticity of the story instructed me to do that. When it turned out to be untrue you got annoyed with me and told me never to believe ‘amanga’. Your words were simple; “Before you open your mouth ask yourself this question, “Why am I saying this?” Before you believe what someone tells you, ask yourself; “Why are they telling me this?” You hated lies with passion and your friends trusted your judgement. I so much looked up to you and never imagined a day when you would not be in my life. No wonder why darkness took over my life when you left me; that was in October 1981 and I was lost without you, but I continued to fight my battles just as you taught me. Without you I was alone in all my battles, my battles of truth. It will be thirty years this October since you have been gone, yet I know that despite being alone in all this, you were always there with me and you are still here with me. It is time for me to say a special ‘thank you’ to you mama, my friend, my teacher and my angel.

As a mother myself, I would have loved to share my parental skills with you mama. But I am sharing them with the universe, because from the universe you came to be my mother and to teach me these wonderful lessons. I am therefore sharing this with you my friends out there; you mothers out there and you children out there. Mothers, what do you do if your child tells lies about another child? Mothers, what do you do if your child deliberately hurts another child? Mothers, what do you do if your child steals from another child? Children, what did you learn from your mothers? Are you like your parents? Do you steal, lie and hurt others because that is what your parents taught you? Whatever your answers are, let me tell you about the strength of the bond between me and my mother and between me and my son. My mother guided me in her physical life and still does in her spiritual life. Without her I would be history, killed by children whose parents taught them to hurt others, to lie about others and to steal from others. My son refused to let go of me even when I felt that I could not cope with life; the suffering and pain inflicted on me by those mothers and children who know nothing but to lie, hurt and steal from others. Now, like my mother, I taught my son the same lessons my mother taught me and I will be with my son in my physical life and in my spiritual life, because like me, my son learnt the lesson his mother taught him.

This is therefore my message to humanity; before you open your mouth, ask yourself why you are saying what you are saying; before you believe what someone tells you, ask yourself, why are they telling me and before you believe what someone tells you, check its authenticity. So let me end on this note; some people are just empty vessels and hence make the loudest noise. Some people are just born evil and no lesson will change them; and some people, like my mother, like me and like my son are born with a soul. A soul never lies and a soul never dies – thank you mama for being that mother and thank you son for being that child. Most important, thank you mama for bringing back to me some of the most powerful angels to protect me;  thank you Florence for loving your mother and thank you Michael for loving me!


I think I have finally got to the stage where I can put my hand on my heart and say, it is not easy for me to love those I hate. I have moments when I hate my jogging friends Sarah and Mickey; at 38 and 46 both are way younger than me, but they refuse to take this into consideration when we go jogging. In a bitchy voice Mickey mocks me for being unfit and Sarah never stops nagging me to keep up with them. I swear at them and tell them that I hate them, but always tell them how much I love them at the end. However, I finally got them today, Sarah went out last night and did not get in until 3 am this morning, and Mickey’s knees were playing up after 3 hours of Zumba yesterday. I was the only one who had the stamina and I never stopped screaming at them for being slow! I know I will pay for it next Sunday, but today was certainly my day! This is the love hate that I love among friends and I have certainly become healthier in my mind, body and spirit for being with pushy friends who want the best for me.

The question I really want to ask is; how difficult is it to love those who hate you for no reason? Very few of my friends understand the spiritual world that I live in. To most people my spiritual world is unscientific and therefore does not exist. Imagine watching Harry Potter and seeing some of the scenes that look familiar! I will share with you just a snippet of what I am talking about; by July 2005 I had met all the people I had seen in dreams or to be exact nightmares that started in 2001; visions of strange people performing some weird and wonderful acts – something I can only relate to perdition; with their faces contorted with fear, destruction and anger. Most of these people passed through my life very quickly and what ever grief they gave me was short lived. However, a few of them lingered on and on until I got so tired of loving them. Here by loving them I mean giving them a chance to exit my life without me pushing them out. I control my life in this spiritual realm to a similar extent as I do in this physical form only on condition that I don’t show my anger. Loving my enemies or pretending to love them is therefore not a choice for me as it is the only way I can deal with them.

