Kabtn Khawaga in The Evil Eye

Kabtn Khawaga’s Khawaga Kid was not being cooperative AT ALL! Here she is, in his carefully constructed house of cards in Alexandria, Egypt. She is still telling the truth??? WORSE!!!

His carefully groomed young Egyptian wife is hearing and questioning his carefully edited and reconstructed past.

WHAT TO DO??? WHAT TO DO??? Oh well, nothing for it, he’ll just have to stay home and supervise. Divide and conquer, no more conversations that he misses while working; too much to lose. YEAH, take them on a cruise; keep Diva close and give his damn Khawaga Kid her own room.

Khawaga Kid is used to his tactics, she’s been through it twice before with stepmother one and stepmother two. Ohhhh, Diva believes him. She’s watching Khawaga Kid like I’m a fox among the pigeons, her face guarded, not affectionate and friendly like it was before he started gaslighting me.

HARAM is the next word Diva teaches Khawaga Kid. Forbidden to be jealous or wish harm to others with the evil eye. Mission accomplished by Kabtn Khawaga the seeds of distrust with his artful deception have been sown in Diva’s heart. I feel the distance, knew he would do it.

Kabtn Khawaga has a different approach with his Khawaga Kid. He “confides” in her how insecure Diva is and how bitchy and mistrustful she can be because her family called her, *gulp* *gasp* *oh horrors* UGLY. This is the worst that could ever happen to anyone! Kabtn Khawaga’s motto is, “Appearance is everything.”

Narcissists can be amusing in their blind devotion to self. EXCEPT for their serial abuse, coercive control and just plain TOXIC personalities.

In Motion

1. Survive 2. Thrive 3. Flourish

WHAT IS COERCIVE CONTROL?

Perpetrators of coercive control are domestic violence abusers who resort to illegal acts in order to further abuse their victim.

Coercive Control is all about power for the perpetrator. They will use emotional, mental, financial, verbal, and physical abuse. Criminalizing coercive control in the most egregious deadbeat parent cases is necessary because these perps enjoy wreaking havoc. They will destroy lives without mercy.

Coercive control is a callous and calculated pattern of behavior by the perpetrator. Criminal acts perpetrated by someone with malicious intent on innocent victims should be held accountable for their actions in Court.

Quotes to Write By

Busy bee, that’s me…writing
Khawaga Kid. I found my voice.
Today I am better than I was yesterday, but not as good as I will be tomorrow.

I am his daughter, Khawaga Kid; Write Fighter. I chronicle the days of our lives and the poison of his lies. Out of alibis, caught by the world wide web.

Furbabies. My Warm Fuzzies.

A few members of Khawaga Kid’s emotional support group. 🐾♥️ Big Red Fuzzy is our girl Bossey. The affectionate hugger is Bud Boudreaux from Bay St. Louis, MS. Stripe Eddy is my taskmaster and talker. I ask him, “Stripe, when do you want treats?” He answers with, “Right meow.” 😺

Meet part of my Furbaby Family. These three usually join me for early morning My Daily Med and first words of the day.

Khawaga Kid and Kabtn Khawaga. Kabtn Khawaga is my father. I am his Khawaga Kid. My mother is his First Mate V. I am writing a memoir called The Family Court Case from Hell.

I changed the name of my 10th anniversary “card” to hubby. It’s called Howdy Neighbor. Arrowhead Season is a chapter and also a poem.

Sister of Khawaga Kid. Her name in my writing is Pearl Mack. My name is Khaki Mack. Our Father of Lies is Rico Mack–Kingpin of the Coastal Cartel. Our mother is his First Mate Viva Mack. Diva Mack is Rico’s fourth wife and mother of my young half-sisters Sunny and Georgie Mack.

