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MidReal Story
The Rapper From The Ghetto
Scenario:this is the year of 2019 in danish language in aarhus denmark a story about ghetto and music and explicit nudity and bdsm and police and racism and fights and sexual content and parties and clubbing and strippers and and friendship and loyalty and drug and alcohol use and love and drama and violence and fame and tours and interviews and fans and my name is mohamed abdi and i am 18 years old and i have many friends who supports me and hangs with me and i am a new upcoming songwriter and rapper and i have dark skin and braids and i wear a black tracksuit and i have black braided cornrows and i just graduated from high school and i want to persue music but my dad his name is abdinur abdi and he has dark skin and he is 43 years old and my mother layla she is 41 years old and she has dark skin and my sister munira she is 15 years old and she has dark skin and she is in high school first year and she supports me and mahad is 16 years old and he supports me and he has dark skin and he is in high school and my parents are against me making music and doing music and we are a muslim somali family i am the main and central pov character and i am the narrator
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Mohamed Abdi
He is an 18yearold Somali musician from Aarhus, Denmark. He is passionate, determined, and rebellious. Mohamed faces opposition from his conservative Muslim parents who disapprove of his music career. Despite their disapproval, he persists, fueled by his dream to become a renowned rapper. His closeknit group of friends, including Mahad and Jannik, support his endeavors. Mohamed struggles with family issues, including a estranged father and a brother involved in illegal activities.
Abdinur Abdi
He is Mohamed's 43yearold father and a former illegal immigrant who gained citizenship through naturalization. He is controlling, conservative, and ambitious. Abdinur works as a janitor at the university where his son studies. He opposes Mohamed's music career, viewing it as shameful and unIslamic. His relationship with Mohamed is strained due to his strict parenting and refusal to understand his son's aspirations.
Aziz
He is one of Mohamed's friends known for his knowledge of cars. He is intelligent, enthusiastic, and detailedoriented. Aziz appreciates classic cars like the Audi Quattro and shares a passion for car culture with Rasmus and Jannik. His depth of knowledge about cars adds depth to the group’s dynamic.
It's the year 2019, and I'm sitting in my room on my bed with my laptop open in front of me.
I have headphones on my ears, and I'm listening to a beat.
I'm writing lyrics to the beat, and I'm totally focused.
I'm Mohamed Abdi, an 18-year-old Somali boy living in Aarhus, Denmark.
I have dark skin, braids, and I'm wearing a black tracksuit.
I just graduated from high school a month ago, and I want to pursue music.
I am the upcoming songwriter and rapper, but my parents are against it.
My dad thinks it's shameful and not Islamic.
I'm sitting at the dinner table with my parents, my older sister Munira, and my younger cousin Mahad.
My mom has made a delicious meal of sabaayad, hilib ari, and basmati rice.
The aroma of the food fills the room, and everyone is passing dishes around.
My dad, Abdinur, looks at me and asks, "Mohamed, how was your day?"
I hesitate to answer because I know he doesn't approve of my music.
Munira and Mahad look at me with curious expressions.
I decide to tell him that I've been writing lyrics all day.
My dad's face hardens, and he starts lecturing me about how music is shameful and not Islamic.
My mom, Layla, tries to interrupt him, but he continues to talk over her.
After dinner, I head to Ahmed's place.
He lives in a basement apartment with his parents and younger sister.
The walls are covered in graffiti, and there's a soundproof studio in the basement.
We all sit on a couch in the studio, surrounded by sound equipment and computers.
Ahmed, also known as Medusa, is playing a new beat he produced.
Xander, also known as Mr. X, is nodding his head to the beat.
He suggests changing the bassline to make it sound better.
Adam, also known as A-town, is freestyling over the beat.
Samir, also known as Samurai, is recording his verse.
Kamal, also known as Ghost, is listening to the flow and giving feedback.
Lucas, also known as Lucid, is writing a hook for the song.
