Angry Man! Go Away! presents the true story of the life of author Raje E. Voega, who was raised by an abusive father who beat his mother and him often. The oldest of eight children, he was very harsh with his siblings due to his father's actions; even so, as an adult he has never hit or been violent with anyone.
Voega was born on the western coast of Canada and moved to Alberta when he was almost six. As a child, he was moved around a lot, from Edmonton to northern Alberta. At fifteen, he went to live with his father in Edmonton but only stayed for six months, although he remained in the area until he was nineteen. Eventually, he moved from that area and settled in western Canada, finally ending up in southern Alberta. In his early twenties, he started down a path that might have led his imprisonment or death, but he was able to turn his life around.
Recently, he ended a relationship that put him in a very dark and hopeless place. But instead of crossing a line that would have destroyed both his life and others' lives forever, he decided to write about the violence that exists in families today. By telling his story in this memoir, he hopes to save others from the violence that he has endured, and at times created, in his family.
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Read an Excerpt
Angry Man! Go Away!
By Raje E. Voega
iUniverse, Inc.Copyright © 2013 Raje E. Voega
All rights reserved.
I was twenty-three, dealing in marijuana, half pound a day split between a friend and I, we will call him Mot. Mot was about twenty-two years old, had red hair and a red gotee. He was a little younger then me but out weighed me by about twenty pounds. I lived in an apartment with another friend, we will call him Kid. Kid was nineteen at this time, six feet tall, thin and was rather hyper. My pit bull was in Mot's back yard, chained to a big red dog house, his name was pilsner and he was about two years old at the time. This lasted for two months before I rented a house with Kid and his girlfriend.
Mot had a roommate, we will call him Funky. This was a funny guy, tall, over six feet three inches. He kind of had an afro, his father was the crown prosecutor in the Saskatchewan town I lived in, and he was a partier. All his party's had a theme ... funny stuff. Funky had down loaded this book on how to build explosives, refine materials, and how to build everything from grenades, rocket propelled grenades, rocket launchers, rockets, mines, booby traps, exploding tipped bullets, exploding arrows, and details on how to break down certain components, and how to keep them safe, and how to get different types of explosives, and so much more. Some say it was the anarchist cook book, but that doesn't sound familiar, I was told this book was a step above the anarchist cook book.
I borrowed the book, on the condition I keep it safe. I sat in my room and read the book for days, twice, took notes and kept the book under my mattress. I went through it every once in a while, Funky didn't mind me having it, I was trust worthy. I moved into a house with Kid and his girl friend. I was still dealing half a pound a day in small amounts, so I was doing well financially.
I had another friend, we will call him Skinny. He was about six feet one inch, slightly taller than me. He was rather thin and had some martial arts training. I met him while driving taxi, he also worked for me when I had the delivery service, he was in a half way house and he needed a job to get out during the day. He had access to military grenades, three and a half and five pounders. He also had access to a bunch of hand guns, uzies, rifles and machine guns, a couple with silencers. I was in the process of trying to strike a deal on both cases of grenades when they were sold. So I turned my attention to the two uzies with silencers and a shoulder strap. It turned out the guns were all too expensive, but would have paid an arm and leg for those grenades.
Before I lived in the apartment with Kid, I had the upstairs of a house with my dog. In my dealings a client owed me some money, I ended up with a 357 Super Magnum hand gun, it had a nine inch barrel, it was huge. I only ever had one shell for it, but the gun said 375 calibre, so never tried to fire that shell, and people always said they could get me ammo so I wasn't worried about it. It was easy to get all kinds of toys, the problem was deciding before something better came along.
Kid was just nineteen, on the night we moved in, he got angry during a conversation about the gun in the house; he had just done four years in juvenile detention for armed robbery and was upset about the gun being in the house. My kitchen table ended up in the side of my fish tank, I was out back hitting on a young lady that had stopped by to pick up some marijuana. When I walked back in and saw the water all over, I instantly got angry and wanted to know what happened. The argument sprawled out into the front yard where there was a bunch of yelling and pushing, a group of three or four of us trying to calm him down. I walked back in the house, the tank was empty so I grab my Oscar and through him to the dogs in the backyard. Everyone came inside, we moved the broken glass to the front yard, and went back inside and drank.
The gun had to go, if I got busted and he was in the house there would be problems for him. So I agreed to take it out of town and bury it, and I did. Kid and his girlfriend moved out after about 6 months and I brought the gun home. It stayed there under my mattress with the book I got from Funky. I continued dealing in marijuana and partying. I came across a guy who wanted to trade my 357 for a 9mm Beretta. I gave him the gun and was just waiting on delivery of my 9mm when I got busted.
