Thread by @CSakwah

STORY THREAD

My landlord uses very unorthodox means when reminding us to pay rent in case a tenant has delayed paying his/her rent. His tactics when doing this ranges from dramatic to buffoonery, to bizarre depending on how long a tenant has delayed settling the monthly rent.

Illegal is the word, I guess. When one settles his/her rent on time, he is a generous, wise, and outgoing man. However, failing to pay his house rent on time is where he draws the line between business and friendship.

Three days after moving into this house, I needed to change my shower head. I called the landlord that morning. He came over and okayed the change. He connected me to an electrician who turned out to be his eldest son.

I stay in an apartment whose landlord’s home is a stone throw away. It is a small apartment with 5 tenants. He built the rental apartment on a section of his ancestral land. Because of the close proximity of his home to his rental house, our landlord acts as our caretaker.

One of his daughters cleans the apartments, and his son is our electrician. His niece is our mama fua and his uncle is our plumber.
On the day when I needed my shower head changed, I left the spare key with the landlord before leaving for my day’s errands.

True to his words, when I came back, I found my shower head changed, my door closed and everything in the house intact as I had left them.
The following morning, he knocked on my door before I left for my errands. He was all smiles and friendly. Apart from returning my spare key

, he also asked if I was impressed with the work done by the electrician. I was. He left, but only after reminding me to call him in case I encountered another problem in the house.
‘Sure, I will!’ I assured him. A week later, my kitchen sink blocked.

We repeated the same process as before; I left my spare key with him, paid the plumber, and came back to a fixed kitchen sink in the evening. The following morning, he knocked on my door to return my spare key and ask if I was satisfied with the plumbing that was done.

Before leaving, he reminded me that his house was one of the best in the hood. He blamed the constant problems that I was experiencing on the carelessness of the previous tenant. ‘I wish tenants would take care of rental houses as if they were theirs.’

I gave him my word to take care of the house like I owned it.
Barely four days later, my bulb started flickering on and off. I needed my bulb holder fixed or replaced.
When the landlord came, he blamed the bulb holder problems on the former tenant’s kids.

‘He had two very destructive and careless kids, 4 and 7-year-olds,’ he lamented. I grappled with understanding how 4 and 7-year-old kids had destroyed the bulb holder hanging below the ceiling.
‘You can keep the spare key.

In case I need a repair in the future while I am not around, you will just come in and repair or rectify the issue.’ I said. I was getting weary of constantly having to leave my key with him. He didn’t have a problem keeping my spare key either.

I rarely spend the weekend in the house. Leaving the key with the landlord also eased the burden of staying around on days when I needed my laundry done. Simply, I would leave my laundry bucket next to my door and instruct my landlord to ask the mama fua(his niece) to clean them.

Months passed by. We had a smooth relationship. I settled my rent on time, while he played his part in making sure the house was in a good condition.
He did this by occasionally inspecting the conditions of the houses. He had a direct connection with all his tenants.

For a seventy-year-old retiree, I understood his enthusiasm to be so close to his tenants.
A few weeks before my book launch, I called my landlord and informed him that I would be late with my rent. I banked on the friendship that we had developed to earn his leniency.

I gave him reasons behind that; the cost of publishing and launching a book is very high in Kenya. However, I did not specify which date of the month I was going to submit my rent.
After my book launch, I had not raised enough money to pay rent by the 15th of that month.

On that day, in the evening, he knocked on my door. He walked in and sat on my chair and started watching Maria on Citizen TV.
We barely exchanged words as had been our custom.

There was high tension in the house, like the one that pops up when you unexpectedly meet someone that you owe money. He just watched the TV. When I offered him supper, he declined it simply by raising his finger. He hadn’t said a word beyond the pleasantries.

I was edgy and nervous. I anticipated him to raise the issue of rent. I had made up my mind not to bring up the issue until he raised it. For the remainder of his stay, he said nothing. All we did was stare at the TV.

At 9 PM, the first piece of prime-tv news to play was about how Kenya was struggling to repay its debts. He had a comment; ‘I don’t like the culture that the Kenya government is cultivating, an uncouth culture of failing to settle that what it owes to another nation.

It has reached a point where the Kenyan citizens are starting to behave like its government.’ His voice was insouciant. His face was indifferent and dispassionate. That was the only thing he said during the stay. He left after the prime time news, leaving me with guilt.

I was still not able to raise house rent. I needed two or more days.
The following day, like the previous one, he paid me a visit. I was preparing supper. He sat on my couch and started watching TV.
I served him chicken, as was the previous day, he declined the meal.

