What is in the dark

Scrolling down my timeline on Facebook and twitter, I have noticed the recent happenings concerning Bill Cosby and the rape allegations against him. I have read most of the stories and opinions from people all around the world, some of which have appalled and saddened me. Normally I do not write about issues surrounding or involving celebrities and their lives but this one I could not just scroll by and say it’s not my business this one has had an impact on me.

         

   When I hear a rape victim speak out my heart softens and naturally I begin to sympathise with them; it takes courage and bravado to admit you were raped, I personally believe that rape is one of the worst crimes a man can commit against a woman. It takes away their dignity, their pride; they feel ashamed, unworthy and guilty. It leads some women to suicide as it becomes unbearable to think about what was done to them, some will blame themselves, questioning whether they had a part to play in the hideous act, asking themselves: why did I go to that party? Why did I walk on the street in that dress? Why was I stupid enough to trust him? The ordeal is absolutely awful but I think the most difficult part is reporting it; going to someone and saying you have been raped, exposing the shame so others can sit, speculate and analyse whether you are being truthful or not, whether you have an ulterior motive, seeking money or fame and fortune, let’s face it, as a rape victim, there will be people who believe you and people who think you are lying.

          

  On the other hand one of the worst things a woman can do to a man is to falsely accuse him of rape, this completely destroys a man’s reputation, it breaks up families, and the man is looked down upon and ostracized. There are many innocent men in prisons just because a woman looked at them and cried rape, a woman who was so conniving and convincing that a jury believed her and destroyed a man’s life forever sentencing him to a life of misery, for if not exonerated that man will live the rest of his life being labelled a sex offender. Hearing stories such as these breaks our hearts and makes us rather angry, wanting to lash out at the horrible women who do this.

          

  I grew up watching the Cosby show and I fell in love with Dr Huxtable, he came across as the father I always wanted but never had. He was this upstanding black man who supported his family and imparted wisdom to his children often times in a comical manner, whenever I saw his show come on, I would stop whatever I was doing and run towards the television, whatever needed to be done was done during the commercials. I adored this man and envied his kids for having such a wonderful father, however, I have never met Bill Cosby, I know not what he is like, I have never viewed his life, I do not know if he is a great father, husband and human being; it was not Bill Cosby I loved it was Dr Huxtable the character he portrayed on television but somehow my mind refuses to differentiate between the two.

           

That is how it always is, when we see a movie starring Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, we know it will be good, there will be lots of action, they will fight lots of bad men all by themselves, they will take a few licks but in the end they will be victorious. We see them in these movies as being invincible and we expect them to be like this in reality, for instance if a criminal was to break into Tom Cruise’s house and he ran away and called the police to be rescued we would be disappointed. We would expect it to be nothing for him to take on that one man, take away his weapon and make him regret coming into his house, I mean it is Tom Cruise; he was so awesome in Mission impossible, he is supposed to be fearless.

           

We are all guilty of this, all guilty of mixing these characters with the real people, judging them based on the roles they play. For example when I was younger I watched a movie titled “ Woman thou art loosed”, Clifton Brown’s character raped a little girl which led her to be cast out of her family after which she led a rather horrific life. I hated this man in the movie and was rather happy when he died, in every movie I saw him in afterwards; whether he played a good or bad role I hated him. If I should ever meet Mr Brown I think some part of me would dislike him because I still associate him with the raping of that little girl. In reality he is probably an awesome person but I would not know that because I have already set my mind against him based on a role he played.

         

   The most horrific thing that can befall a man is being falsely accused of rape; it is the worst form of slander and can totally destroy his life, especially if he is an upstanding famous person. This always seems to befall celebrities; a woman will cry rape, appearing on television bawling her eyes out, giving graphic details of a crime that did not occur, doing this for fame, for money or for whatever reasons their small minds can conjure and let’s face it sometimes we believe these wretched women, for when they utter the fateful words we empathize and sympathise and pat them on the back for being courageous enough to stand up to the rich and horrible monster.  Right away we find the man guilty and he suffers drastically, losing friends, sources of employment, respect, he loses almost everything until he can prove his innocence and sometimes proving this can be quite difficult, leaving a rather large blot on his reputation, for even if he is found not guilty there will always be someone believing in his guilt and claiming some reason or other as to why he got away.

          

  Recently I was watching law and order svu on that episode a black teacher was accused of raping some young white boys, throughout the episode, I believed and sympathised with these boys, I disliked the teacher and hoped he would get raped in jail so he could be humiliated. When he was exonerated I was ashamed, I felt sorry for him, his reputation was tarnished, he lost his job, his family had cut him off he lost all his money, he was left with nothing and in the end some of the detectives still sympathised with the boys, wondering how they would get over the ordeal of remembering so many lies and how this would affect their lives in future. Unfair world isn’t it?