So here we go; somewhere between 2006-2007 a colleague’s face metamorphosed and in its place I saw the face of one of those persecuted faces I had seen in an earlier vision. These experiences have happened to me throughout my life but this one took me by surprise. I had not had any personal interaction with this woman and wondered what role she played in what was happening to my life. In other words, I had nothing to do with her and she would never be my friend even if I lived for a million years. I started looking closely into this woman and she always avoided eye contact with me. Stubborn is another word for her determination and yet I could not figure out what she really was about. The web of deceit that I wrote about was dedicated to her and her friends. As I later found out, behind the scene, behind the web she was hiding turpitude of unknown magnitude and her aim was to recruit me into it. She also happened to have great preponderant among those she had caught into her web. She undermined my strength, my personal views, and my personal desires and like a juggernaut she was not going to budge. From her point of view it did not matter that as a person I had nothing to do with her and that I had a right to refuse to be part of her and her web of deceit.

I too was not going to budge, not out of choice because in my other world, in the spiritual realm she continued to torture me and my anguish was something she lavished on. So who is she? Lying on my bed one night, after fourteen days of fasting and praying for a normal life I had a vision where ghostly hands of both men and women were trying to reach for me. Around them there was this pervasion that overshadows what Sodom and Gomorrah must have been like. I always have to struggle to get up when these visions happen even though I am able to open my eyes. Above me was this huge web and behind the web was a huge spider and the face was of this woman. As I struggled to get up, I punched my fist through this web and what a relief it was to be awake. This accounts for why for years I forced myself to stay awake but after that particular night I knew it was best for me to sleep and fight with these evil spirits, however frightening the experiences were.

Before someone says anything, my spiritual world has no religion, hence I am not religious. I’d describe my belief as more like pantheism than atheism. I therefore don’t look for god in churches or in religion, but I look for a godly act in all living things. Just before I left the West London practice last November, I explained to my colleague who had by then become a very good spiritual friend what I had seen on her face. She turned round and said, “Yes I know her and her name has a V sound to it, I saw her in visions when she came to me and asked me about you!” I must explain here that this woman was heaven sent as she used to listen to some of my experiences and share hers with me. She had not told me about this experience as it did not make sense to her. It was a great relief for me rather than a spooky experience when she told me. I somehow knew that I had power over all these evil spirits because of my belief that once the devil is exposed, whether male or female, the people concerned self-combust. There are many people I know with a V sounding name, but one of them is surely evil, a spider whose web of deceit I have destroyed!

I have been asked by friends how it is like to have these visions. Personally, I am not scared, hence I was not scared when these visions, but when they intensified at the beginning of 2003 I became very distressed I had to confide in my only one best friend. She in her wisdom convinced me to consult a clairvoyant/medium. As a total sceptic in such professions, I will admit now that I will never forget that experience for the rest of my life. On reflection, not only did the lady tell me about those angels around me, but she mentioned all the names of the men who shoved their faces on me from 2003 to 2010 and warned me about them. She also told me that no one will harm me even though she was really scared of what she had seen. Pity she did not warn me of this V. I might have loved her or pretended to love her like I did the rest of those evil spirits that persecuted me. Maybe she did not see her in her spirit world, or the web of deceit was too powerful for her, or it could be that she wanted to leave the best for last. This V surely tormented me and caused me such distress I will always find it hard to love those who hate me. For someone who was not my friend, someone I had nothing to do with, someone I did not owe anything, this is evil of unknown magnitude and therefore to this V I say RIP evil spirit and may your web of deceit be your grave! It is not easy to love those who hate you, but it is great if you know that you will destroy them with your love! Yes let us love our enemies, do good to them for they know not what they are doing!

