I’ve always considered myself a pretty good neighbor: quiet, respectful of others’ space and fairly helpful when a neighbor has been in need. The worse neighborly thing I could be accused of would have to be stealing internet access—I sat many a night on top of my toilet tank trying to increase the number of bars on my next door neighbor’s internet service. But I always promised that once I had enough money to get my own access I wouldn’t block others out by naming my internet “No Access For You—Cheap Ass Loser”---people can be so mean. I’ve tried to live by my good neighborly creed while living abroad and for the most part it has worked out ok for me--until I moved to Maputo with B.
I naively thought that my reception would be open and warm but it in fact has been quite the opposite, which I would say is out of the norm for Mozambicans----outside of my neighborhood, people are pretty hospitable folks. I’ve lived in my Maputo hood now for six months and it is pretty safe to say that people do not like us nor do they really want us here. Which is weird because B grew up in this neighborhood and some of his neighbors are related to him either by blood or marriage. So why the hater-ation? Jealousy, envy and greed. Although we are living the same exact way and compared to some of his neighbors, not as well, we are considered rich or rather, people look at his American wife and see a future for B that has a halo of dollar signs floating over his head. The hate mongering started just about one week after we started construction of a wall around his property back in August. We were tired of people using our property as a cut through to get to the next street which leads to the market area. Since we use an outdoor area for the kitchen, we were also tired of folks coming to “borrow” our kitchen ware and “accidentally” losing it or “lending” it to another neighbor.
It was also weird to have people just walk on the property to come take their morning dump—I’m not sure what is so different or special about the hole in the ground on our property, but there you have it, many a morning I had to form a queue to my own dang bathroom (well the wall is not done so I still have to wait for someone to come out). It was also getting kind of boring having people just literally sit and watch us. How exciting can it be to watch the yankee gal brush her teeth? I’m mean, really? A good high wall was more than overdue. We did our good neighborly duty and informed folks of our intentions and there were smiles and good wishes all around. Not one objection. Nottaone. Not even a single mmf. Until we started to actually dig the ditch and placing the cement blocks into the ground. Then the grumbling started about how we were “stealing” more than our share of property, which was just some crazy talk. Surrounding us are 5 neighbors—all of which were given permission by B’s grandfather to build temporary homes back in the day, which eventually became their permanent residence and it has been in fact THEM who has encroached, little by little, upon the land that comprises B’s property. We also had to cut down a coconut tree to build the wall and it suddenly became a precious part of the family---so much so we were accused of “basically cutting down a person.” I of course was not getting the nuances of what was being said. Out of our 5 neighbors the two who were making the most noise are also known in the neighborhood to be witches and their accusations were subtle threats of using black magic against us. At one point these two women lodged complaints against us with the local community leader who solves neighborhood disputes—and after about five minutes into the meeting the leader of the community committee looked at these women and told them to stop harassing us---that we were a nice couple doing a good thing at not one penny of cost to them---one woman on the committee that attended said that they needed to calm down because they were only upset that they couldn’t spy on us anymore—as our construction is not just of the wall but also of a dependencia: bedroom with ensuite bathroom, living room and a kitchenette. Basically what we have achieved in six months most people don’t achieve in five years and people want to see how were are doing it and how much we are spending--hence the hardcore hating that is taking place.
This is the first time I can say that I haven’t been a good neighbor. At one point I was actually yelling at a total stranger (one of the witch ladies that lives behind us)---nothing we did satisfied this woman, so I just got to the point where I was like “Lady, what do you want? It looks like you just want to create a new problem each day to cause us stress and misery!” Silence and a stone cold stare. Two weeks later is when she lodged the complaint against us. But I was happy that the community leader and his committee were reasonable people and things went our way---as it could have easily gone her way and it would have been months of jumping hoops to compensate her for “her loss.” I have to admit that I haven’t, in general, demonstrated good neighborliness in Maputo as I’ve discovered that as a foreigner here in Africa it often opens the door to petitions for money, material things, a job,….marriage proposals…. requests for hot sex — “I can see you are naughty Aishia” Some man actually said that to me once—basically things that I am in no position of giving or offering. I’ve been courteous and friendly but just not my normal Peace Corps self, i.e. introducing myself at each person’s home, inviting people for tea, etc. I’ve found that some folks on this lovely continent just don’t know when enough is enough or as one Malawian colleague said to me once “Aishia, we don’t get opportunities here, so when one presents itself, in whatever form be it professionally or personally, we squeeze and squeeze, like a water logged sponge, until there is not one drop left to squeeze out.” Interesting approach to life. I get it but it does not necessarily work well when trying to develop good neighborly relations. Likewise, whatever it is about our faces, we are like the neighborhood counseling service—people just like to bring their problems to our door.
The other night we were walking to the market and a girl walks up to us and says, laughingly and all smiles, she is “scared to visit” and I was like “Why? Just come and visit.” I thought she meant a “let’s tell some jokes and drink some mango juice” kind of visit. She ended up placing some heavy duty personal issues on my lap—B said I looked like I was hit by a truck, eyes all big and round with mouth slightly ajar. And I don’t know why I had that expression?!? I should be used to it by now as people are always laying some shit on me when I wait for subway trains in NYC---I once had a dirty homeless white man with no legs, roll up on his skateboard and caress my knee and thank me for my kindness (I gave him my left over restaurant dinner) and listening to him. But I have to admit that my first internal response was not “Oh, thank you” or “You are welcome” it was “Oh my goodness. I’m gonna need to disinfect my leg now.” But I must just have that kind of face. And I do treat people like human beings i.e. I look them in the eye and wait for them to finish their sentence before saying “Yeah, I gotz to go now, good luck with that.”
I am now trying to be better about visiting people albeit with a deer in headlights look as I never know if I am going to be either hit up for money, accused of doing something I shouldn’t have or told I’m fat. In that order. All during one visit. I’m still not talking to one of the complaining ladies, as she is just a mean, mean person and I don’t see the need to pretend. But I’ve started saying good morning to the other complainer—I realize she is just old and lonely and complains as a way to get some attention. B really doesn’t like her—not one bit— because she practices witchcraft. He has requested I not visit her or eat anything she gives me. So I found it quite amusing that a cat that I named Auvitaniwanga, which means in Changana One Who Has No Invitation To Enter My House, randomly entered our house started to sleep curled up against B’s back alongside our own cat. It ends up that it is the old witch’s cat. HA! So we have to be good neighbors and continue to feed her and treat her like our own…and I guess at the end of the day that is how we should, ideally, treat our neighbors anyway. I hope that some of my neighbors get that news bulletin soon.
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