           

When we see and hear of situations such as Mr Cosby’s we take sides, some of us believe the women are telling the truth, for we reason so many women cannot be telling lies, while some may say why did they wait so many years to come forward? Why is it when one person steps forward then everybody jumps on the bandwagon? Is it a conspiracy to destroy this man? Do they have ulterior motives?  When I was eighteen years of age, I was almost raped by a wealthy, upstanding citizen of my country; I still have a scar on my hip from where he pushed me down a flight of stairs when I tried to run from him. When he finally pinned me down I tried to reason with him, explaining I was a virgin and I did not wish to lose it in such a manner, this only excited him more, what made him stopped was when I realised it was fruitless to struggle so I gave up, I looked him dead in the eye and told him if he raped me he better be prepared to kill me for whether it be six months or five years I would make it my life long mission to destroy him. He must have seen the seriousness on my face for coward that he was he stood up saying it as not worth it.

 I left that man’s house and I did not tell anyone of what had befallen me, I felt naïve, stupid and ashamed. Eight years have passed and now I wonder if someone stepped up and said this man raped them would I be brave enough to say he almost raped me too? Would people call me a liar because I waited eight years to speak out? Would they say it is because I am writing a book and seeking publicity? Now and then I think of this man, it is not something easily forgotten, if not let out it will be always be inside eating and destroying you.

          

  It takes a special breed of sick twisted man to hold down a thrashing screaming woman and take her most prized possession, is Mr Cosby that sort of man? I look at his picture and he looks so grandfatherly, like the kind of man I could sit at his feet and listen to him tell stories and impart knowledge and advice all day long. The kind of black man we as the young generation look up to and some of us aspire to be and this is what saddens us most about this situation, we see him as an idol and if our idol is brought low then we lose hope, we see the world as the evil place it can be.

         

   We should ask ourselves, are we sympathizing with these women because we see rape as a horrible crime and automatically our sympathies are drawn to anyone whom we feel has gone through this? Do we think he is guilty because we love to hate on celebrities for they have what some of us wish we had? Or do we believe in or idol because these women waited too long to come forward? Because some of them have not so righteous reputations, are you defending Bill Cosby or Dr Huxtable? Who is telling the truth? Only time will tell, meanwhile we wait with bated breaths, wishing, hoping, and praying.

I Kissed a Girl

I do not comprehend lesbianism, nope I am not bashing lesbians, I dont care a farthing how other people wish to live their lives everyone is entitled to be happy but I must say I am way too jealous to be with another girl. I think I am the only one in the relationship who is supposed to have boobs for if I had a girlfriend her breasts are bound to be bigger than mine and that would never do; f.y.i. I think all women breast are bigger than mine, my brother says I have a chest plate of armour. When I lay on my back my chest becomes a flat as a board, no cleavage nothing, I have worn the same size bra since the ninth grade which is quite shameful. I do not know why God didn’t give me even a Bcup, I would do surgery and upgrade myself but sadly I do not possess that type of cash so with these small boobs I have to remain, therefore it is impossible for me to become a lesbian.

            I was on route to Germany recently when I had an unusual experience, please note that going to Germany does not mean I am rich, if I was I could afford boobs. There I was in a huge plane with about thirty people on it, I was prepared for a long boring flight thus I had bought a John Grisham novel to keep me company. I had met this guy while waiting to board, his name was Ian, he said he was on his way to Paris to perform in the circus, he swung on the trapeze I found this quite hilarious, I imagined this thick black man covered in disco dust swinging in the air, see? Hilarious, since we looked to be the only Jamaicans on board we decided to stick together, we began to talk and it seemed we had known each other forever, we were laughing and chatting loudly in patwa since nobody could understand what we were saying when this light skinned British girl in a short black wig and long skirt came up and gave Ian a phone which she had borrowed earlier, she sat with us saying we were super cool.  I shall call her Jasmine (obviously not her right name) she had this super cool British accent f.y.i I love British accents if I had a boyfriend I would totally leave him for a dude with a British accent, shameful I know but sometimes a girl just cannot help the way she feels. Jasmine seemed the wild type she had a case of wray and Nephew white overproof rum and she popped out a bottle asked the stewardess for some coke and proceeded to get wasted. She tried to force some on me but I am not a drinker and my friends can attest to that one glass and my eyes begin to close so I keep away from the stuff. Ian was drinking and each time is glass was emptied, she filled it and ordered him to drink I just sat and giggled at the exasperated look on his face.  The more Jasmine drank the louder she got our seating area was beginning to look and sound like a roadside bar I have to admit I was becoming  a tad embarrassed.