Despite all this, my life is now certainly a hundred times better than it was before 2003; but nothing prepared me for what happened between 2003 -2010. It’s true that darkness comes before dawn, and it’s also true that what does not kill you makes you stronger. I have nothing but praise for V and her web of deceit. She certainly gave a good fight and played her part well, but she could not have won because her strength is a combination of laziness and destruction. The truth is; in any battle, it does not matter how well the soldiers fight; what matters is to win the battle. This one was a battle between god and the devil, between good and evil, between lies and the truth. I love you for hating me, but most important I love you for fighting with me. YOU LOST AND I WON – GOODBYE AND GOOD RIDDANCE!


“The wind of change blows; the prison walls remain; the hurricane runs; the beast of a man will not be changed; how come this hesitation; when help is at hand ….” Labi Siffre talking about this lion in me; the lion that is ready to kill before the heartbeats of my children are still!
Labi Siffre’s music drives me like an engine; it urges me to fight, to stand up against injustice, to believe in myself and to see the world for what it is. “Something inside so strong” for instance was one song that I used to communicate with the invisible faces of men and women who were stalking me, those evil beasts who were frightened to face a woman, frightened to tell me what they wanted from me, a woman who had absolutely nothing to do with them. Labi is a black singer whose music has been hijacked by many to represent their struggles. A few years ago I attended a vigil in Trafalgar Square for a murdered gay man and the band sang “Something inside so strong” as their song of defiance against homophobia. I thought that was cool.
Apart from music, there are many people I have depended on in my attempt to understand this world. Understanding this world has been my quest throughout my life and I have spent many years undergoing different studies, carrying out different forms of human related research that involved not just our lives but social and economic, yet none explained this world than my lived experience! Before July 2003, I would not have dreamt of becoming political; my experience in exile when I was 17 years old and then under Mugabe in Zimbabwe was enough to put any reasonable person off politics for life. So my thanks to Mr Whiteman, he was the person in August 2003 who sowed the political seed in me again when he promised to help me help my people and then turned round called me a prostitute; no one has ever done something so hurtful to me and got away with it, hence I had to hunt him down and fight him until I destroyed him. It is for that reason that I spent three years 2003-2006 with comrades in Medway and Kent, sacrificing everything including nearly losing my house trying to understand what sort of organization would breed such kind of people. Thankfully my Medway comrades did play a pivotal role in this quest even and in this process I got politicized again. It was not a smooth sailing three years by the way as there was a lot of confusion, a lot of suspicion, hence a lot of gossip; partly because I had also lost faith in people and decided not to delve into anything but politics. On reflection, I should have trusted someone in this organization enough to confide in. But it was at the same time that I encountered this sudden surge of strangers who popped behind bushes when I was walking my dog, man with cameras who seemed to come from no where and the feeling that I was being followed where ever I went. It was obvious that someone was up to something and that someone made it difficult for me to meet new trustworthy friends. All this strange happening was pretty new to me and hence I found it not only scary and intimidating, but extremely intrusive into my life. I cannot say that it did not leave me scarred for life, because that would be underestimating the trauma this whole experience caused me, however, I have survived it.
I had never had any interaction with the media, I read the Daily Mail after I got married because my ex bought it until I despised it for its racist stance. I would describe my life pre July 2003 as that of a bored wife; a workaholic woman caught in a world she did not understand, a woman driven by her love to do something for those worse off than her and an extremely academic and inquisitive person who wanted to learn something new all the time. I learnt a lot in these past eight years than I learnt in my lifetime and am grateful to many people who share my experience. I read this on George Galloway’s blog today and I loved it; “Don’t worry over-much about the journalists who have lost their jobs on the NotW. I read somewhere that the unemployed live the life of Riley, thousands of pounds benefit, free houses, and work on the side ….” George Galloway. When I first came across George, sometime in 2004-5 the media was scandalising him for his stand against the invasion of Iraq and there were a lot of debates on blogs about this. I was at university one day when I debated this with some of my colleagues and they were against George and believed the media. I demonstrated against the war in February 2003 and I was gutted when Iraq was invaded. I supported George and shared his anger and my colleagues found that strange. I did not know George personally, but I respected his stand on this war. It then dawned on me that those idiots who followed me around with cameras were journalists trying to get a story from me, or fabricate one as they did with George. The question for me is; what story? My stand against the invasion of Iraq was surely something of significance to the government and those who are pro war given the fact that 2 million people marched against this war, and also unlike George I was a political nobody and was no threat to any government or individual. The other thought of course is; was it because I had sex with Mr Whiteman in July 2003 whilst I was still married that attracted these journalists to my life? If so, what the fuck is having consensual adult sex got to do with strangers? But what ever their reasons for stalking an innocent woman, I am surely grateful to them just as I am grateful to Mr Whiteman and his friends. They trained a bored wife into a warrior, a warrior that was to fight them to death.
