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drcdrx > My Neighbours > 1 My Neighbours
It was only my first twenty-four hours of joblessness after I was fired from my security man job at the Microfinance bank. Looking out at the street through the foggy glass of my window, I was beginning to notice the disorderliness and oddities of my neighborhood. The things that were out of place were all over the place like a bra hanging on the electric supply wire up high. How did it get there? My mind was at home for the first time in a long, long time that I did not only notice the bra -which I figured must have been there for nearly a year- but I now had the time to begin to task my mind to reason up circumstances that must have made the bra end up in the most unusual place imaginably.

A magpie came to perch next to the bra soothingly and I got a better explanation of the bra. A bird had picked it from the cloth line where the unfortunate owner had left it to dry and had flown away with it, only to leave it on the power line for us to see. Yes. Perfect.

Next door of my two room apartment, I began to hear a noise I had become too used to. It was Bukky's cry/scream/curse/wail, what it's called depends on who's listening.

Nearly every morning, at the time I will be rushing to prepare for work, she begins. She is her husband's favorite kick-boxing training material. She had a sharp tongue and a chubby face to take each and every punch her tongue provoked.

Because I was always in a hurry to go to the office each of those mornings to listen to their fight, I never really got to learn why they would be fighting every morning after sleeping as opposed to at night before sleeping like every other couple I know. This time was different.

I was at home and not hurrying to anywhere. I left my window side to the corner of my bedroom closest to their apartment where I can hear them clearly.

En-route to this spot, I stopped by my refrigerator to grab a can of beer. The chance to sip beer from a can while listening to this husband and wife fight could turn out to be a perfect morning blessing. The beer was cold, the fight was hot...I am a blessed man. I leaned on the wall my bedroom shared with their sitting room.

"Yes, your father sold you to me. I own you. I own you and I must do with you as I wish," I heard the man saying.

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"Well, go back and tell him I refuse to be enslaved by a smelly and irresponsible man..." she yelled.

As I expected, that attracted a series of pounding that forced back the rest of that sentence into her throat. She is a strong woman. I could hear thuds of his hitting her and she was still able to open her mouth.

"Foolish man. Foolish man."

"Your father sold you to this smelly and irresponsible man, now who is the foolish man?"

"You were not this rotten that time..." She said and more beating followed immediately.

While the beating was raining on her, she was forcing her words of curses out and he won't stop beating if she won't stop cursing. I was feeling sorry for her but she did not seem to share half of such sympathy for herself.

"Is this when your fellow men ask to sleep with their wives? In the morning when you should be going to work."

Oh. He was jobless. Now it made sense to me why he would have the time to have a fight with his wife in the morning when I am hurrying to work. He also was never at home in the late evenings when I usually return from work.

On some nights I have noticed a group of his friends bring him home as wasted as the mad man of Gadara. The man goes out in the evenings to drink with his friends and returns late into the night too drunk to locate his bed, let alone his wife. Then at daybreak, when the poor woman would be getting prepared to go open her foodstuffs shop for the day, he would be demanding for his groom's privilege on the bed. This notwithstanding that the odors of beer and stale puke would be co

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