            Finally to Ian’s relief Jasmine whispered she wished to speak to me privately and we moved to another seat, she asked if Ian and I were together and I laughingly told her we had just met to which she exclaimed “good”. I began to think she had a crush on him and wanted to seduce him so they could join the mile high club which seemed quite exciting. Jasmine proceeded to tell me a sad story of how she had been in Jamaica for a year with a police man who had continuously abused her, she showed me the cuts and cigarette burns on her hands and moved her bang to show the scar on her forehead, she said when she went to the police station and reported the abuse the officers told her to try and work it out because they wouldn’t lock up their “squaddy”. I asked why she hadn’t left him a long time ago she said the sex was good and each time they fought the makeup sex was awesome.  She said she left him and found a girlfriend but the girl just wanted money so she decided to go back to England.

            I was alarmed and felt sorry for her thus I began to counsel this young lady about the merits of having self-respect and morals when in the middle of a sentence she launched at me pushed me down on the seat and stuck her tongue in my mouth. I tasted the chocolate she had eaten earlier and the rum along with the excess saliva In her mouth, I sputtered, pushed her off and asked her what the hell she was doing. She then proceeded to babble about how nice and pretty I was how she wanted me to love her; she would take me to England and spend all her cash on me. I told her I like men, specifically men with muscles and tats not girls with boobs! Would you believe this girl burst into tears? I eased past her and ran to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth, upon coming out she met me at the bathroom door held on to my sweater and proceeded to tell me how good we could be together, of course I was becoming embarrassed, people were beginning to stare, yep we were the only black people on the plane and we were causing a scene, to avoid further damage I turned to Jasmine and told her to please return to her seat I would be there shortly, I watched as she stumbled up the aisle in a drunken stupor then decided to complain to the flight attendants.

     

      They decided to take away her alcohol and hide me in first class I guess they didn’t want me to sue the airline for sexual harassment or something. It was my first time going to first class cannot afford those seats at the moment, it was so comfortable I fell asleep but after I woke up I felt like an impostor among all those “rich folks” so I crawled back to Ian who told me that while I was asleep Jasmine had been walking around screaming she wanted her “ f#@king girl and her f@#king rum” he laughed so hard it’s a wonder he didn’t pee his pants.  Well I was hidden until Jasmine came off the plane and what I figured would be a long boring flight turned out to be my first lesbo experience and nah guys it aint for me. catch u next time. 

p.s. Domestic abuse is not a joke, Jasmine if u ever come across this blog i hope you have gone to AA and taking better care of yourself and i hope to God u have not been chasing other females offering them money for their love you are a beautiful girl you are better than that. Ian i lost u in Frankfurt the security said i couldnt stand where u left me so i had to leave before getting your info if u ever come across this blog hit me up you a good dude ...........
written and copyrighted by: Aneisha A. Smith. July 30, 2014

Clear Lines

When I turned the tap the cold water hit me like a bolt of lightening. I shivered and jumped back from the icy needles before turning the knob more to the right, then waited for the water to warm before I ventured back. I stepped forward and screamed – dang it was hot! It felt as if my chest had been pierced; I looked down wondering if I was scalded, but saw no marks or welts. I slowly turned the tap once more, this time a little more to the left, and made it run for two minutes then tentatively put my fingers under, this time it was just right. I stepped under the cascade, retrieved my Dove Body Wash from the shower rack and began to lather my body. “I should wash my hair it is beginning to itch now…” I thought quietly. When I scratched my scalp, dirt settled under my fingernails, but maybe it could go another two weeks if I sprayed some perfume on it to mask the smell.

  I rinsed and decided to lather once more. The water felt really good, if I had no hot water I would have been out in less than two minutes – I probably wouldn’t even wash my back. Taking a shower without water going anywhere near my back was an art I had perfected. I smiled to myself as I thought of what I would do later; I wanted to visit temples, I heard there was a Buddhist one close by and I was dying to see inside, maybe I could sit and meditate with the monks, I would really enjoy that. I am in this strange country and I want to see all the wonderful sights. Bangkok is extremely beautiful –half way across the world from my country Jamaica, it took me two and a half days to get here; I flew so much I thought I would have a nervous breakdown. My friends all thought I was crazy for coming here, telling me I was going to be kidnapped and filling my head with all kinds of nonsensical stories, but I was determined to see this place and experience the diversity of its culture.

