If you want to know a man, you should know where he came from.
A man’s background will tell you his mindset.
It will tell you what kind of experiences he’s had.
It will tell you what kind of hardships he’s faced.
It will tell you what he’s willing to tolerate.
It will tell you how hard you’d have to twist his arm to even get him to start talking.
It will tell you his breaking point.
And it will tell you exactly what you’d have to do to break him.
So where was our protagonist born?
Deep in the fucking jungle surrounded by traditional diehards.
A land where many people still wear cowhides and sheepskins, and some women still opt to go topless, wearing jewellery made of beads and flaunting their natural breasts.
Circumcision is the rite of manhood, and if you haven’t got your pecker skin sliced, well, you aren’t getting laid, are ya?
No anesthesia, no painkillers, just a good old fashioned lineup for the chop chop.
Quite lovely.
If you were different, you were treated different – and that’s just normal.
And I was different.
And where did I grow up?
A place of humble beginnings.
A little shanty house where I was confined to on the weekends.
Going out was dangerous. Kids got kidnapped all the time. The ransom was definite. A return home depended on your luck.
Wearing flashy things on the streets got you mugged in broad daylight.
Curfews began at eight.
And if you didn’t speak the language, you were proper fucked.
The boys shunned me. I was a weakling, so to speak.
I was the youngest in my class.
I was the pushover.
The girls protected me. I was their lovely little pet.
But I was also an embarrassment to be publicly linked to.
And then came the rules.
Don’t look ’em in the eye – just keep walking.
Never go out alone.
If you can’t run, you better have something precious to part with.
Don’t talk back to anyone.
Don’t eat anyone’s food.
Don’t go out with anyone.
They don’t like you – stay away.
There were stories of kidnappings.
There were stories of daylight robberies.
There were stories of people getting knifed and gunned down.
That was normal.
Sleep with one eye open – that was not normal.
If it happened in broad daylight, your chances of walking away looked good.
But if someone paid you a visit in the middle of the night, you, my friend, had very good reasons to be religious and an expert in prayers.
Amidst all the beauty of nature, the cheerful folks and tough life, the brutality was not normal.
You see, good opportunity was scarce, and a lot of people never had the luxury of well-paying jobs.
Education was a privilege.
So what happened to all the downtrodden, broken down, unfortunate natives who went hungry?
They had to resort to crime.
Nobody wants to be a criminal.
But in a land where everyone experienced hardships on a daily basis, you couldn’t be a civilized criminal.
What are you? A lil pussy? Bitch, get yo ass outta here; if you don’t…
There’s nothing more humiliating than a normal upstanding civilian overpowering a thug.
And so, the stakes rise. And they rise fast.
Pocket knives switch to butcher’s knives.
Pretty soon, people are walking on the streets with machetes.
Guns are expensive. Guns are rare. A bullet sounds more humane than the rusty blades that chopped grass a few days ago.
Now you’ve got to add tetanus to the list of dangers.
Survival actually meant something because not everyone lived to see it through.
Then there were the witches, the black magic, the devil worshipers, the superstitions, and the cannibals.
You see social media today, and there’s some emo punk who think she’s a witch. And she’s got a collection of stones and rocks and beads and feathers and all that spine chilling bollocks.
Nah.
The world has improved. The world has become cozy and comfy and people have gotten delusional with all their fantasies, cosplaying witches and satanists and the rest of the Disney world characters.
“I am a witch.”
Of course you are!
Violence and drugs were everywhere.
Living under the constant fear that a wrong look at someone’s eyes could cost you your life, paired with the constant cat-calling and name-calling and threats, from people who had very little to lose if things got heated up – people who were constantly and actively looking for trouble – it changes one’s perspective on who people really are, and what life is all about.
At any moment, you could end up in a pool of blood.
And no one, would speak for you.
I got the shitty end of life served on a plate.
It was either that, or nothing.
It wasn’t pretty.
A lot of bad things happened.
When a child experiences things they shouldn’t have, when they’re forced to witness things they shouldn’t have, when they have to put up with a bunch of ruthless savages and try to stay afloat in a dark world that’s constantly trying to pull them under, well, if they’re still alive and kicking to tell the tale, then you ain’t exactly dealing with a pussy ass bitch, are ya?
Perhaps there’s a pair of balls under this skirt.
An engine under this hood.
A lil fight in the old brat.
Only one way to find out, isn’t there?
Like everything else in life, this information comes at the cost of experience.
Now that the writing’s on the wall, we’ve got only one question for you:
What are you willing to lose?