After a year or so in that house I decided to start my first small business, a personal delivery service. After about a month or so I was stopped at a stop sign, I had my pit bull tied up in the back of the truck. There was a cop car across the intersection and it looked like they were watching me. I went straight through the intersection, as soon as I was through the cop pulled a U-turn and came up behind me. He turned on his cherries and pulled me over. I pulled over at a gas station. They boxed me in, got out guns drawn. They couldn't get near the truck with Hatez in the back, so I stepped out, got hand cuffed, and they let me in the box of the truck to calm the dog down till the pound got there to take him.
Animal control showed up and took him and the police commenced searching the truck. They found nothing, not even a roach. They said they thought I was delivering drugs. I said heck no, was trying to quit that life and started a legitimate business to turn my life around. They let me drive away with a promise to appear. I hadn't really sold anything in almost a week, had cut down my selling share by at least half and got nailed with a full load. Two ounces of marijuana, one once of mushrooms, a set of triple beam scales, baggies, and the book I got from Funky.
I got home and the front door was booted in and the warrant, I believe, was on the door. According to the neighbours there was a swat team, maybe two, and it was fast and hard. The warrant said they were looking for a '357' or a 'BERRETTA'. The drugs and book were just a bonus, they found no weapons, there was a bb gun on the fridge, they left it behind I believe.
Funny thing is two days earlier my buddy I was trading guns with, had got busted and they were looking for a 357. He was into needles and stuff, and he figured his heat was from a different direction and stayed away from me and did not have a phone. Funny, he lived just up the block. After I got busted we made the connection and figured out what they were after, and who was behind it.
Turns out a roommate of his had an ex-girlfriend that had heard us talking, discreetly, but not enough obviously. She showed up the morning I got busted to buy some pot, but I wouldn't sell to her. She never showed up before and thought it was odd at the time. That is why the warrant didn't have drugs on it, they thought I was out. If they knew I had some, and that is what they were after, it would have been on the warrant. That day the ex-girlfriend and a friend of the neighbours' took off to go camping for the weekend. They left after she showed up at my place and before I got busted. I asked for full discloser, but the crown argued the witness feared for their life. The crowns motion was granted never did get concrete proof. In the end I got five months probation.
I owned the business for about another seven or eight months before selling it, never did get paid for it. About two months after I started the company I made the hours twenty-four hours a day. I did this for about three weeks, I almost collapsed. A couple I knew took the company over for a few days so I could recover a little. I spent the time up the block at a friend's place, the same guy that I was trading hand guns with.
I was still on edge all the time and was very stubborn in the business, with other businesses and friends. I was having serious issues with a guy who used to be a friend, we will call him Gij. He was a twenty-one year old native about five feet eleven inches tall, skinny like me. When he was out with his friends, or even just his friends there were always problems. Although I rather enjoyed the cat and mouse games, and usually ended up out driving them, I was getting tired of having to watch my back every were I went.
After a couple weeks of talking with some family in BC, I decided to sell the company and move there in about four or five months. Things were getting more tense with being in such a small town and knowing so many people and having the chip on my shoulder that I had, I was always having to out drive people, even if that meant having to drive very fast to lose them. Couldn't afford to have them follow me to a customer's house, so I did what I had to.
About a month later I found a buyer for the company, within two days I loaded my dog into the back seat, two twelve inch subs and a amp in the trunk and whatever other clothes and nic nacs I would need, stuffed into a 1988 VW Fox four door and hit the highway west to Vernon BC. I am not a materialistic person, so walking away from stuff is easy, I left behind everything, furniture, TV, bed, tons of stuff. Now the reason I left Saskatchewan and headed for BC is for another chapter. However, the things I learned from that book have always fascinated and stuck with me.
From my earliest memories there was always screaming and fighting. My father beat my mother for twenty years, and me from as young as I can remember till I stopped talking to him when I was sixteen or so, that was twenty years ago. I remember my parents going skiing in the mountains, mom coming back with a broken arm, I believe, and a banged up face with a black eye, they said she ran into a tree. I have another short memory of standing on the lawn with dad and three or four of my brothers and sisters and we watched mom walk down the road with her suit cases packed and thrown out of the house. She got a block away, we were all upset, in disbelief, confused, and so much more I am sure. After a couple more seconds dad asked us if we wanted our mother back, we all screamed yes, and he said go get her then, and we did. We were living on the island if I remember correctly, so I would have been bout seven or eight years old I figure.
