![The virtue of patience]()
The virtue of patience I always had a tough time abiding by the ‘love thy neighbour’ principle of Christianity. Don’t get me wrong, I do not hate my neighbours, but loving them… well, I am not so sure. You see, my neighbours are the type that hardly ever return what they borrow from you. They would often keep your stuff so long, that we have to borrow it back from them.
Seriously, they would borrow the broom and keep it for so long that I forget I ever owned one. So every time I need to use one, I would send kids over to their house to borrow it back and a few minutes later my neighbour would send his boy asking if we are done with the broom!
My neighbours are the kind that would be the first to notice that I bought a new shirt.
Trust me; even my wife is often beaten to it! When one of my neighbours sees me with a new shirt, they complement me by saying it is the best shirt I have ever had on, which always makes me think I have a bad fashion taste. I try to live according to the principles of Christianity, but my nosy neighbours are not making it easy for me.
The other day I parked in front of my gate and was about to open it, when my neighbour’s boy came running and opened it for me. As a token of my appreciation, I handed him the apple I had bought for my little girl. He thanked me and jetted off to his parents’ house.
A few minutes later there was a knock on my front door. It was the same boy.
“Mommy said she also want an apple,” the boy said.
I looked at him not knowing what to say. Beaming a fake grin, I took another apple from the shopping bags and handed it to the boy, who returned to his home.
Minutes later, the same boy returned.
“What now? Don’t tell me your uncles and nieces also want apples?” I protested.
“No Oom Charlie, my father asked how you could give my mom an apple, without a knife to slice it.
Can I borrow your knife?” he asked.
That was it; I drew a line not to lend them any of my stuff anymore. What the hell do they take me for? A pawn shop? At least pawn shops make money. What the hell do I have to show for my efforts?
Johannes from next door came fuming into my house the other day, complaining that my dog prefers taking a dump on his lawn, instead of doing so on mine. I referred him to Oprah. He is still waiting to secure an appointment.
The only thing I love about my neighbours is when their stove breaks down. Yeah, that is the time when my neighbour’s wife, Ndamona, comes clad in only her towels to ask for help. I am no handyman, in fact what I know about electricity could be fatal, but that is beside the point. I figured what she does not know will not hurt her.
So every time she calls on me for assistance, I grab my toolbox and softly hum Clarence Carter’s “I got caught making love to another man’s wife”. Not that the song mean anything about the situation at hand, I mean - it is the only song I know!
My weak training in the game of seduction, however, always ends up with me talking about the birds and the bees – literary - instead of focusing on the ‘game’ at hand.
Sorry Clarence Carter, I am not as strong as you.
Be that as it may, Johannes and Ndamona are wonderful people. They are the type that never minds keeping an eye on my house, when I am not there - provided I give them the key ‘in case the house catches fire’.
When the Holy Spirit engulfs my neighbours on a Sunday morning, they play Rebecca Malope at full blast, while cleaning around the house. Ndamona always takes the cake when she says: “Oh I so addicted to these songs of Yvonne Chaka Chaka.”
Until then…
tjatindi@gmail.com
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