We sat side by side. I ate while he watched the TV. During one of the commercial breaks, he turned and started narrating to me a story.
‘In 1971, I was a university student. I had a friend who had borrowed money from me. It should have been ten shillings.

One day, I paid him an impromptu visit. I found him eating chicken for supper while he still owed me a lot of money. Back in my hostel, I was eating greens like a chicken while he ate the chicken. Can you imagine that?’
I stopped chewing the chicken in my mouth out of guilt.

He turned to watch the last scene of the telenovela on the TV. His face was nonchalant, calm. My conscience was unsettled. I was feeling guilty as he had read my charge sheet.
‘That was inconsiderate of your friend,’ I replied.
‘Very!’

He rose to leave again without asking for his rent or mentioning it. I looked at the chicken on my plate and likened myself to his friend who owed him money and still ate chicken. The following day, I called a friend and borrowed money. I paid the rent. It was on a Saturday.

I was about to start watching a football match when he knocked on my door. He had two six-pack cans of Heineken beer. He was happy, visibly.
We drank beers as we watched the game; A Liverpool fan and I was a Manchester United fan.

Into our fourth beer, he started narrating his childhood stories to inspire and motivate me to work hard. The typical stories of rags to riches. ‘I was raised in a poor family. All we had was this piece of land. At that time, this place was a village.

The value of its land wouldn’t even educate a kid.’ I listened, waiting to hear the inspiring story of how he made his way into the university from a poor family. ‘None of us stepped into a classroom. Up until Nairobi started growing and people started buying land

to develop its suburbs, we were poor. All these apartments stand on what used to be coffee plantations and bushes standing on pieces of land with no value.’
‘You never stepped into a classroom?’
‘Me?’ He asked with a drunken voice. ‘ Never. Ignore what I lied to you yesterday.

Without telling you the lie, we wouldn’t be drinking together today, would we?’ We laughed at that.
All through December, our relationship was strong. He was aging wisely. His advice was always enriching. However, it was in January that our relationship again soured.

I knew I was going to struggle to settle my January rent on time. I traveled back from shags on the 29th of December to work on a project that would materialize around the 15th of January, 10 days past the 5th of January rent submission deadline day.

Before then, I had to improvise means of surviving without paying rent. I knew my landlord would be up to some antics if I delayed paying the rent.
My plan was to live in the house unnoticed till then. I used to come back at around 11 PM, past curfew when everyone was asleep.

Early in the morning, on the stroke of 4 AM, I would walk unnoticed out of the apartment to spend the rest of the day elsewhere hustling.
On the 4th of January, I called him. The first few minutes of our conversation were lively and zestful. He wished me a happy new year.

Our conversation was brimming with joy, humor, and laughter until I told him that I was going to be late with my rent. After that, his replies were ‘okay’, ‘mmhh’, ‘yeah’ ‘sure’ and all those one-worded replies mean replies that we receive from our crushes when we chat with them.

He sounded indifferent.
To avoid situations of him visiting my house to emotionally intimidate and manipulate me into paying rent, I lied to him that I was still in shags. ‘I will settle the rent as soon as I am in Nairobi.’
‘As soon as I am in Nairobi!’ was the bait.

By the 10th, I had successfully managed to sneak in and out of the apartment unnoticed. On the morning of the 11th, he called me to ask if I was back. I lied that I would be back in four days with rent. In the evening, I came back as always to a sleepy apartment.

I sneaked onto my door, stealthy opened it and walked in. Inside my house, I heard someone snoring loudly from my bed. A snoring person? In my house? I panicked. I closed the door quickly and ran out of the house wondering who could have sneaked into my house while I was away.

A burglar falling asleep in my house? No. A girl? A babe that I had left my spare key with? No.
Nothing made sense. The door was not broken into.
Most of the other tenants were not around. Apart from one lady.

She was my neighbor whom we had developed bad blood over her habit of playing loud music. I ran around the apartment knocking on people’s doors unsuccessfully. In the end, only one option remained. To call the landlord. We don’t have a caretaker nor a security guard.

To my shock, my landlord’s phone rang from my house. He didn’t pick it. A minute later, my door opened. In a sleepy voice, he said, ‘I am sorry I fell asleep on your bed while I was waiting for you to return. It must have been a long journey from your village today.’

‘Sure, it was!’ I muted.
‘Goodnight. Have a rest!’ He said and walked past me towards his house. I remained rooted on the ground like a statue. The spare key, I thought. The spare key that I left with him.
What is your landlord/caretaker funny or annoying or interesting story?