How well do you know your neighbour? I mistook mine for a robber
Would you trust a random person knocking at your door and offering you a plate of rice and beans on the suspicion that you might be hungry?
What you need to know:
- On Thursday last week, I watched a conversation between two ladies who are based in Australia, on an IG reel.
- According to their conversation, people in Africa love their neighbours and selflessly go out of their way to help them.
- Ahem! I am not one to wash dirty linen in public, so I will let you judge.
On Thursday last week, I watched a conversation between two ladies who are based in Australia, on an IG reel.
According to their conversation, people in Africa love their neighbours and selflessly go out of their way to help them. Ahem! I am not one to wash dirty linen in public, so I will let you judge.
Here is an excerpt from the conversation: “In Africa, if your neighbours don’t see you for a couple of hours or a day, they will start asking where you went… because they need to know.”
I paused and replayed that bit. This line got me thinking about my life choices.
I do not know the reality of the African place where they grew up, where they could even tell if a neighbour had not been out of the house for a couple of hours (who was counting?).
Truth is, I do not even have that much visibility of day-to-day actions of my close friends.
But before you guys label me a snob, do you know your neighbours? When was the last time you spoke to your neighbour? Would you recognise your neighbours if you met them in town?
Here is my story.
On Saturday, someone stopped me when I was opening my house. He had been sitting outside the house that is across from mine (which seemed locked).
I could tell from how fast he walked that he wanted to get to me before I opened my house and got in.
My heart was beating sufficiently fast. When he got to me, he said: “Unaeza niekea hii bag kwako kidogo? (Could you please keep my bag in your house a bit?).”
He was carrying a black backpack that seemed quite portable. That, coupled with the fact that I had never seen his face before in my life, made me want to run.
The man did not even care to say hello before making his request. My guardian angel must have been working overtime at the moment, otherwise I would have screamed!
I told him straight up that I couldn’t keep his bag for him and then quickly opened my door, locked it from the inside with a padlock and drew my curtains.
It was 2pm on a Saturday afternoon. I contemplated calling the caretaker to alert him that a weird guy had got into the compound.
I know you are probably thinking that I was overreacting. But this coming during the week when Starlet Wahu had just been murdered and the court of public opinion seemed to say “women should stay away from men they do not know otherwise they deserve the death that comes to them,” I was not about to take chances.
About an hour later, the lady who cleans my house (her name is Jessica) knocked at my door and understandably, she was puzzled that I was inside the house at that time of the day and my curtains were drawn.
If she didn’t understand the explanation I gave, it didn’t show on her face. But as she was leaving, I saw the same man outside the same house next to which I had seen him earlier, but this time, he was entering the house.
I made discreet gestures towards the man and told Jessica, “That is the man I was telling you about.”
Jessica came back into the house laughing. Long story short, the man is my neighbour. He lives in that house.
His family was out and that is probably why I saw him sitting outside the house when I returned from the salon. Which then explains that probably because the man has been seeing me on the estate, he just assumed I knew who he was – why he didn’t even bother to introduce himself.
I know it doesn’t look good on me, that I hardly know the person who lives in the house across from mine, but…as my friend Lul said after I told her the story, “That’s creepy, why didn’t he just stay with his things?” Like for real!
Thinking about this incident is the reason I am hesitant to claim a part in the glorious narrative about Africans knowing each other, or the fact that in Africa your neighbours will notice when you do not step out of the house for three days and come to look for you. Except these neighbours are your friends.
I mean think about it, in Nairobi, would you trust a random person knocking at your door and offering you a plate of rice and beans on the suspicion that you might be hungry?
The writer is the Research and Impact Editor, NMG ([email protected]).
