What would a good neighbour do?

It’s a nice, warm Saturday afternoon. You are at a friend’s house. His wife and son are away, visiting her mother, so it’s just the three of you – him, you and a bottle of whisky.

It’s always quite different when the wife is away. When she is around nobody is ever themselves. Even the men who brag in bars about how tough they are at home always seem so docile.

They walk around their house like guests. Plus, they never know where anything is. They will always be asking the wife, “Babe, kwani where are those coasters? Or, “Have you seen that nail-cutter?” Or “Kwani you guys removed my portrait that was hanging on this wall?” You almost want to ask him, “Boss, are you sure you live here? You don’t know where anything is!”

I once went to a friend’s house – his wife is one of those no-nonsense women who has never made any bones about not liking most of his friends, me included. (Yes, I’m in that black book of sinners – a story for another day.) Sometimes when we are privileged to go over (very seldom) because of a birthday for one of the kids (not happened in a while), we will sit out in the garden like we are waiting for our ID cards.

FORCED TO WHISPER

All this time we are seated there, he will be whispering and so we are forced to whisper too like we are about to rob a bank. I always think, if this guy who lives here with his children, this man who has all his clothes here, is whispering because he’s scared of being beaten or denied food or whatever it is that she does to him when visitors leave, how much worse can it be for us, mere peasant guests? I think he fears her.

But then again we all fear her. If she comes out where we are seated and asks, “Are you guys okay? Do you need anything?” we all always say we are okay because just being able to breathe in her presence is a privilege it itself.

Anyway, as I was saying, you are at your friend’s house. His wife went to visit her mother. You are drinking whisky from her glasses reserved for visitors.

You freely walk into her kitchen and open her fridge. You crack dirty jokes. You can stretch on her sofa if you are tired.

You can take a photo down from the wall and stare at it, a photo of her on her wedding day, when she was still pretending that she liked all his friends. (She still likes you, though. She says you are “sober-minded.” Ha!)

DRINKING AND CHATTING

So, you are drinking and chatting; a sports channel is on. You then hear raised voices. You ask your friend, “What the hell is that?” He says, “My neighbours. They are always fighting.” You hear the woman’s angry voice. Then you hear the man’s angry voice.

Then you hear furniture moving, or bodies moving furniture. Or bodies bumping into furniture. Then you hear feet thudding against the floor like sumo wrestlers jostling for advantage, and bodies slamming against the wall.

You look at your friend because this is pretty abnormal, but he’s not concerned at all. It’s almost like he can’t hear the noises.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” you ask. He says, “We used to, but then they’d go at it again after a week. Now it’s normal.” You listen to the commotion for a while then say, “This is not normal. What if he kills her?” He laughs and says, “He won’t. She might, though. We are more worried for him. She’s pretty strong. But anyway, they never hurt each other. It’s how they show love. Tomorrow morning they will be laughing in the car as they load their toddler in the backseat to go to church. Maybe you should write about it, in that column of yours... by the way do you still write it?” Ha-ha. (He’s the worst type of idiot, this friend – the type who doesn’t read.)

I am baffled: “It’s how they love each other.” What kind of love is that where your wife has to strangle you with her old camisole to show love?

And what is the rule of thumb of being good neighbours? Do you pound on the door until the fighting abates and someone opens, wiping their nose with the back of their hands?

What do you say when the person who opens the door says, “Look, we are having a pretty intense domestic moment. It’s nothing. My husband is prone to screams.” Intense? That’s not intense, that’s violence!

Do you call the police? How many times can you call the police if the couple fights and nothing is done? And what use is it if the police come five hours later when the couple is eating dinner and watching TV like nothing happened?

Can people love each other by trying to haul each other off the second floor? Or hold their lover’s head under their armpit? What kind of love is that? How much more can you, as a neighbour, do when the man says, “It’s nothing, it’s just a little marriage misunderstanding,”?

Or the woman says, “Mind your own business! And please stop having your visitors park in our parking spot or I will deal with you next!”

Then slams the door in your face. What does a good neighbour do?