Body baggin’

So, didnt I almost find myself in a body bag Friday evening. You know how I have a versus with white people and Japs (fecking Japs, but I’m trying to be polite) and I jump at anything that is brown skinned. Anyway, I met this guy from Ghana a few days ago, and he seemed decent enough.  Although the writing was definitely on the wall when he told me that he loved me less than 24 hours after we had met. That is never a good sign. On any day of the week!

Friday he says that he would cook for me, and for me, any excuse for free food I will take. And I believe in trying everything at least once. The evening did not get off to a good start coz he is very gropey and I had to keep swatting off his errant hands. So, I am on this no carbs at night eating pattern, and he didn’t have any fruit or vegetables in his fridge so he trundles off to the 7/11 (they really should change that seeing as how its open 24 hours). He comes back, its like he has had a personality transplant. He has turned psycho. The vibe had suddenly turned all hard and edgy, almost menacing.

On the sly I think he had a drink or something, coz I saw him pouring what looked like whiskey into a glass. Anyway, now he is falling all over the place and his words are slurring and he has that glazed unfocussed look in his eye (for the record I cant stand people who cannot handle their alcohol). And now he is insisting that I take my clothes off (he had bought condoms – on whose behest, only God knows!). Now I am thinking oh dear God, what have I got myself into. The problem was compounded by the fact that I was on the other end of this tiny postage stamp sized one roomed apartment.  Think what your GB sleeps in, but smaller. And he was blocking my exit path.

Now he is starting to punch the air coz I am refusing to cooperate and I am thinking dear Lord I am done for, if one of those connects with my face, I might not leave this apartment without the aid of the paramedics. I was scared. I mean S.C.U.R.R.E.D. I pick up my bag, and I rush past him in a pseudo rugby tackle (all that aggression had to come in handy at some point) and I don’t turn back to see if he is following coz I am thinking if he catches me I am leavin this apartment in a black plastic zip bag coz now he’s shouting and trying to drag me onto the bed.

Now I am running, and I have no idea where I am running to coz its an unfamiliar neighbourhood, I have never been there before, we got there in a taxi, and the houses, like the people, all look the fecking same. I think 20 odd years of nominal Catholicism paid off coz my gods were smiling down on me and I managed to chase down a cab that was dropping off a fare before I had got too far. Thank God coz my lil under-exercised cold black heart was about to burst from the exertion of my survival sprint.

Hey, with my pathetic sense of direction I would have been walking till next summer, probably in circles, and all they would have found would have been a pile of bones on the roadside somewhere. That or I would be a broken blubbering gibbering incoherent mess (sounds like some Saturday nights I have had).

Suffice to say handichatamba futi nevanhu vekuno. How can it be that 8 months of being here I still havent come across anyone bordering anywhere near remotely normal? Small penises? We’ve seen ‘em. Serial philanderers? Been there. Psychopaths? They are resident here.

And I know for certain that I did take down the huge neon sign above my head telling all weirdos that I was open for business.