My neighbour’s boyfriend gave me ‘the look’. You know ‘the look’, right? The one associated with light skin guys who like to tilt their head upwards like they broke a bone at the back of their neck and it got loose. My neighbour, we’ll call her Friday (against my better judgment), was right outside clearing bones off of a plate to her dustbin, when her tall, skinny and light skin boyfriend who was seated inside on the couch announced his denseness to the world by giving me ‘the look.’
As a good girlfriend, my first instinct was to tell my boyfriend what had happened, the main point being that my neighbour was being played. In all honesty, I didn’t really feel sorry for her, she doesn’t come across as someone in need of empathy. She’s actually been rude to me a number of times, especially that time she offered to share her WiFi with me then gave me the wrong password. I don’t mean she deserves it, I just think people like her get people like him. But bruh, last night the drama in that house was Oscar deserving.
‘Unataka nini na Emily?’ I heard Friday screaming at the top of her voice and immediately left what I was doing, stood behind the curtain on my door and looked through a small opening. Before you judge me, I usually don’t do this (in fact, that jam ‘drink water and mind my business’ was a tribute to my nonchalance, no cap) but I’ve never had dramatic neighbour’s before, so this is kind of fascinating for me.
‘Mtu wa familia yetu? Si ata ungetafuta huko nje?’ she continued, louder this time, bad for her throat but good for my ears.
‘What do you take me for? YOU THINK I’M 26 LIKE YOU?’ I heard, then thought to myself, I’ve always known this guy is just a child. What would Friday be doing with someone young enough to be her mentee?
The reason I’m not letting you know what the guy was saying is because I couldn’t hear him. He spoke in very low tones, probably embarrassed by her shrieks. I could barely hear him but I could feel his guts. Calling her names, reminding her she knows he’s a casanova (can’t write the exact words he used). She was screaming, asking him what he takes her for (granted of course, Ma’am). Then she started shouting at him to get out of her house. The door opened vigorously, she stepped out, opened the door wider and pointed outside saying ‘Get out!’ in the most horrendous sound that can come out of a short, petite woman. He stepped out, still begging for whatever. She pushed him, then angrily chased him out. Running. She was running on our shared corridor telling him to leave. Circus, I tell you.
‘My neighbours today are really on it,’ I told my boo when he came in a few moments later. He sat on my couch browsing on his phone while I peeled potatoes for dinner. Yes, I make dinner for him sometimes, come beat me, feminists, you’ll find me behind my door watching a struggling relationship like most of ya’ll’s. We were going to spend the evening with our lovely friends the Mugwe’s. So, basically, I was making dinner for all of us (defensive much?). ‘Can you believe she actually chased him down the hall, running!’ I said, chuckling. The guy just sat there, on his phone, giving no feedback to my narrations. At all. Men, lol.
‘Seriously? Nothing? No opinion, response?’
‘Now what do you want me to say Bubba?’ he asked. Okay well he used ‘babe’ but I’ve always hoped he’d call me bubba instead so I’ll leave it here.
‘Anything. Like, whaaat, how even? Fill me in sis, no she didn’t…there’s a lot you can say.’
He starts explaining something about them knowing how exactly they got here blah blah blah, but I get distracted by Friday opening her door and shouting ‘What do you want?’ and her infant boyfriend saying that they could just have make-up sex. I laughed. She screamed. ‘What do you take me for? You think I’m like those girls of yours? What’s wrong with you?’
‘You won’t believe what this guy is saying,’ I said to boo, fixing my curtain then going back to peeling my potatoes.
‘You can’t start something the wrong way and expect it to go right. These people just need God,’ he says. He’s a philosopher this one, and a man of God. Like a cool man of God. A Michael Todd kind of man of God. Those who wear bling, rugged pants and stuff. You catch the drift.
‘Riiiight! Like starting a relationship for the wrong reasons and expecting the right things to come out of it!’ I said. I got bit by the philosopher’s bug.
‘Yeah, I don’t even pity them. They got themselves here.’ He said, standing up to get his laptop from my desk.
‘Are you about to play something?’ I ask, bewildered.
‘Yes,’ he says. Man of few words, and oftentimes, no words.
‘Babe, I won’t be able to hear anything happening outside,’
He proceeded to play his music, like my words were those Ads you’re quick to skip on YouTube. So attractive this human.
‘So, what progressive thing do you think they should do?’ he asked. These questions we discuss when we want to mock liberals.
‘Go for therapy,’ I say, cleaning my potatoes to prepare them for death by hot water.
‘Therapy won’t change someone’s character. Theirs is a character issue, nothing can change there if their characters don’t change. Sad that she’s being played though.’ He replies. I smile. I’ve never wanted to be the smarter one in a relationship. Feminists, I’m right where I said I would be.
The Mugwe’s soon arrive. I get distracted from Friday’s drama for a moment while catching up with them. When I remember to check, the lights are out at Friday’s house for a while. For like, a long while. Then they go back on. And out walked two lovers holding hands, looking into an imaginary sunset, imagining a bright future, talking about buying Sukuma wiki with pork for dinner. Looking into each other’s eyes with new found affection. The blindness they talk about does not come with love, it comes with lust.
Finally, brethren, I request that you pray for me, for I only write this with confidence because Friday knows not my name nor my profession. But if indeed she does, and perhaps follows my social media, I might be following the same route my potatoes did.
(To Be Continued…)