Thursday, 16 October 2014

When someone you love marries a foreigner and goes native

In the last few years I have become aware of a strange phenomonen. Actually I knew of it in a different form when my brother worked in a gun shop and his girlfriend fully pretended to love clay pigeon shooting just so she could catch him in her trap (pussy). 

But some gals take it a step further. They go all out to get their man; fully native, even.

This one girl I know - let's call her Ann - is crazy for black dudes. It's probably racist to say bitch got jungle fever, but she's craving big dark donkey dicks like I crave mac'n'cheese. She actually went and lived in Italy for a while when she was about 22 with the soul intent - it became obvious - of hooking up with one of those African refugees who just doggy-paddled across the Med on a shipping crate with ten of their friends. 

Not joking, this actually happened.

I'd love to have been a fly on a palm tree when she paraded past one of those gangs of skanky, idle young Africans you see on Donal MacIntyre exposes. You know the ones that live in encampments made of people's old trousers on some industrial wasteland in an Italian port city? 

In a matter of weeks she'd picked up a Nigerian who was supposedly about 30 but, to put it politely, he had obviously seen a lot of life and must have been pushing 50. He doesn't know exactly because he never had a birth certificate. 

A month after her arrival in the Big Boot they were married - legally bound for all eternity. El oh el oh el.

After a visit home to the Motherland, where the locals had never seen white flesh before, constantly harangued Ann and corn-rowed her hair, they came back here to the UK to live. They are still together eight years later with a growing son who has a name that sounds a lot like Ibrahim - so everyone thinks he's a Muslim. He just had to have an extra special name because he wasn't extra special enough already, haw haw.

The really weird thing in all this is how Ann now behaves. It's like she's had a personality transplant or, should I say, a nationality transplant. She would actually appear to believe she is an African.

She's lived in the same tiny English village as me all her life, is a bumpkin, small-minded, ignorant. God knows where this lust for black men came from, it's all white as snow in these parts. But she obviously feels she was wrongfully displaced from some Nigerian village.

She gets her hair done in an Afro salon even though she's got fine European hair. In her work as a sewing lady she now only uses African fabrics. All her Facebook posts are pictures of jollof rice and plantain. She sends her son to primary school in traditional robes and a turban on non-uniform days. She lives by African proverbs and speaks the way a noble old Nigerian lady might - "My husband presented me with a rose on this day".

Soon I fear she'll be using an umbrella to shield her from the sun and carrying the shopping in on her head.

She gets freaked out when Hubby boils a whole pig's head or nibbles on chicken feet but accepts it and loves it all 'cos it's so darn foreign and cute.

This has all been quite embarrassing to watch from afar - as Scott Mills would put it, I've got goosebumps on my cringe glands. 

Another woman I know, Sharon, is exactly the same only her husband is from RRRoma, as she would say,  so she has had to become totes Italian. All her FB pics are of pasta, she can only accept friend requests from people called Giuseppe and Anna Maria, and she called her son Matteo, which sounds really stupid when you say it with a Wiltshire accent. 

Her speech is littered with Ciao and Grazie and in general she has found a way to exude an amount of faux Latin spirit. 


Similarly my brother, who prefers Eatern European women, now lives happily as a Ukrainian with his wife and two kids, who amazingly somehow escaped being called Artem and Oleksandr.

These three examples all have common traits. Utter deperation to be married to anyone, anyone at all. Such a total insecurity and lack of self-esteem that they have failed to hold onto to their own culture, eschewing it for another that seems foreign and therefore better.

People also seem to fetishise foreigners to a startling degree; perhaps there's something colonial in it.

Look, ladettes and geezers, it is possible to retain your own culture, dignity and sanity when you marry one of those sexy foreigners. Their language, food and everything else is not superior - just different. Get over it and be yourself.

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