Joyce goes by the name Droopie (the ‘ie’ is used purposely as ‘y’ makes it look shady-her remarks). Bearing my name, I understand how spelling meant Madagascar to her, I cringe anytime someone puts a ‘z’ in my name. However, I never quite got the logic of how Joyce became Droopie with an ie at the end neither was it my core business.
Back to accent diffusion and tonal conformation, Droopie goes to America, specifically Brooklyn. Her great Aunt Kelly who married a white, mainly because of his money and less because he is a kind man has lived there for almost a decade. She spends most of her days bossing the Italian help and taking pictures of herself to send to Droopie who then sends to us. It’s a vicious cycle my people and just like poverty, it’s not voluntary.
It’s been two weeks since her last brag, I guess packing for a month old vacation on the other side of the pacific has become a tad too consuming but who is complaining? That moment when you are grateful for a situation then two seconds later the nightmare begins like you were ungrateful in the first place. That moment is now. Pictures of her in front of statue of liberty, pictures of her in front of Empire State Building, pictures of her with Justin Bieber, pictures of her in Apollo Theatre, the rest were photo-shops of her and key celebrities. I mean in which world would you be spending time with Beyoncé sipping on wine and watching movies in a five feet condominium? I am not a hater but Beyoncé won’t even leave her mansion and her man to simply go buy food, who are you?
A month in America is a week in Kenya, we must be the third world indeed. New closet, new personality (I wish I could say better), new hair, new eyebrows (definitely borrowed from a pencil) and that heavy fake Samburu-English accent straight out of everywhere but America. Droopie no longer went by that name, now she answered to Dru with a ‘U’ at the end. How were we friends? Blame it on our parents. Mothers bring the whole family to their friendships.
She wasn’t even in the UK but she spoke like Clause in episode thirteen of Vampire Diaries, carried herself like his sister Rebecca, her skin was close to being transparent and I refuse to mention her Brazilian hair that could be traced back to slavery in the 1800s. I have never quite understood what is so wrong with being yourself, the need to be somebody else is hunger that could actually kill but you still remain alive. You are alive but just not living. Either way, bless her heart and the millions who think if it isn’t white it isn’t right.