A week ago ,a gypsy  ambushed me outside a shopping mall here in Gothenburg, Sweden.

I shared a brief version of this story on my Facebook page as I psyched up myself to finish working on this website’s design. Yeah…Yeah! Roll your eyes all you want about my webdesign skills (ok fine I did a bad job). Now where were we.

Gothenburg, a city without secrets!

Yes, my romantic encounter with a gypsy.  First of all for those who don’t know, gypsy, is a name for the Romani people, an ethnic group of South Asian origin. They are a nomadic group that are mostly involved in begging and other strange crimes in Europe. They are a combination of a Nigerian (for their con skills) and Maasai (their nomadic nature).

A group of gypsys trying to make a living in the streets…

A typical gypsy female dresses up in a pink headscarf brown jacket on top of thirty other pieces of clothes and croaks while the men love their faded hand me down faded Adidas pants. They live outside shopping malls or any other public areas where they hops to beg their lives away. During the night most of them sleep under brigdes or abandoned caravans.

So on this particular day, I was just walking around wearing my African uniform. What is that? You ask. That takes me back to a party I attended recently and someone told me all Africans have a similar permanent grin. He even demonstrated it. To tell you the truth he looked like a goat!

Is this how Africans laugh? Really?

Ok, let’s stick to my unwanted brief love life with a gypsy. The man ran towards me and hugged me and before I could react he had pulled my hand and attached his thin lips on it. I stood there shocked. Everyone staring at us. My whole life flashed in front of me. Then I saw my my future. The gypsy had kidnapped me and taken me to Romani or wherever  in a ship.

His mother asked me:”Hjjjbfgrt mnaqeebgesd jbdu” and I just stared at her. Then they fed me tea with stale cheese and burnt lasagne. They wanted me to grow fat for some reason. If it weren’t for a Nigerian brother who pulled me away from that scenario I’d probably be a nun in Romania. Or whatever. That means I’d never see our family cat again. You guys, it’s no longer safe out here. Pray for me!

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