I am penning this piece on a Tuesday morning. I should be fresh, coruscating and psyched up but I am as fatigued as a pyramid builder in 2630 BC.
This is because I couldn’t sleep well last night. In fact, I haven’t been able to sleep well for the past four nights. The blame lies with my new neighbour who moved in last week.
Instead of settling down first and taking time to learn how things work around here, he has decided that his music selection is the best thing since avocados and we should all hear it – every minute of every day.
Our compound is normally a very peaceful one so with his behaviour, the new neighbour has instantly become everyone’s enemy. Currently, the general consensus among the veteran tenants is that he should be evicted.
The landlady has been contacted several times but she has said she is still in America, basking in merriment after attending her daughter’s graduation. Apparently, she will only sort the issue when she comes back after two weeks. We thus have no option but to wait.
I first reached my irritation limit two days ago after the annoying neighbour repeated one song six times consecutively. I did the right thing and went to knock on his door. When he opened, clouds of silver smoke swirled and danced their way through the door and into the outside air, as if excited to escape the noisy house. I am not sure if there had been a terrorist attack inside his house or he was cooking with kuni. I don’t know folks. You can guess what the source of the smoke was. I am sure you’ll be right.
“Vipi! Do you mind turning it down a little?” I requested him.
“Sawa sawa buda. Naitwa Maximilliono Quintus Ule Mo Faya by the way!” he responded.
“Say what?” I sought a repeat of the strange name.
“Deejay Maximilliano Quintus Ule Mo Faya!”
That name was longer than an SGR trip from Nairobi to Mombasa and back. I later came to learn that his real name was Max. I have no idea why he had to brand himself with such a drawn out and torturous name.
Kenyan deejays are like American Rock bands; they both have weird stage names. Look at Deejay Demakufu and Deejay Bunduki. American Rock bands, on the other hand, have names such as '30 Seconds to Mars' and 'Imagine Dragons'. What exactly are we imagining about dragons?
Kenyan deejays are also part of the groups of people who always feel the need to introduce themselves by including their professions. They are like doctors and engineers. They have to tell everyone what they do for a living. Ati Deejay Maximilliano Quintus. Who asked him? Haha.
HE MADE THE LIST
After the initial request to turn it down, he only did so for about two hours then he was back to his crusade volumes.
So, I went back to confront him.
“Boss your volume is too loud,” I was now visibly irate.
“We acha. Sipunguzi. Kama una ngori, kuja na mbogi gathee,” he barked.
How rude. I thought I was the only one who quotes Khaligraph but this fella surprised me. According to my limited understanding of hardcore sheng, what he meant with that line he had just quoted from one of the OG’s songs was if I had a problem, I was free to come with my crew to confront him.
What? I don’t walk around in a crew. I am not sheep. I am not Justin Bieber either. If arrogance sprouted limbs, arms and a rough face full of scars, it would be DJ Maximilliono Bla Bla Bla.
I have a list of the most annoying people I’ve ever met in my life. There are some heavy hitters at the top, like my primary school headmistress who used to cane everyone in case the person who did a mistake refused to confess, or my annoying relative who once refused to leave my house. However, this deejay looks like he’ll shoot to the top of the list if he keeps it up.
It would have been great if he made all this noise while playing good music but no, the fella plays Soulja Boy and Matonya. Who plays Soulja Boy in this day and age? These are the kind of people who are always stuck in the past. They’ll tell you things like “In 2005, I used to do this and that. Man, those were the good days.” That’s cool but what have you done in 2018?
No wonder he is always in the house and not deejaying anywhere. If he was a good deejay, he’d be getting gigs, not disturbing neighbours all through the week. It would also have been great if he had good speakers too but no, his speakers sound like a sufuria being scratched with a spoon.
Surely, what did we do to deserve this? Right now I am eagerly waiting for the landlady to be back. I can’t wait for Deejay Bla Bla Bla to be evicted so that normalcy can return. If you are the landlady’s daughter and you are reading this, kindly send mummy back home. We need her.
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