How well do you know your neighbours?

For those who read my article last year, one of my 2016 resolutions is to join a progressive chama. My resolution Number 2 is to know my stone cold next door neighbor who can be mistaken for a thug because of his aloofness and secrecy. I just knew the guy as Jamaa wa Subaru.

A while back, a young lady was found dead in her apartment. Her neighbours had not realized that she had been missing for days.

It was until her visiting mother, who lived miles, raised the alarm. That is what happens when Nyumba Kumi is not practiced to the letter.

I realized that if I continue with this middle class nonsense of minding your own business, Jamaa wa Subaru will one day be in dire need of our help and we will not know yet our doors are opposite each other.

Like us, I know many people do not know who shares the wall with them, so they probably refer to them as “Jamaa wa NZE” or “Mama Twins.” So my hubby and I have taken deliberate and active steps to get to know our neighbours.

The stone faced, middle aged Jamaa wa Subaru lives alone and so I have always assumed that he is a single guy. He is the kind of person who just likes to mind his own business: he does not want to bother anybody nor does he like to be bothered.

That is why he chooses to park his blue Subaru outside the gate so that the caretaker does not knock on his door early in the morning to ask him to move his car. so an early riser can leave for work.

Until recently, whenever we bumped into each other on the stairs or we met face to face, we merely exchanged “hellos” before he dashed off, frustrating any efforts to break the ice.

Two weeks ago, on a Saturday I baked some nice cakes and my hubby suggested we take some to Jamaa Wa Subaru.

So we went to his door and knocked. It took some time before he opened it because I am sure he was surprised that he had visitors.

“Hi Jirani. Just checking on you and we brought you some snacks,” my hubby said to Jamaa Wa Subaru who was in that awkward lazy Saturday stupor. Clearly, he had just woken up and was still disheveled and in his PJs.

“Oh guys, come in, but the place is a mess,” he tried to usher us in.

“No thanks, next time, we just brought some snacks for you,” my hubby said.

And with the cakes, the ice thawed.

“Morning neiba, I really enjoyed the cakes,” I heard him tell my hubby the next day.

After the cakes a few days later, the floodgates of communication opened and now we know Jamaa wa Subaru is a widower and is Baba Shiro and Wanja who live with their grandmother in upcountry.

Today I challenge you to take a bold step and get to know your neighbor.