Why should we care about Grant? That's what ignorant millennials ask me these days. I always give them the same answer: Because he is older than your grandparents and knew Somalia before any of us slithered out of the womb. A record like that deserves respect. He is the historian of the Horn, and knows what the deal is.
The gringo first came to Somalia in the 1960s, part of the Peace Corps. He came to teach the locals English and spread American values. My uncle says he remembers him in Mog as the cadaan guy whose skin was scorched a strawberry-red by the African sun, and that geeljires were more interested in scoring a greencard than learning about constitutional government, the free market, and freeze peach.
When I first met Grant, thirteen years ago, he tried to convert me to Mormonism. He said I would fry in the lowest rung of jahannam if I didn't accept the prophethood of nabi Joseph Smith. He promised me that he would give me some big titted blondes from the church to sweeten the deal. I was afraid for my nafs wallahi because nobody has better hotties than Mitt Romney's sect. I was going through a terrible divorce at the time as well, so I was vulnerable.
Later, Grant became an apostate and converted to deism. Alhamdulilah, I was saved from his satanic dawah after that. This was in 2005 and the location was Somnet, that den of trolls, degenerates, and one or two bona fide geniuses.
Grant was newly retired then and gotten himself a nice beachfront condo in Manilla and an even nicer Filipina woman to comfort him in his declining years. A maid kept his three storey villa in tip top shop and he was living the high life. Appeals for money came intermittently from the Majeerten girls he knocked up in Mog city when he still had all his hair, but he denied all paternity and said it is anti-American propaganda from the MJ clan.
His rosy life has come under threat since Duterte took office in recent years. Property taxes on Yankees have gone up in the country, and the drug fueled parties he used to host for American expats looking for cheap booze and hookers has been shutdown by Catholic authorities.
Filipinos have had enough of gringos lording it over them, so probably it will be the second third world country he is chased out of since the great scandal of Kismayo in 1975 about which the less said the better.
The old G is past caring though. He figures, quite rationally, that he's got only three more years in him before he encounters malakal mawt, so why not go out in a bang. What a guy. What a life. What a story.
The gringo first came to Somalia in the 1960s, part of the Peace Corps. He came to teach the locals English and spread American values. My uncle says he remembers him in Mog as the cadaan guy whose skin was scorched a strawberry-red by the African sun, and that geeljires were more interested in scoring a greencard than learning about constitutional government, the free market, and freeze peach.
When I first met Grant, thirteen years ago, he tried to convert me to Mormonism. He said I would fry in the lowest rung of jahannam if I didn't accept the prophethood of nabi Joseph Smith. He promised me that he would give me some big titted blondes from the church to sweeten the deal. I was afraid for my nafs wallahi because nobody has better hotties than Mitt Romney's sect. I was going through a terrible divorce at the time as well, so I was vulnerable.
Later, Grant became an apostate and converted to deism. Alhamdulilah, I was saved from his satanic dawah after that. This was in 2005 and the location was Somnet, that den of trolls, degenerates, and one or two bona fide geniuses.
Grant was newly retired then and gotten himself a nice beachfront condo in Manilla and an even nicer Filipina woman to comfort him in his declining years. A maid kept his three storey villa in tip top shop and he was living the high life. Appeals for money came intermittently from the Majeerten girls he knocked up in Mog city when he still had all his hair, but he denied all paternity and said it is anti-American propaganda from the MJ clan.
His rosy life has come under threat since Duterte took office in recent years. Property taxes on Yankees have gone up in the country, and the drug fueled parties he used to host for American expats looking for cheap booze and hookers has been shutdown by Catholic authorities.
Filipinos have had enough of gringos lording it over them, so probably it will be the second third world country he is chased out of since the great scandal of Kismayo in 1975 about which the less said the better.
The old G is past caring though. He figures, quite rationally, that he's got only three more years in him before he encounters malakal mawt, so why not go out in a bang. What a guy. What a life. What a story.
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