From Fresh Starts to Flooded Floors
I moved to Hopefield in December 2023, eager for a fresh start. But life had other plans – and a wicked sense of humor.
A few months later, circumstances beyond my control turned life into a storm of challenges. Times were tough, but I was tougher (or so I thought). Then, an opportunity arose to run a local cultural institute’s Facebook page and eventually take over its daily operations. It was a chance to make a difference, earn a modest income, and freeze my butt off in a cold, dank office.
Things took a turn when we were offered a place to stay in connection with this opportunity. The space seemed like a good idea at first, but the reality was starkly different. The state of the property was appalling – a biohazard, to say the least. I mean, who needs a functioning toilet or a roof that doesn’t leak, right?
We spent 10 days scrubbing the place clean, removing mice and cockroaches, and trying to eliminate the stench. It was a Herculean task, and I’m pretty sure I saw a cockroach in a tiny little apron, scrubbing away alongside us.
Just as we were settling in, the rains came. And I mean, the rains came – into the house. Streams of water flooded the floors, and we got to enjoy the occasional electric shock. It was like the house was trying to tell us something – like, “Get out while you still can!”
Despite the chaos, we tried to make the best of it. We poured our hearts into this cultural centre, hosting two incredible events that aimed to bring the community together. But little did we know, the smear campaign against us was already in full swing.
The property owner, who also employed us at the cultural centre, seemed determined to ruin our reputation. Rumors spread like wildfire, and soon the whole town was calling us squatters and accusing us of fraud. It was a vicious campaign, and we were caught in the crossfire.
But here’s the thing: it didn’t stop there. As I dug deeper, I discovered that various Grand Poobahs in Hopefield were running their own little smear campaign franchises. I tried to hold them accountable, but it soon became clear that the local authorities were either complicit or unwilling to take action.
That’s when our real education began. We had to teach ourselves about bylaws, municipal responsibilities, and the intricacies of local government. We learned harsh truths about the network of complicit individuals and entities (turn the volume up if you can’t hear what I’m saying) that seemed to be working against us. It was a steep learning curve, but we were determined to fight for our rights.
But here’s the kicker: the system is rigged against those who raise their voices. The court’s decision to condone non-payment of municipal accounts is a slap in the face. It means that property owners can withhold payment, get services cut, and make living conditions unbearable. It’s a clever way to force people out, and it’s happening right under our noses.
Let me say it again: according to this court, if you’re a property owner in Hopefield and you want to get rid of someone, just stop paying your municipal account. Get the water and electricity disconnected, let the pool fester, let the roof leak and mold grow, and let the yard become an overgrown disaster. It’s a recipe for disaster, and it’s all perfectly legal.
Wake up, people! This is what’s keeping Hopefield stuck in the past. Fresh ideas and new perspectives are being suffocated by the old guard, who will stop at nothing to maintain their grip on power.
To those individuals who continue to hide in the shadows, spreading their venom and lies, I say this: COME FORWARD, MITES!
Though she be but little, she is mighty!
I’m not sure what’s next, but I’m sure you’ll hear about it.
