Waiting for My Man



There is no shortage of strange encounters to be had here. Within the first few days of arriving in East London, I was approached by young looking guys attempting to sell me weed. I might be approached up to three times down commercial road, by three separate sets of young middle-eastern lads. Some will offer a gram for a ten, or a gram and a half for a twenty. Always breaking the ice with the same line:

“Do you smoke weed?”

I’m not sure which aspect of my appearance screams: PLEASE SELL ME WEED.
But, either there is a seriously disguisable physical sign, or, they just hit up every white person under the age of thirty. It honestly could be either of those things, or both… Who is to truly know. Nevertheless, when these lads are not marketing on main streets, they’re traversing through housing estates meeting business clients all over town.

The market has stiff competition, some agencies offer a speedy delivery service – standard delivery vehicle seems to be a noughties Mercedes Benz Sedan. Others, keep their operation considerably smaller, restricting all business travel to foot. However, this method seems to affect the business’s ability to meet demand; and, could potentially strain relationships with clients, due to lengthy wait times.

Despite the unpredictable market place that inhabits East London’s black market, there is still some fun quirkiness to be found. Recently, an industry website shared a story of a young Italian girl, who met the man of her dreams at a bus stop, after he attempted to market his business. Two twenty bags later, and the man had moved from his cosy-cardboard-box in the alleyway one street over, into her room.

Unfortunately, after a happy month playing house together he miraculously disappeared. The woman, who doesn’t wish to be named, has spoken out in hope that her respective paramour would return to accept forgiveness, and continue their life together. The whereabouts of the man is still unknown.

London Town, with O