The beast is a man that cannot be changed is a true statement because we all have that beast – a good (god) or an evil (devil) beast). What I am sure of about these stalkers is that they are not human beings as we understand the word, but they are brutal beasts, evil beasts the ones Labi sings about. If they were human beings, they would have humanity and driven by the constructive godly beast of truth and I would not have fought with them, for the simple reason that I don’t fight with human beings. Whilst these beasts were stalking me, I followed the media with an obsession of a mentally ill person for seven years just to understand its corruptness, its drive to destroy innocent people. Murdoch’s Empire beats them all and to think that at the top of this empire that is destroying innocent people’s lives is a woman, Rebekah Brooks and a man Andy Coulson is what I call a marriage made in hell! In hell is where we are meant to believe Satan the beast lives and yet here on earth we have these beasts from hell; beasts who look human and yet spend hours planning how to destroy ordinary innocent people, men and women are either dead or in prison because of these human evil beasts. If this earth is not meant to be hell, there must be somewhere where we can send these human beasts. The question is where?
Andy Coulson was arrested this morning and I am hysterically happy; remember that after his fall from the media he was employed as Cameron’s number one at Downing Street to advise the Prime Minister on how to run this country and the world. Hysterically happy is different from being happy. Hysterical happiness comes with emotions I can describe as happy and angry. I am happy because this beast has been humiliated and hopefully will go to hell after this. I am angry for the trauma they caused me; the times I spent crying myself to sleep wondering what on earth I had done to attract these evil beasts into my life. There must be thousands of other victims of these beasts dotted all over the world who share my emotions – George Galloway and Tommy Sheridan to name those I personally know. Therefore, closing the NotW is no loss to me, I know journalists and others have lost their jobs, but people are losing their jobs left right and centre and the reason behind that is ideological and political leadership supported by the likes of the Murdoch Empire. In the scale of the corrupt media, this is just a drop in the ocean. We need a revolution, and that includes those ex Murdoch employers, a revolution of the whole media that operates and is used as live ammunition of words and propaganda by politicians to destroy the world and the lives of innocent people! This is what happiness means to me, that knowing that the world is waking up to this realisation; that the wind of change is blowing and the godly beast is at war with the evil beast.
I can now live my life in my little world of love and peace (heaven) with one aim; to tame this beast that is a man! Labi Siffre surely knew what he was singing about; he knew the corruptness and evilness of men; this ongoing saga where one person plays god over another person, deliberately destroys the life of another person. As a man Labi sees this evilness in other men; whereas, I as a woman with first hand experience see this evilness in both men and women; the likes of Rebekah Brooks and Andy Coulson. I also see the solution in both men and women! We all have this beast inside us; this beast is not in hell because there is no such a place called hell. Just like heaven that is inside us, hell is inside us; I lived that hell when this evil beast was torturing me through these evil people and they are many others who are in hell as I write. Andy Coulson is an example of how to tame and destroy this evil beast and the next is his friend and accomplice in crime against humanity Rebekah Brooks including those journalists who spent hours colluding on lies against innocent people. Is there any wonder that I and many others are celebrating this breakthrough? The chicken have come to roost is another way of looking at this.
I will certainly continue with my love for music and continue being grateful to those who taught me and who like me stood up to the Murdoch Empire. We did it not because we are special but because we have “Something inside so strong!” There is no one apart from a demented fool who can argue with me when I say that those who tried to mess with my head, stalking and framing me with their lies were certainly driven by this evil beast that Labi sings about and that this beast is inside us all. My message to those who stood by and laughed is: “You never really cared, with or without you; the truth is coming through, because the price of our freedom is blood in our eyes!”

