PROXIMITY WOES

It was a Saturday afternoon when I got home from church all psyched up to  watch the last episode of season one of "House of cards" then darn, power went out.
So, I decided to lie lazily on bed while figuring out what I was to do next. I was lying there, just minding my own business; peeping on Whatsapp, snooping on Facebook, liking this and that, commenting on this and that, profile stalking who and who.Yes,that is my business.

The Estate was very quiet, no one was playing music, just a few heavenly noises from kids running and playing around and of course my Oga brothers who will never learn to talk in low tones. They are about seven young men, probably in their late twenties or early thirties, all living in a two bed-roomed house. They are tall, very dark and their beards can make Prophet Owuor's chin bow down in shame. They like to shop on Friday, or so I think. I don't know where they source these slim, light skinned Kenyan babes, every weekend and when that is done, all neighbors get a treatment of the conventional thick Nigerian accent dose mingled with giggles. How I long for Monday!

Away from my brothers from the West, I have never seen my next door neighbor, but judging from her shoe size, I think she's short, plump, fluffy, and her African hair must be very black, long and shiny. Sometimes, I imagine Cesare Lombroso would be very proud of himself if he saw her. We will call her Viviane. You see, Viviane’s balcony is very close to my bedroom and whenever she steps out to make a phone call, I become part of it. So, literally I'm part of her life, which makes me wonder if she's part of mine courtesy of the bedroom-balcony proximity.

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So, that afternoon Viviane was terribly pissed off. She catapulted out of the house onto the balcony ranting like a mad woman. I was almost tempted to believe she had wedding plans slated for December and her Ten-year savings were stuck at Chase Bank. Nevertheless, I decided to listen on. Alas! Apparently, some member of her circus of girlfriends went out with her boyfriend the previous night without her knowledge or perhaps more importantly, her approval. Her throat must be going dry.

Thirty minutes down and Viviane was still spitting venom. She finally told the recipient on the other end that she was hiking a matatu to town. She was probably going to make human biryani out of her boyfriend and the alleged thief. I guess, Viviane’s informant was obligated to carry with herself a fire extinguisher. I didn't want to look out of the window, but I imagined her beautiful, kinky, tough African hair was smoking, almost going up in flames. It started raining and I wondered if she was going to make it to town. Well if she did, I would be in my bedroom at exactly 8 p.m. in time for her return....to listen.