Comrade, don’t get too comfy in that bedsitter
What you need to know:
- It was at that moment that I realised that she was the problem. Describing the soft music coming from the Jebel stereo as “loud” was plain hyperbolic.
- From the balcony, we could hardly hear the tune humming from the living room, yet this complainant lived two stories above us.
- I suspected she had a grudge with the two comrades, and then Wafula told me that at one point, their water supply was cut, and like the legends they were, they opted to connect the water themselves to avoid paying.
By DUKE NYANKABARIA
Joe, a friend of mine, was evicted from the bedsitter he had been renting with his cousin last Saturday. The two had been accused of, among other things, abusing drugs, playing music too loudly (mainly Joe's fault), and bringing around different women every day of the week.
Wafula, Joe’s cousin, had earlier told me that he and Joe were not getting along with the chairlady (Well, in their apartment they have a chairlady, elsewhere we have caretakers). However, I didn't realise it was such a big issue until I paid them a surprise visit on Saturday.
When I first entered, the house looked as if it had been hit by a fierce hurricane. Food, clothes and furniture was strewn all over. I immediately felt bile mixed with my Kisii blood climbing up my throat.
Now, for those of us who get by on our own, disagreements with the landlord, trading insults with an unreasonable neighbour, and moving out unexpectedly are common occurrences. Everyone knows that the tried and tested medicine for a silly caretaker is to move out unexpectedly. But moving out abruptly can be difficult because you won't get your deposit back, and Murphy's Law says such situations will always come when you have no money on you.
Joe had just begun to settle in when he and Wafula were kicked out. They were about to finish furnishing the house. Now, Joe has to crash at a friend’s house while he finds money to start afresh. So, there we were, standing on the balcony of Joe’s bedsitter with Wafula, pondering on the next move. We heard a knock, and when we opened, a stunning woman wearing a flowing kitenge dress was standing there. She angrily asked Joe why he was “making noise for everyone”.
It was at that moment that I realised that she was the problem. Describing the soft music coming from the Jebel stereo as “loud” was plain hyperbolic. From the balcony, we could hardly hear the tune humming from the living room, yet this complainant lived two stories above us.
I suspected she had a grudge with the two comrades, and then Wafula told me that at one point, their water supply was cut, and like the legends they were, they opted to connect the water themselves to avoid paying. The woman, nosey just like every other caretaker, had reported the incident to Eldoret Water Company and the police, creating a storm out of such a minor infraction.
In another instance that same month, Wafula and Joe had delayed to pay their security deposit, and she yelled at the entire neighborhood indignantly. She established a tribunal to look into the two young men's occupations. Just imagine. Talk about personalising a house you do not own.
That day, I left the apartment with one lessons learnt: When living in an apartment, always try to find the most diplomatic way to solve a problem. People are less complex than we sometimes think. And, keep in mind that we will always have noisy neighbors.
To me, it is somewhat stupid to become so dominant in a dilapidated three storey flat that you become its default caretaker. What exactly do you gain? A cut on your rent charges? Puhleez.
Duke is a third-year student of political science at Moi University
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