Ladysmith Black Mambazo is a South African traditional vocal music band that was formed 51 years ago. At 51 myself, it  seems like their music expresses my own life more than just a coincidence. Most of their music resonates with my perception of life and experience like a wave that starts from one end of a lake to another uninterrupted. Joseph Shabalala, the founder member was born in the countryside and learnt the culture, his roots and the birth of apartheid just as those born during that era! The lyrics in most of their songs remains embedded in the rebellious tone against oppression that mixes cultural beliefs, Christianity and god and respect for oneself and others! I grew up with their music, loved this embodiment of the world that reflected mine until I rebelled against Christianity. Now the whole group is said to be composed of ‘born again Christians’, yet nothing seems to have changed!

 A few years ago I invited two comrades to their concert in Chatham. The theatre was packed and everyone enjoyed the concert even though I was the only who danced to their music. Last Thursday my son took me to their concert inBrighton. Joseph Shabalala still does his leg movements and then mourns about his arthritic knees (humour). Four of his sons are in the band and he has appointed his youngest son as his successor. I thoroughly enjoyed this concert as well; they sang a few of their old songs, but most were from their new CD. I did my usual dancing until they sang a song that local boys and young man used to sing when I was growing up – ‘wena mthakathi yekana nentombi yami’! Mthakathi is an evil witch who uses his magic power to do evil. The short of the song means; “Mthakathi, leave my lover alone, stop using your voodoo to steal her away from me; she loves me and I love her. What you are doing to her is destroying our lives …..”  The version sung by Ladysmith Black Mambazo slightly differs but same meaning.

 I sat there wondering whether there were people who understood these lyrics, this begging and beseeching an evil person to stop casting a spell that destroys your love life. Then a thought crossed my mind; the cultural religious tradition that I grew up insulated by contradicted this practice, yet my fear of witches still made my hair stand on end. Growing up a Christian, a child of god protected by angels was a powerful psychological weapon against this threat of umthakathi. As a young woman, I was too busy engrossed in fighting against injustice and paving a career for myself, yet my fear never seemed to disappear. I have heard some of the most sinister stories from all over the world about witches, voodoo and the power of evil practiced by both men and women. The aim is usually to force someone’s mind to love them or give them what they want and I’ve always failed to rationalise such behaviour. As far as my recollection is concerned, I don’t think anyone tried that with me whilst I was still in Africa and throughout my marriage that ended four years ago. Why now would seem a very appropriate question to ask.

 In my adult life I rebelled against Christianity, rebelled against god, fought my own battles, won some and lost others. But when I came face to face with umthakathi, I realised that I had no experience or power to fight against this evil on my own. Besides, there is no rationale or reasoning with umthakathi! Hence I found myself back in a South African church of born again Christians. What was revealed to me in that church in 2004 was the deciding factor that reminded me of the existence of something greater than me. Why South AfricaI wonder? I was born in Zimbabwe but my roots and my history are in South Africa. The visions, the history, the culture, the journey and coincidences were something over and above my own thoughts. That revelation, that knowing of a power around me is what I used to fight against umthakathi and her friends. This therefore means that this something does not live in a church or in religion. For the benefit of my doubters I will recall what I said to one of these umthakathi who were using voodoo to win my love or whatever they wanted from me: “I don’t love you, I will never love you and your voodoo will never work on me!” That was 2-3 years ago and his eyes that were piercing into mine suddenly lost their focus and he looked down and mumbled something like; “I know!” From that day, he avoided me completely and since then he and his friends seem to have lost the plot and are down spiralling politically, personally and professionally. What made him lose focus, shy away from me and admit defeat? Is that what umthakathi does when exposed? How did he and his friends decide to do what they were doing and how many lives did they destroy with their evilness?

