From the moment I gained consciousness as a child, I knew my life was not one of wealth and fortune. My Father was a repeat offender and was in and out of prison.
Every Sunday my mother took my sister and me on long journeys around the country to visit prisons where my father was held. When he was out, he’d tell stories of the criminal activities he and his friends were involved in. There was a lot of talk about who has just got out, who has gone in, who committed this or that crime to earn a lot of money, what criminal agenda is being created and who was involved.
The politics and personal lives fascinated me. Seeing what made them vulnerable, caring, loving, kind, smart, vindictive, charming and desperate humanised them.
I saw some rise from having nothing to having so much. I also saw some lose it all. Then again, I know many who were once big time criminals and who are now successful business people. My childhood was also filled with trips to visit family in Jamaica and New York, where the crime networks of Yardie gangs operated. That was a brutal environment. The talk was who has died, who killed who, who has received a lengthy sentence, who is in control, and repeat.
I would watch and lounge with the street dealers who sold cannabis in dime bags and in Ozs. The older guys sat back and patrolled, while the younger guys would make the sales to collect the dollars. I remember asking lots of questions and being mesmerised by the vast amounts of money being exchanged.
I remember knowing that I was a boy looking in on this world but somewhere along the way that fact slipped my mind. I wanted to fit in. Before I knew it I had committed my first offence. That led to a caution. I had asked my friend if I could borrow his pellet gun. He’d agreed and I was arrested on the bus ride home. My friends starting coming up to me, telling me they’d heard about the arrest.
I felt like I was part of something. I felt worthy of being recognised on the street.
I began thieving, breaking into fruit machines and stealing motherboards from arcade machines.
When I left secondary school, I started selling drugs. My self-worth was low and I’d given up believing that I could achieve anything. I felt victimised, damaged, set up to fail and very pessimistic about life. I graduated onto selling cocaine and heroine. It brought me a lifestyle that was modern to the people of my father’s generation.
Black identity in Britain was changing.The music was more aggressive, high energy and provocative. And soon the language and fashion had a hip-hop influence. Crack and heroin were not so prominent, so the dealers that were emerging came across smart, confident and a bit geeky with a touch of unassuming menace.
I was sold. I could easily be that character. The only difference was I came across like Del Boy.
And yes, I did walk around in my V-Neck Jumpers, polo shirts, chord trousers and white trainers. I walked the walk and talked the talk of the working class community I lived amongst. I loved football, went to many Millwall matches, ate pie n mash on a Saturday and chicken with rice n peas on a Sunday, usually after we came back from visiting my father in prison.
Selling drugs was a business and I was good at it.
Deliveries were always punctual and I was known for producing consistent and high-quality product. And I knew how to manage people and all those different personalities. I didn’t keep records but I didn’t need to. It was all inside my head.
Of course, it all came with a price and I’m not going to talk about the animosity, back stabbing and confrontations I had to deal with. I’d like to talk about the two and a half year prison sentence I received. I will always remember the moment when I went inside and asking myself “how do I ensure I don’t ever come back?” The answer I gave was to get educated and to learn about who was controlling the world. This is a road I have embarked on and continue travel.
I’ve come up with so many theories to help me overcome the traumatic events that I suppressed for years. I’ve forced myself to change and evolve so dramatically that my mental health had to be re-examined.
My life today is so far removed from my past that I often have to blink twice just to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Nevertheless, and despite it all, I regret nothing. If I didn’t go through that, I would not be who I am overjoyed to be today.