We were still on the island and living in a two story house with a cottage out back. One morning my brother and I had taken a wagon wheel each from the cupboard. In the afternoon mom noticed some missing and my brother and I were standing on the back porch on the side of the house. It was on the second floor, the stairs ran all the way down along the outside of the house. When mom approached and asked if we had taken the wagon wheels, dad was in the driveway doing something and heard her ask. Even then I was scared of getting in trouble of any sort, punishment was always physical. I instinctively denied my mom's accusation, my brother told the truth and said 'Yes we did, don't you remember?' And before anything else I saw my dad run for the front door, and I just started saying no, I knew he was coming to beat me and it was a tough couple of seconds before he got to me, and when he did, he did.
Our parents' separated when I was very young and memories are only of one thing. I do not know why they separated; I do not even remember the fight. I do remember waking up Christmas morning to yelling and screaming like I never heard before, or since. My mom had taken us kids to stay with a family member, I do not remember who. I remember standing in the middle of the room and watching my mom run up and down the hallway separating the living room and bedrooms crying, sobbing and in an almost uncontrollable rage. Once I was able to get a grasp of what was going on, I learned my baby brother had passed during the night. He was about six months old, and the autopsy said it was Sid's.
I am not sure when this was, I recall nothing about it. I have heard the stories though; I believe it happened out on the island. When I was younger my father took me hostage. I do not know if I was at his house, weather my folks were separated or not. All I do know is that he used a shot gun to keep the swat team in their place. From my understanding he surrendered after about eight hours. I remember nothing, but like I said heard about it many times. Don't know if I just blocked it out, or if I was too young to remember, you'd figure I would remember all the pretty lights.
Another memory of my father is when we were living in a light coloured condo; there was a ravine out back. We were in the back yard and I believe we were setting up a wet banana, slip'n slide, with our father. He asked me to go downstairs and turn on the water. I raced down the stairs, as I was just about to touch the water tap everything went black. I came to on the floor across the room. I was scared and started to cry. I ran up the stairs and outside. Dad was yelling at me to get back down there and turn it on.
I wouldn't go, he ended up smacking me a couple times, and down I went. I slowly went down the stairs, I knew something happened, no idea what, so was very cautious. Finally got down all the stairs, crept over to the tap, gave it a light tap with my finger, it seemed ok. I turned it on and ran up the stairs as fast as possible. When I got back upstairs dad was calling me a pussy and there was nothing wrong, it was just me.
About a week later dad came and apologized, he was down stairs doing something and he ended up on the floor. It turned out there was a two hundred and twenty watt wire for the dryer that wasn't connected and was just hanging out of the wall. He played it down like nothing had happened.
While living in this condo I remember mom, my oldest brother and sister and I in the kitchen, mom was the only one standing. It was breakfast time and she said when we got home there would be a surprise for us. We wanted to know what it was, she said it was something that could make us treats, and it was as tall as her, maybe taller. She said a few other things, but those are the two that I remember. All day at school I was so anxious to see this surprise.
When I got home and walked in the door, it was the last thing I could think of. Actually it never even crossed my mind, and I was so disappointed. It was my father standing in the living room. I distinctly remember how disappointed I was. I was stunned, thinking how this could have never crossed my mind. Of course being a child I was still happy to see him, but at the same time, a child shouldn't be disappointed about a parent coming home. He was in the reserves I believe.
Up till grade three or four I was an A student, things were good, no bullying. However I remember bullying a girl and it bothered me, especially what happened to her. We actually started as friends, we were neighbours. She had large red wine color patches all over her body, I do not know what it was, a birth defect, or birth marks I believe.
I was with some other friends, boys, and they were making fun of her. I joined in. We were all on bikes riding up the street, cutting her off and one of the others got to close, I don't know if she turned to sharp to miss him or he hit her front tire with his rear, but she went over the handle bars. The other boys took off; I stopped and asked if she was ok. I felt so bad; she got up on her own crying and went home. I think we were still friends after, but I never teased her again.
We were living outside of Edmonton on an acreage and coming back from church, must have been about nine years old. Dad told us before we could change we had to clean out the car. It was white station wagon with wood paneling. I remember the three oldest, my brother, oldest sister and I had to do it. My brother and I started but our sister wouldn't help. The back drivers' side door was open; her back was to the car and standing about three or four feet from the car. I was standing in front of her demanding that she help, I am not sure where exactly my brother was, but he said he saw the whole thing. I pushed her in the chest with both hands, she spun around and fell face first into the car door frame, there was so much blood from her nose, but it did not break.
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