Wena mthakathi yekana nentombi yami therefore seems an appropriate song for a band that sung my cultural songs as if singing for me throughout my life and is as old as I am. I have been to 5 or more Ladysmith concerts and I feel that my journey with them was worthwhile. Even my son had this to say afterwards; “Mum you look so happy, so radiant and it has taken years off your face; I now look older than you!” Bless his heart for he knows all my trials and tribulations. Would I really at this stage in my life survive being lumbered with an idiot who thinks he can get what he wants but delving into the spirit of the evil dead? I will not be a born again Christian, I will not be religious in any form or nature, but I will never delve into the spirit of the evil dead, neither will I be intimidated by umthakathi anymore. What I have in me is stronger than the strongest umthakathi! From my point of view therefore, my response to this song is; “Wena mthakathi, yekana nejaha lami!”  It works both ways!

My gratitude to Joseph Shabalala for keeping our culture and history alive and may the spirit of our forefathers watch over you and your family!

Again I bumped into another friend last Tuesday. A young lady fromBrazil; I do meet people in strange circumstances. She first came to see me in my capacity as a nurse and don’t get me wrong, I have no ego, but I am a cut above the rest when it comes to doing my job. GP colleagues tell me that everyday, colleagues say they will be lost without me, but most important I have a great following from patients. A practice survey done by the PCT recently confirmed that, not even one person had a complaint against me. Well, I know my job, I dedicated over ten years of my life since leaving hospital to studying every angle of patient care that I came across even if it was above my scope! When in 2008 I decided to learn Spanish, I paid £120 at Citi Lit for an introductory course, and who turns out to be the lecturer, but my Brazilian patient. A friendship started and for that month I was her star pupil. She even offered to give me extra tuition after work if I needed to. In one month, I was able to speak and understand the basic Spanish and all I needed was continue to practice and Bob would have been my uncle by now!

 Learning a new language was my way of coping with the brutality my stalkers were subjecting me to. I wanted to meet new people away from the gazumping bastards whose lives are so fucked up that they think they can lie their way into someone else’s bank account, brutalise the person if she does not play their game, batter the person psychologically until she has a mental breakdown. This Brazilian lady became one of my new friends outside my workplace whom I trusted as she knew me both professionally and personally. I did offload my burdens to her as well and hence the mutual respect. She even bought me a present when she changed GPs – she and her partner bought a bigger flat after having a baby! One promise I made her was that by the time we met again I would be fluent in Spanish. That was over two years ago and I cannot even remember one simple Spanish sentence. It is not amnesia; those who have been following my journey know, my attackers continued battering me psychologically until I joined face book in November 2010 and started my fight back.

 I go for a jog during my lunch break and I do get a few cars tooting at me. Normally I just wave back without looking as most of them are people who know me from work. Last Tuesday, the toot continued until the driver opened her window and called my name. It was my Brazilian friend, looking glamorous and beautiful, she jumped out of her car, ran towards me and we gave each other an embrace that nearly knocked our breath away. Then the embarrassment came, she spoke to me in Spanish and I just looked at her dazed and bewildered! Initially she thought I was pretending, and then the realisation of it all made her look shell shocked! I told her how my brain completely failed to cope until I had dealt with the bastards who seemed to enjoy tormenting me. She on the other hand seems to have also lost her Latin American accent when speaking English. She is fluent in English, Spanish, Portuguese, and what not.  “But Florence, you promised that you will forget about these idiots and get on with your life!” Yes I did promise and I felt embarrassed by it all, how I allowed idiots to stop me from learning Spanish now seems very silly and then I came across this quote from China Mieville. “So when I said I wasn’t going to talk about it anymore all I meant was I think we’ve reached the end of that short window where it was an interesting and useful way to think about things, so now any discussion about it is inevitably retrospective.”