 My friend who moved here recently offered me the use of one of his rooms, provided me with a driver and tour guide; his apartment also came with an Indian housekeeper who called me “madam.” This was going to be a great vacation; I surely would not miss work one bit. My blackberry was on top of the toilet seat playing music while I showered, my favourite song for the month came on and I pushed my hand through the shower curtain to put it on repeat. I then proceeded to dance and sing, “Blurred lines… I know you want it.” I felt so good I decided to bathe one more time. I took down the shower hose and began to put it wherever I wanted to be rinsed when I thought I heard a shout and a knock on the door. I ignored it, figuring it was the housekeeper bringing fresh towels and she could leave them on the bed. I  Continued to sing, “Maybe I’m going crazy, maybe I’m outta my mind…,” trying to imitate Robin Thicke’s voice. Man he is sexy – he could sing for me all day long. My fantasy got interrupted when I heard the door opening, was this woman deaf? Didn't she hear me in here? I pushed my head through the blue and white plastic curtains once more, holding it to my chest while holding the shower hose in the other hand.
Where I expected to see the housekeeper my eyes encountered her husband – the gardener. He was about five feet six inches tall, medium built with a swarthy complexion, wearing baggy blue jeans, a yellow shirt with drawings of strawberries, a black turban on his head and big yellow gloves.

He smiled at me with brown discoloured teeth and spoke with a heavy Indian accent, “Sorry madam, but boss say I come 10 o’clock  and fix bathroom sink 10 o’clock he say, so I come, he here?”

“No, he is not here. Would you please wait until I am finished then you can come back?”

“Ok sorry madam.” He turned and walked out, leaving the door open. I dropped the curtain, waved my hand and shouted at him, “Please close the damn door.” What an impertinent fellow! He came back and looked in, glancing at my chest. I grabbed the curtain once more; what the hell? He smiled at me, “Did you say you were alone madam?”

“Yes, now please get out!” I was beginning to get very angry. What was he up to? He bent towards his ankle and pulled a medium-sized knife from his boot. “Let go the curtain let me see you,” he said menacingly. I shakily let it go and he used the tip of the knife to touch my breast before running it down to my navel. He stopped at the tattoo on my hip, “You bad girl, I like bad girl,” he grinned. Moistening his lips the predator proceeded to run the knife down towards my vagina. I yelled “Don’t you dare touch me you son of a bitch!” He slapped me across my face and I tasted the sick metallic flavour of blood on my tongue; I could feel the imprint of his fingers on my cheek.  “Don’t talk whore! You come into my country and walk around like you queen of all. My wife wash your clothes, she wash your drawers, she make your bed and clean your shoes, she clean for you every day and call you madam and me,” he jabbed himself in the chest, “me wash his car and cut his grass and do whatever he say and call him boss and this my country, but you walk around like you own everything in your little shorts, showing your little black legs and turning me on. Only a whore dress like that! Our women are covered, I the only one see my wife!” He looked at my body disdainfully “You don’t look like a woman,” he pinched my breast. “No hips, no tits, you dress like a whore, I will screw you like a whore, I will turn you into a woman, you will like it. My wife won’t come she do whatever I  tell her, we say you left in your little shorts in taxi and we don’t see you come back.”  

O God he was planning to kill me. He was probably one of those men who could only get it up if I fought him or screamed. No matter what he did, I would not make a sound; I would not cry, not even whimper… the piece of shit. “Whore turn the pipe off, don’t flood the place, my wife have to clean.” I still had the hose in my hand, I didn’t even remember it; he bent his head trying to undo his pants when a thought occurred to me. I turned the tap all the way to the right then turned the blast into his face; with his pants falling to the floor, he tried to back away, but his pants and the water made him fall to the cold concrete . I went over him and continued to spray the steaming water into both his face and groin. He writhed and screamed like a wounded animal on the floor. “You son-of-a-bitch, stupid assed piece of shit!” I yelled. “Don’t ramp with Jamaican woman, yuh dutty, grey ‘tone shitta!” The hose was searing my hand – the water was really hot. I turned off the tap and stood shaking, he was not moving and is skin looked awful.  What if he was dead? I didn’t want to kill him. He was lying in the doorway; I moved to step over him and felt his hand grip my ankle. I used my other foot to repeatedly stomp his face, the skin felt soft as if I was stepping into porridge, I felt some of his skin as if it came off on my sole; he screamed like a beer caught in a trap. I fell over the toilet and retched the over salted eggs I had eaten earlier, my Brazilian weave falling into its depths while Robin Thicke kept singing, “ I know you want it, I know you want it….”

P.s. psych this is fiction it came into my imagination while I was showering one day and the water burnt my hand. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing.

Written and copyright by Aneisha A. Smith. January 24, 2014.
Edited by: Dwain Wellington.