In 2018 I am going to choose a random white family’s home and move in with them.

I am going to claim the master bedroom and ban them from speaking anything other than Yoruba.

I am going to remove all their family photos and put pictures on myself in pum pum shorts all around the house.

I am going to mark out sections of their home as simply my territory and they can visit me only when bringing me meals and doing menial tasks.

When people criticise my uninvited presence, I will simply say that I am there because the family are incapable of looking after themselves.

I won’t actually look after them.

News reporters: Kelechi, don’t you think it is somewhat unethical to simply move into the Smith’s home uninvited?

Me: no, I heard that they consistently refused to season their food and I’m here to stop their savagery.

I will burn all their family albums and at 8pm every night, I will gather them in the living room to administer each of them with five slaps and await their pledge of allegiance to me.

This will go on until about 2020 (because I don’t want to outstay my welcome).
By this time their family dynamic will be fractured irreparably and their sense of self will be ruined.

Brava Kelechi.

When I “leave” I will put the family member in charge that has been most affected by Stockholm Syndrome.

I trust that this family member will keep the seasoning abundant and the emotional scars fresh.

I would then like for a dickhead of an academic to open his dusty mouth to silence the Smiths when they speak of the suffering they endured during my uninvited stay, by saying:

“Kelechi’s visit was complicated. It wasn’t all bad”

I’ve made this as absurd as I can manage while waiting for my flight home, so you crusty academics can understand that you can’t rationalise the inhumanity of Britain’s colonial past.

If it wasn’t “so bad” they wouldn’t have burnt pretty much all the documentation of that time.

Don’t be a fool forever.

It’s also cheeky that as people who never felt the negative repercussions of colonialism, to try to tell those who have and those who want to understand, that it wasn’t a big deal.

May your anus be itchy for eternity.

As for the black puppets who are happy to regurgitate this bs, not saying any names (Phrevor Tillips); you’re actual trash and when the chickens come home to roost I hope they kick you out of the farm first.

(Had to rewrite that because RnB raving in 2000s made me finish Trevor with the only last name that makes sense)