Burn them all…

burn them all, this is the dark side of Anna. With my faults, failures and insecurities on display. My mum played a joke on me recently. It made me incandescent with rage. Triggered as hell.

What was the prank? She said she’ll remarry.

Why was I furious? Not because there would be another man possibly trying to fill the role my father played. Good luck to him… he’ll never be my father… but that there would be another man… another African man… with fresh opportunity to screw me over and a lot of money at stake.

This made me mad…. So mad. As in praying the union would never happen mad. Can you imagine what would drive a daughter to pray against the potential of her mother’s happiness? Know I was triggered. And know that I was, in that moment (it was played over an hour) know that for that period of time I was capable and willing to commit incredible cruelty.

My first words on the subject?

“I will burn that nation to the ground…all 8 million…before I let him marry my mother”

(“That nation” is Sierra Leone)

Let’s put this into perspective. I love humans, and I hate suffering…for anyone. So right now there are babies in Sierra Leone, babies long prayed for and very cute… I’d burn them all. Toddlers? Children? I’d burn them all. Strangers? Family? I’d burn them all. Why? To obliterate the chance of more trouble coming into my life. That’s how strongly I felt. Absolutely no man would ever come and propose marriage to my mother again and bring me suffering and hell. I also said I’d find a way to lock the U.K. borders against this man. Why do I relate suffering and hell with black men? Well… let’s see. Because almost every black man who I have met has been trouble.

My father? God rest him. I love him. But he did me immense harm.

My brothers? Sweet Lord, what a mess. Less said the better.

Male cousins? My Griffin cousins? Only known for impregnating women, not looking after their families and beating women. Grosvenor’s we may have 2-3 which May break the mould.

Uncles? Let’s talk, financial abuse, rape, sexual predators, walking out on children, wife beating and cheating to name the most common crimes.

Even my grandfather was known to be a tyrant. But yet he was always good to me so I can only judge him for his kindness towards me. Not his abuse of my mother.

So yeah. In comparison the amount of good black men I know? Few especially versus the depths of depravity that I grew up with.

I was planning on making this man’s life hell. Actual hell. Because I was ready to defend my rights. He could have been perfectly nice. I doubted it and I wasn’t going to take my chances. If he messed up once… I would send his ass packing…. If you think I don’t have the power? You would be amazed by what I can do when I put my mind to it. I am vindictive as hell.

If you think of everything as energy, my fury makes me give off incredible amounts of energy. I put the full force of my faculties into destroying people if you let me. I always stop myself…. But if you cross me. If I want to destroy you? My heavens you will crumble into ash. I made a conscious choice not to destroy my ex. That was big of me. I now realise how big. It would have felt good though. Let’s not lie. It would have felt excellent. He deserved it. I am now a pretty person when I am angry. And this made me irate. So think of it this way. I was more angry about the thought of a stranger than the reality of my ex husband’s criminal behaviour.

That’s how strongly I feel about black men. They’re not universally evil. They aren’t evil at all. However African culture is a toxic cesspit of manipulation and they are the main beneficiaries and advocates of that system. So I don’t trust them further than I can throw them and I will not have them near me nor those I love. I sense danger immediately and it would take incredible feats to let my guard down.

Now don’t get me wrong. On the flip side I am incredibly protective and supportive of black men. I had a work little brother once. Greg, was his name. An Igbo from Nigeria. Lovely young man with a swimmers wingspan and a wide, boyish smile. He’s 25. But I was incredibly protective of him. He was sweet and harmless and just an all round affable, gentle guy.

But date one? Hell no. But allow one anywhere near my space? Absolutely not. I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder or convincing myself “XYZ is different….he’d never hurt me…” best steer clear and protect your peace

Anyway, after 3 hours walking in London. I am finally calm enough. I bought myself cake and I plan to relax tomorrow. It ruined my day.

Grace and Courage

Annetta Mother Smith