Azad, also known as A.Z., is mixing the track on his laptop.
I'm sitting in Ahmed's basement studio, surrounded by my rap collective.
Adam, our producer and rapper, plays a new beat.
We all take turns freestyling and recording verses.
I share my latest lyrics, and the group nods in approval.
Xander suggests tweaking the bassline to give it more oomph.
Azad mixes the track on his laptop while we provide feedback.
We laugh and joke around, critiquing each other's work.
The studio is dimly lit, with neon lights illuminating the walls.
The soundproof booth is in the center, and we take turns stepping inside to record our verses.
I put on my headphones and grip the mic tightly.
The beat drops, a heavy trap instrumental Ahmed produced.
I start rapping, channeling the frustration from dinner with my dad.
I deliver my verses for "Vinder," a song about perseverance and success.
After three takes, Adam gives me a thumbs up.
We take turns recording our tracks - Adam with his song "Allesammen Alene," Xander with his verse for "Gade Tilbage."
Samir records his hook for "Kriminalminded," and Kamal lays down a verse for "Ghost Town."
Lucas records his chorus for "Lucid Dreams," and Azad mixes the tracks on his laptop.
We pass around energy drinks and critique each other's flows.
By midnight, Adam is hunched over his laptop, uploading our finished tracks to SoundCloud.
Ahmed leans back in his chair and says, "Yo Mohamed, your verse on 'Vinder' hits hard, but have you told your dad about the music yet?"
I sigh and reply, "Nah, man, he still thinks I'm wasting my time with this."
Lucas chimes in, "Maybe if he heard how dope your stuff is, he'd change his mind."
Adam looks up from his phone and says, "Hold up, guys. I just got a message from a scout at Sony Music Denmark. He heard our tracks on SoundCloud and wants to sign us."
We all stare at Adam in shock.
Xander asks, "For real?"
Adam nods and says, "Yeah, he wants us to meet with the CEO tomorrow."
Samir exclaims, "Damn, that's crazy! We gotta make this happen!"
Ahmed suggests, "Let's drive down to Copenhagen tomorrow. It's only a three-hour ride."
We all start talking about the opportunity and what it could mean for our music.
Azad asks, "What time do we need to be there?"
Adam replies, "The meeting is at 2 pm. Let's leave here by 10 am."
Kamal says, "I'll drive my car. We can take two cars so everyone can fit."
Lucas adds, "I'll bring my camera to document everything."
We all start packing up our gear and making plans for the trip.
Ahmed turns to me and says, "Mohamed, this could be your chance to prove to your dad that music isn't just a hobby."
I nod, feeling the weight of the opportunity, "Yeah, maybe if he sees us getting signed, he'll finally understand."
Samir grins and adds, "And when we're famous, he'll be bragging about his son the rapper!"
Back in my bedroom, I dump my backpack onto the bed and start sorting through what to bring.
My hands shake as I gather the most polished verses, carefully sliding the wrinkled papers into a black folder.
I check my phone - three missed calls from Dad.
Ignoring them, I stuff a few clothes into the bag and grab my lucky chain from the dresser.
Through the thin walls, I can hear Mom and Dad arguing in Somali about my "disgraceful behavior."
I zip up my backpack and text Ahmed to pick me up early, before Dad wakes for morning prayer.
I slide out of bed and reach under the mattress, retrieving the small recording mic I've hidden there.
At 4:30 AM, I tiptoe down the creaky hallway, my heart pounding with each step.
The house is silent except for Dad's snoring from my parents' bedroom.
I pause at Munira's door, slipping the note I wrote her under the crack - just a few lines saying I'll call later.
My backpack weighs heavy with equipment as I ease the front door open inch by inch, cringing at the slight squeal of hinges.
Outside, the pre-dawn air hits cold.
I spot Ahmed's car idling at the corner, headlights off.
I take a deep breath, knowing there's no turning back now.