New neighbours. Yay!
It’s a couple. Young – late twenties, maybe early thirties. The girl is sanguine, all giggles and frills and cleavage. She has a loooovely African figure. African here means soft and curvy, nice ribs, wide hips, round legs, teeny little waist… lots of cushions. Kind of like a plus size sponge-made coke bottle in a figure belt. Deeeeeeelightful. And she flaunts it too. Bit of a princess – she hires the neighbourhood jobless-corner boys to do her laundry, and her man doesn’t seem to mind – he’s all cute and mel and power drills. We see her most mornings serving him hotdogs and mandazi, late, on the way to the car. They sleep in and have their meal in the traffic jam.
I do have one problem with them though. They’re deaf. They play their music at crazy volumes – though I do like their taste. They play their TV loud too. They were watching Slum Dog Millionaire the other day, and I came that close to going over and borrowing said DVD. Of course, they like it so much that after 12 viewings, I can pretty much sing Jai Ho by heart. My naughty mind suggests that the … volume … has less to do with their hearing and more to do with … other things. After all, the Plot 8 walls are rather thin.
This weekend, I learned a lesson in passive aggression. See, Mr. and Mrs. Lovebird are joined at the hip. They drive off together each morning, drive back together each evening, and rave together on weekends. The other day, they came in late, and, for some reason, couldn’t get the gate open. They proceeded to hoot and hoot and hoot and hooooooot. I could hear them, but I figured if they came in that late, they ought to know how they were getting in.
After maybe 30 minutes of hooting, my grumpy landlord let them in. I don’t know what juju they have on him, coz he doesn’t take kindly to that kind of thing, and has been known to lock out tenants, and even his own children. So I was shocked silly that he made no comment about getting up at 2 a.m. to open the gate for them. They must be paying some serious rent, that’s all I can say.
But back to this weekend. Saturday morning, round maybe, seven o’clock, Babu, the landlord, was banging on the door. I jumped awake, wondering what I’d done now, and was glad it wasn’t my door he was banging. It was the Lovebirds’. Babu kept ‘knocking’ for maybe 15 minutes without results, then he started yelling. At first it was polite, ‘Waheshimiwa!!’ But after half an hour it degenerated to a point where I was worried he’d break the door down. Still, the Lovebirds heard no evil.
Eventually, grumbling to himself, Babu took alternative action. He walked to their bedroom window and…well, he’s far too polite to holler at them. So instead, he grabbed a bunch of sufurias and bottles and dropped them ceremoniously, then proceeded to clang them noisily against each other in the name of ‘tidying up.’ Nothing doing.
Then he brought his bike to the same window. It’s a … well, I’m sure I could get more effect by explaining the number of horses in the hood, and the CC of the tank, and the va-va-voom the thing carries, but I’m a girl. All I can say is that it’s big, red, probably Suzuki, has fat raised tyres, takes three tries to start, and is preeeeeeeetty!
So here comes the bike, right to the window. He revs it into starting, then vrooooooms it so hard that princess plugged her ears! Lord, I thought I would die giggling, sitting at my window, peeping at the goings on. And keep in mind that in plot 8, due to the heat, we have no glass in our window panes – just wooden frames and mosquito mesh, so there is no padding or muffling. Still, the couple ‘slept’ on.
Eventually, Princess and I had to go to the salon, so we left Babu and his Lovebirds in their ‘silent’ wars. On the way out, we noticed that the Lovebirds had parked at the entrance, and were blocking Babu’s car from exit. Hence the early morning chaos. They probably came in late ans assumed everyone sleeps in. They’re too new to know that Babu routinely wakes up at 5.00 a.m. for prayers, and locks up at 9 or 10 p.m., even though he’s up as late as midnight. I don’t know how he does it, but for an Over-60 that walks around topless and rides a big noisy mo-bike, nothing is impossible.