 I did not say that to her of course, instead I slapped my wrist, told myself off, made a promise again that next time we meet I will be fluent in Spanish. She laughed, gave me a hug and her card for private tuition and a meet up for a drink. I got home that evening and dug up my Spanish books and my Michel Thomas CDs that cost me nearly a £100! My friend’s words still echo in my mind; “You are tough and strong Florence, I could not have survived what you went through, you surely were battered but not broken!” Right-on friend – Spanish it is and this time it is a promise to me, myself and I – to be fluent in Spanish in 3 months. After all, all the songs we dance to in Zumba class are in Spanish! And I wanna dance with that man yeah, dance with that man and treat him good on the dance floor and that man is called Che Guevara’s reincarnate!


He picked me out of hundreds. He must have been watching me, a new face with fresh ideas. I listned to him speak and oh god he spoke so well. He spoke with passion, passion for a people whose lives are near extinct. He despised the unjust system that overfeeds one child at the expense of another. His eyes darting from his notepad to the audience he proclaimed his desire to fight this system. He wanted a better system, one that did not discriminate. Sitting in the audience, eyes wide open, unable to blink in case I went to sleep, and our eyes locked. Mine were all watery with tears; tears of anger and joy! He finished his talk, sat down and the show continued. I closed my eyes, said a little prayer – “Please Lord, let this be the man I am looking for!” I was exhausted, all that travelling around the world alone; harassed by sex mad perverts with no idea as to why I was where I was when I was. It had become my life, in and out of strange offices trying to expose the injustices of this world. “Lord he surely is the right one for me, I prayed in silence!” I walked out of the meeting feeling dazed and confused. I put that down to being among strangers until a finger tapped me on my shoulders. It was him – exhilaration! How did he choose to speak to me out of tens of others in the room? He later told me that it was because I nodded in acknowledgement to everything he said! Damn right, I did. I am an academic by nature, I love to read, study, and listen just to learn something new. But I have aborted many degree courses for lack of direction and clarity from those lecturing. Yet here I was, at Marxism 2003, my first ever and for the first time in my academic life, I was mesmerised by the speaker who so passionately spoke of the injustices of capitalism. The rest of that day still remains blurry; something that often happens to Florence when the child in her takes over. All I recall is that I was convinced beyond doubt that my prayers had been answered. No more going to those NGO offices on my own. No more loneliness at airports travelling from A-Z trying to get answers to why millions of children around the world are starving to death! No more lonely nights on my own in a loveless marriage. The deal was done; there is a god after all! Yes, racism sucks and I hate it. Mesmerised Florence did not see the colour of this so called white man who so passionately spoke about the suffering of black people. Yet less than two months later Florence was hit with a bolt of lightening from Mr White nice guy; “You are a prostitute, a liar and a witch, a cunt and slut …..” were his words to me over the telephone. Listen, it was less than two months after that initial meeting. Now, don’t expect me to have an answer as to why he came to this conclusion, why he believed that I had metamorphosised from the woman he had promised to help highlight the plight of her people, the woman he had passionately made love to, to a prostitute, a liar and a witch, a cunt and a slut. I don’t know because I am not a prostitute, never was and never will be. I am not a liar and never will be. As for being a witch, if my love for homeopathic medicines means I am a witch, let it be, but the truth is, I don’t know what witches get up to. However, I am a black woman driven to insanity by the injustices of this world. I have no idea of what prostitutes go through, I refuse to lie and I have no idea what witches do. I would honestly love someone to explain to me why I was subjected to these insults, but I don’t intend to listen to this man ever again. Whether it is to explain why in his eyes I am a prostitute, a liar, a cunt, a slut and a witch or his interest in the suffering of African people is not something that is of interest to me anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I did fall in love with him, but I now know why. He said the right words at the right time and I bought it. I was truly a blinkered lover, something I vouch never to be until my dying day!

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