It’s not that funny although it is true.

So the other day I’m talking to a friend of mine and I happen to mention the policeman who had stalked me for a (thankfully) very short time. On hearing the story my friend comments that for as long as he has known me at any given point in time I have been stalked or harassed by someone. I laughed and then I got depressed because it’s true.

When I was younger I used to wonder if I had a sign on my forehead. Wherever I went, some freak would make contact with me. I remember once I went to church, yes church, and during the sign of peace segment where you have to shake hands with other members of the congregation this guy walks up to me. Now the weird thing is that I wasn’t in the church. I was actually outside observing and listening to the proceedings. When the man came out of the building and made a beeline towards me at first I thought nothing of it. He could have been going to his car for all I knew. Instead he came up to me and introduced himself. Apparently he was a theology student and he invited me to a retreat in Salybia where they all go to get closer to the Lord or something. I don’t know, I never called him and actually I don’t recall ever going back to that particular church. Go figure.

One of my more disturbing stalkers actually was the friend of a friend. You know people always say when socialising try to do so only with those you know and their acquaintances for safety reasons. The people who say that are talking up their asses. Anyhoo, I met this one through my only female friend at the time. He practiced (and still does for all I know) kickboxing and was a very interesting, entertaining fellow. We would all hang out together and it was actually a very cool scene; until he got fixated with my feet. Back then I didn’t know about fetishes. So my boy started calling me at all hours of the night. He wanted to know where I lived to ‘visit’ me. The last straw was when he told my friend and me a story about some girl (a neighbour) who accused him of rape. He said he didn’t do it (don’t they all), but the allegation is enough for me. Last I heard he had turned his attentions to our mutual friend.

At least it would seem that my stalkerbility is decreasing as I get older. This year, apart from the police officer, there was only that strange bag-boy who seemed to have a sixth sense in finding me in the supermarket. He offered to write his number on one of my grocery bags and invited me on a date to a juice bar. What the hell is a juice bar? I’ve never heard of or seen one in Trinidad. And that bitch had a talent of appearing out of nowhere. I swear he rivals the best bandits out there. But he’s nothing compared to the gentleman who showed me his gun last year. Yes, his gun. Tucked into his waist band. Right next to me in a taxi. He said he was on his way to handle some ‘business’.

The scary thing about being stalked or otherwise harassed in Trinidad is that no one takes it seriously. If you go to the police (and I’m speaking from experience here) inevitably they just pass it off as a case of puppy love: “Oh gorsh, a nice girl like you. De fella cyah help heself. Give him a chance nah. He like yuh.” They’d probably say the same thing at my funeral. I remember telling another male friend about my predicament and he responded that I probably encouraged them. He may as well have said that rape victims ask for what they get and battered housewives deserve homicidal husbands.

I admit that I have become somewhat paranoid in my interpersonal reactions and most likely, this is why I have limited my social interactions to non-existence. My aunt says I should live my life and not be scared all the time, but it’s not a matter of fear. I just don’t think I could handle another St. Ann’s candidate yap to me about what issues or personal demons they may have.