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What I Learned Flatting With a Gang Prospect

He taught me more than uni ever could've and then, very quickly, destroyed my awesome living setup.

The house was a shit hole and a sweet deal. All images by the author.

"Grab the shotty! After them boys!"

This isn't something I ever expected to hear screamed from my living room. At least in any context other than playing video games. And yet, after a few overly relaxed decisions about housemates, I found my student flat filled with violent offenders and drug addicts.

Everything started with the house itself. It was 110 years old. This is not an exaggeration. And the place was a shit hole when I moved in. But seeing as we never met the landlord or signed a tenancy agreement, things were worry free. With a massive bedroom and a separate garage/studio for the same price as a standard room, it was well worth sharing the place with dodgy characters.

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One day, I returned from a week away and a guy who'd been crashing told me my flatmate had borrowed $1,000 off another flatmate, smoked it all away, and then ditched the place. The crasher, Sam, was keen to take the vacant room and repay my flatmate's debt. He'd recently left prison but was a well-spoken, genuine, and likeable dude.

Over the few weeks that we lived together, he taught me more than a semester of uni ever could've and then, very quickly, destroyed my awesome living setup.

Party, party, party.

Our justice system pushes people toward gangs

After hanging out a little bit, Sam and I talked about recording some raps together. He said he had a lot to get off his chest. His father was a high-level gang member and tried to kill his mother when he was just 11 years old. Sam saved his mother, who fled to Australia, leaving her children to be raised by their alcoholic grandparents.

After a year Sam couldn't take it anymore and ran away—he'd been looking after himself ever since. Making his way around New Zealand, Sam stole food and lived out of the bush. He landed prison time for being part of a carjacking gang, and was placed on home detention in a house with some gang members as his sentence ended.

Thanks to the New Zealand justice system, he was recruited by them to sell drugs when his time was up. He had been doing that ever since. Sam told me he didn't want to, but it's hard to get a job when you're an ex-con.

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My studio in the garage.

Having a shitty upbringing means you miss out on some serious life skills

Sam was rough around the edges to the point that I had to teach him how to use the washing machine. "I used to just racks clothes off peoples lines when mine got dirty," he said.

I'm not sure if he ever showered, he'd only smell fresh after coming back from the public pools. His bedroom had no furniture, and when I asked why, he said that roofs and walls make him feel claustrophobic. He would sleep outdoors on our drink-stained, weather-battered smoking couch.

Living with drug dealers and burglars has its perks

While Sam had some wacked habits he had amazing social skills. It was easy to tell he got by all those years on nothing but being incredibly likeable. He did things like tidy up all the cans and bottles blanketing our lawns, and persuaded the rubbish men to take several trollies full of rubbish for free.

He boosted the family vibe of the flat by cooking a Sunday roast. I found it suspicious at first that his mates would drop off the most expensive cuts of meat. He later told me they stole meat from the supermarket in exchange for drugs. My pothead friends were stoked too—they could score at the same time.

Lonely people are so scared of loneliness they'll pay to avoid it

I thought everything was all good until I began to suspect Sam and his crew weren't going to pay rent. There was always an excuse as to why he didn't have the money: His uncle failed to send a transfer from Australia one day, he got ripped off the next.

Sam apologised for being slow, saying how hard it was to get by as he was paying for all his mates drugs and food. "I just don't want to be lonely anymore," he told me. "If I don't pay they'll probably just go away." Being on home detention in a town with no friends had really made him truly terrified of feeling isolated.

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You can only kid yourselves things are normal for so long

We had a landlord inspection coming up so I began to tidy up the backyard. Under a pile of rubble, I found a shotgun and a box of ammunition. I thought about calling the cops but the idea of getting beaten to a pulp and/or having all my music equipment stolen didn't appeal to me. I left the house for the day, wondering how the fuck I had let myself get into this situation.

My massive room.

Always Bail out before the ship sinks

I called the landlord and asked to rent from him separately but he wasn't keen. So I filled my car with gear and started crashing on friend's couches. In the mornings, when things were quiet, I'd go back to the house. I was often greeted by a bunch of guys guarding the place looking ready for anything.

Another time I found a disheartened Sam hiding power tools in the backyard. "I was worried about paying rent so I smashed a window and took these, but the bros say they'll only give me $50 for them," he told me. Things just kept getting sketchier. Everyone was nice to me though, helping me move my furniture out.

I'm not too sure what happened to Sam. For a few days there was a suspiciously nice car with a broken window parked in our driveway, which disappeared the same time that he did. I wonder if he got locked up? Sam never had a phone or Facebook but I'd love to hear whether he's alright.

As I was moving out cops would follow me around town and pull me over for questioning. I'd never say much, just that I was moving out and didn't really know the guys. They never seemed to believe me. There's probably a list of gang affiliates somewhere now with my name on it.

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