I have decided to title my post today Hello God!
Driving to work yesterday, I listened to Hello God! Dolly Parton. The song got me thinking, hence this. Since my last article, I have been inundated with calls of people trying to help. This is sweet.
Naked is not auto biographical. This is just me trying to write. So please don’t send e-chocolates, flowers, texts or GIFs. I am -believe it or not- actually good. All I want is for you to read and maybe even like the article. Leaving a comment would be amazing.
Are you seeing the suffering all around? Much of it cannot be put into words. Brexit and Trump dwarf the national conversations, yet a lot is going on that is not making the evening news.
Blacks, Africans, Asians, people who don’t look the part feel small and smaller as the rhetoric hardens. It is getting easier for head teachers, managers, recruitment managers to undermine people like me.
Racism had been repressed under the Labour government. Now, it seems, people are not ashamed to say that they don’t want your services because you are black. Add the fact that you are African, you stand no chance. Had you been a Brit with a funky accent, perhaps that could have helped. But, you are African. No one cares. Do you?
It took me twenty years to get my Indefinite leave to remain in this country. Yet, ‘they’ make me feel as though I don’t belong.
I don’t belong.
After twenty years.Twenty years of residence. Twenty years of PAYE, twenty years of NI contributions. Twenty years.
Unless accountants find a creative way around IR 35, many of us will return back to where we came from.Slowly, our hard earned income will be exploited by greedy umbrella companies executives who chill in luxury offices drinking black coffee. Faceless executives who will become wealthy on my labour and then they spit in my face.
My babysitter is in Lagos. She looked after my toddler so I could work nights. She had gone to visit her man in Barking. The Metropolitan Police and Immigration sniffed her out. She had ‘Deport me’ written all over her fore head. What do I do? I promise you I didn’t know she was illegal. You don’t ask these questions. Do you?
Tina’s text message took away my sleep over night. She had just returned from a trip to see her father, only to be told that he passed away this morning. It was a text message that needed a reply, but none was forthcoming. She needs to tell me how to support her. Facebook messages mean nothing. This is hard. He was like a father to me. Back in the day, his financial support kept my family going.
I need to say this, if you were real, there would be less turmoil and upset in my world today. You know about my skepticisms about your reality, my secret fears, the sleepless nights, my unexpressed anguish, disguised disappointments, repetitious frustrations, deep regrets, pain, silent tears and helplessness at my situation. Yet, you do nothing.
I dont mean to be disrespectful ….but You do nothing.
Did I say God? Some comfort in choosing not the believe that You are who you say you are.
Regrets, upon regrets. Living with the in laws, had I known it was going to end like this, I would not have married him. Saliu wont let me work after ten years of marriage. My days are idly spent. My worth as a woman is determined by the kind of day he has had at work.
After the school run, I am stuck in the house. A prisoner in my home, a stranger to my neighbours, a door mat to my husband. I live in a free country, but I am chained to the cultural yoke of my people, my inability to speak the common language represses me. I am in chains. A prisoner in the UK, allowed by the religion and culture I choose to profess. My mother says, I will get used to it. She survived it loosing her soul in the process.
I died ten years ago. I die every day.
The bitch dad had sex wants me dead.
This is our third attempt trying for a baby.
I need a JOB!!!!
I got rid of the baby so we could have a life together. He broke up with me last night.
It took me seven years to get out of debt. Slowly. Yet, my mortgage application has been denied nine times. I can’t get credit of any kind.
My son is on drugs. It is out of control. One day, I know the police will call me to tell me he is dead or he is victim of knife crime. I just know it. I need to get out of this neighbourhood. Years of trashy living and I am paying for it.
If you are reading this, please give me the grace to believe that you work all things together for my good.
I have been Naked!