A Letter from UrHere/PTSD

Violators,

Sometimes abuse is random, perpetrated by strangers committing crimes of opportunity. It was January 1984 when I encountered the two of you. I was fighting for my life and the one I call Driver…I clamped onto your thumb when you tried to silence my screams for help. You had to pull your thumb between my teeth, leaving your flesh behind. I spit your flesh and blood onto the pavement. Thirty-six years. PTSD. I wrote the poem below. It’s good. It’s bad. It’s ugly. I call it:

Smiling on the Outside

A normal day for me is

Talking to people

Having a “normal” conversation

While I relive

The taste of flesh and blood

The taste of survival

I smile on the outside

Sometimes people say

My smile made their day

Happy I could make

Their day a bit better

Perhaps they will smile

At someone

Because

Someone smiled at them

On the inside my heart

Beats

An ancient tribal drum

I recite

My Warrior’s Blessing

It is a good day to die

I make peace with death

Before I defend myself

If I must die

Today it is okay

Death is a portal

My Warrior’s Battle Cry

It is a good day to die

I make peace with death

Before

I defend myself

If you die today

I am sorry

As I look into

Your eyes and smile

When I spit your

Flesh and blood

Into the dirt

Dear Sister Sheesh

My sons called you Aunt Sheesh. You were my sidekick through life; an early birthday gift the year I turned four. I can’t forget having to leave you and our poodle NiNi when I ran away from Mobile, AL in July of 1979. You’re both dead now. I have survivor’s guilt. It’s still hard to write the word dead for the two of you; deaths caused by friendly fire on the battlefield of the family wars.

I flew away in the middle of the night, leaving everything that was precious to me behind, except for my independence. I could not live a prisoner of war, home is a foreign place, an enemy camp. I failed you and NiNi. I could not keep you safe. The grief is deep in my heart for the way you lived the last eleven years and two days of your life. I feel you and NiNi waiting for me. You did nothing that requires my forgiveness.

First Letter from UrHere, a Woman Cave

Dear Kabtn Khawaga,

The unforgiveness that burdened me for decades almost killed me. Feeling like I had to prove myself worthy of your love and attention, to not be excluded from your life.

2015. Comprehension of your contempt for your first family. A vengeful storm brewed, wreaking havoc in my spirit. Spewing toxins like an oilfield, poisoning my environment. We three females of your first family were only discards in your poker hand. I wanted you to pay with the only currency that matters in your world. Cold, hard CA$H. Dollars earned by any means necessary. Your money is blood money, earned with the life of my sister and the shattering that created V. V. Protector of our mother, found guilty of loving and believing in you.

Dangled carrots, bloody turnips. You, Kabtn; dropping in and out of my life, on a whim. 2007. You realized I was no longer buying your lies and bankrupting myself in the process. You tried to drop back out when I returned to America after my visit to your family home in Alexandria, Egypt. I fight for my family, Kabtn. Your sister the Bulldog and your fourth wife the Diva hide you behind their skirts. You like to keep your harem stirred and fighting, it keeps them distracted while you do whatever floats your boat. In the days before my departure from your home in Alex, I felt the freeze as you retreated, turning colder. I watched in disbelief when you ” played” with Sunny the way you “played” with me. Diva was there the three times I witnessed it, but you were so brazen the last time…outside, in the ground floor flat’s garden. Under the window of the Atelier owned by Sadat’s family. The gates had bars and we were at the corner of two busy streets. People looked through those bars at the Khawaga married to his Alexandrian Diva. This time, I knew why. I found all I needed to know about you as the Familiar Stranger, the International Deadbeat Dad.

You are Kabtn Khawaga in my memoir. I am your Khawaga Kid. The daughter holding onto the grief of my dead family; I was destroying not only myself, but the lives of my loved ones. I end this letter with words that lead to healing for the health of my family. Please forgive me. I forgive you.

Word Games

Aswan in August

Boarding our felucca

To cruise the Nile

You point to a word

“What does that say?”

You ask. I reply

“Captain spelled Kabtn”

A good memory

Of a good day

The word game

A man once called Daddy

Played with his first daughter