Dear white people, can I tell you something before I get onto my topic? Have I ever told you that I love you white people, I really do. Not because I think you guys are superior, God forbid, I just love white people because sometimes I feel like a white woman trapped in a black body if there is such a thing. Well black people claim Harry as a white man trapped in a black body, so I really need you guys to claim me too. And that’s not in a bad way by the way, because God I love being black, I genuinely think brown skin is so gorgeous and very cool and I love my nappy kinky hair. I love everything about how God created me, I don’t want to be a white woman, but sometimes I feel a little white. Let’s out it this way, I’m like a gay person of race…lol, I’m racexual. God I know my haters will love this, because it gives room to be even more misunderstood. But I don’t really care to be honest, because I am already misunderstood anyway, especially by black people.
What I am trying to say is, in a strange sort of way, white people understand me better than black people do. It’s always been like this since I can remember.
Growing up in Zimbabwe, I felt literally lost in that animal Kingdom, I hated everything about the culture especially. I felt like I was born in the wrong country at the wrong time, and I dreamt of coming to England, which I considered my lost home. I read Disney books and disappeared in libraries. Everything was much nicer in storybooks than it was in real life.
Did I tell you my mother was a funny one too. She was a reader, I saw her always sitting on the sofa reading novels. She struggled to make friends I think, she was never the friendly type. She was ever so quiet publicly. But for some strange reason she had certain type of friends. And they were WHITE.
One was called Mai Julian, a white woman from Germany, with a doctor husband. She was my mothers’s best friend for a very good while until she moved to another town. My mummy connected with white women on a whole different level. I never saw her with a black friend, funny enough.
Each time she took me to Mai Julian’s house, I would spread my wings in her house, and became alive! The white woman did something like yoga with mum, and I would join, sitting on a mat, humming like a bee. Mai Julian knew I loved loved loved the stretching and yoga, so she started calling me. She would laugh and tell Mummy how much I was enjoying the yoga like. Then I would go into her son’s playroom, and read books. I wished her house was my house, I even wished she was my Mummy, she understood me completely, more than my mother did. She was white, but she understood I was a reader and loved books, she understood I liked meditation and exercise. She understood I loved animals and would let me play with her kittens. She understood I loved European foods more than Zimbabwean food and would make me Greek salads, baked potatoes with cheese and a lot of fancy food. I would fantasise Mai Julian was my mother, and she sensed it, and didn’t hold her love back. I grieved for her when she had to move. My white mummy was gone.
So my dear white readers, ever since I was a child, I have always been understood better by white people. I am literally a white sheep of the black race.
Did I ever tell you my bestest friend ever was a white woman called Charlotte from Cheltenham Spa. Charl sis, I miss you if you see reading this please do get in touch, I’m no longer angry with you. It’s all water under the bridge Charl, especially the last fight at your cottage.
Anyway back to you my white readers, I have never had a connection with a black woman such as I had with Charlotte. She understood me completely, finished my sentences kind of understanding. She was from an elite family, went to private boarding schools and all. But she sometimes hated being white, like she had an issue with her kind, as she also felt like a black sheep of the white race. Our chemistry and friendship was electric, because we both bitched about our pathetic races to each other. She told me the worst thing about being white, and all their secrets and what they say about black people when we are not there. Sometimes she couldn’t help herself and actually laughed at black people, how we love to brag about expensive stuff when we get money. Well she was damn right, I am as guilty as charged, lol. I told her the worst thing about being black, we would be at it for hours. Damn iIt was so satisfying, the shameless self hating, bitching and gossiping about how pathetic black and white people were. We were both traitors of our races, she would say she felt like a black woman trapped in a white body.
She only dated black men, ok she had one rich white boyfriend, but it was mostly black men for Charl against her racist parent’s wishes. We spoke about sex a lot by the way, we both loved sex with black men you see, so we had that fire and passion in common. We even taught each other best ways to orgasm if the guy is not that good, and she taught me how to teach a guy to be good in bed, lol. Charlotte was truly my best friend ever, we fought a lot though, sadly, so we parted ways when I met my Lord husband, she felt left out.
So my dear white readers, you see, I have this certain connection with the white race, there is a bit of white in me black people can’t understand. As a writer, I have since had a lot of support from my white family, which gave me a lot of confidence.
You see my dear white family, I have shed enough tears for the lost book, It’s time to pick myself up and move on, dust myself up and try again. If you enjoyed the First Chapter of the Meghan Markle book, please, I am telling you that I am going to write this book again. It will be 12 Chapters instead of 24. I will focus on the main deadly lies of Meghan which was a deceptive appropriation of black women’s black suffering using her white privilege. It will take me about 4-6 months to write.
I want you my dear white readers, to help me find a publisher, I do not want to self publish. As a black woman, it’s a cruel world out there for writers like me, that is why even though you all agree I have the gift of the pen, I have never been published even though I have written a few books. I don’t have the privilege of Prince Harry, who just has to announce he is writing a book and behold, publishers fight to pay him money and sign him. I don’t have the privilege of Meghan Markle, who had publishers fighting to publish her hideous badly written children’s book. I have a book that could mean something to the world, but because I am black and unknown, no one will publish it.
Help me, my dear white readers, use your white power to help a desperate black woman, who just has one wish, to make it as a writer, to become a best selling author one day. Help a black woman who has lost her Papa and husband in a space of months, and stands alone as a single mother of 7, with no friends, no family, just her pen as her friend and family.
Help a black woman, who does not even have one friend, all she has is her pen. I talk to no one on the phone, I live alone. I used to talk to Daddy, but now he is gone. In real life I used to talk to my husband, but he’s left me. I have no single sibling who talks to me. I have no mother to cry to, she lives here in the UK but does not talk to me. I have no relatives. My friend is my 17 year old daughter. My family is my 7 children…
The past months have been very hard for me, I lost my dearest Papa, and that had an impact on my writing. Then I lost my Lord husband lately, he walked out on me mainly because he disagreed with my Meghan Markle book I was working on. I do strongly believe he was paid by Omid Scobie to destroy the book and only have one chapter left.
Which brings me to the point of this essay, I know. I have prated and rumbled a lot, but I had to make my point.
I am appealing to all my white family who support me as a writer, I need your help and support because I have decided to write the book again. However it will be shorter than the 25 Chapters I originally intended. I had written a lot, left with about 4 Chapters, my computer was stolen, and no I never saved the book in cloud, I am very stupid like that, I don’t even know how to, everything was in my Word.
I don’t want my book only on Amazon, I want the same white privilege Meghan and Harry has. If you guys adopt me, I will claim white power. I want my book in Asda, Morisons, Waterstones, Waitross, WH Smith, The Works, and all mainstream stores which sells books.
If Meghan’s Bench book, as cringey and as badly written as it was was put on book store shelfs only because of her white and royal privilege, why can my Book not make it to the store shelves too? Am I not a worthy writer?
I await your support and help, my white readers, I know somehow somewhere there is an established white owned publisher who will take on my Meghan book and publish it for me…making it a global best seller…
The Genesis Of The Revelation By
Mary-Tamar was Jean