She wakes with a
start not knowing what made her spring off her pillow clasping her ears with
her two hands and grimacing. She had not been dreaming.
As she comes to
her senses; loud music and the voice of an excited MC announcing the arrival of
guests to a function is distinct. The idea of an idle Saturday morning in bed
quickly leaves her so she gets out of bed and paces about her two-room
apartment. The noise is nothing new she reflects, in fact she has grown quite
used to the nuisance over the years but this morning it’s louder than usual. She
wonders if a rally of one of the political parties is underway in the township
nearby. It’s election year and the country goes to the polls in 5 months. After
a few minutes of pacing she steps outside her gates and looks about her, trying
to determine the direction of the unwelcome racket and what it could be about. That’s
when she sees her neighbor walking towards her. She notices an air of
resignation about him. He looks up at her as he approaches with a knowing smile
and says, “The market woman is launching a product. I think it’s some juice”
He lives 3
streets away from her in their “estates” of about 80 houses and the “market
woman” is his next-door neighbor. So they stand on the street in front of her
house and chat about life in their “gated community”.
The people in a
house on his street have been brushing their teeth and pissing in the gutters
in front of the houses, he tells her. “There are 9 of them in that house!” “Well,
the other day the man in that house crossed the street from his house and
pissed on the wall of that other house”, she counters. As she spoke, she pointed
to the house of the lanky fellow who “they” say is a teacher. They both shake
their heads in wonder. He suggests that perhaps the pissing folk want to save
their water. You see, water never runs in their neighborhood so the people who
live there buy water for all their household needs from water tankers at GHC25 per
every 400 gallons. Flushing the water closet is considered a luxury.
“So why is a
product launch happening in a residential area?” she asks, returning to her
immediate distress. “Well, she came knocking at our doors to inform us last
night” he says. “But at least the noise could be toned down?” There is silence.
“Have you noticed
that the potholes on the streets are being filled?” goes the neighbor, trying
to change the discomfiting subject of his noise making neighbor. He is one of
the executives of the neighborhood residents association. She responds in
the affirmative. A young man had been filling the potholes with stuff collected
from the gutters. As if to explain, he tells her that the construction company
that built the estate is not about to do anything about the roads so they have
to do it themselves.
They talk about
the fact that barely a week ago the CEO of the company had received an award for excellence in the housing industry; the second such award in recent times
for a company that is known to be one of the best for shabbiness.
They also talk
about the tussle between some residents in the estates and the local
authorities on property rates they pay based on the “A Class” categorization of
their area. The authorities hold that the area is to become an “A Class” residential
area in the future. The residents cannot imagine it happening in their
lifetime. Anyway, this year officials from the local assembly are yet to come to
collect property rates. The local authority had announced in the dailies
earlier in the year that the official responsible for their area was no more an
employee of the authority. “Probably he has run away with our money”, she surmises.
They part
company; she thinking quickly about a reason to get her away from home for some
hours and he, wondering if and how the market scene could be approached.
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