Ah, spring. When the birds take to the air and sing, and all the people in the restaurants below my apartment sit in front of the door and get really loud all night long.
A couple of minutes ago I was sitting in here with the window open, the sound of music playing and people talking in the background. It was about 1 AM. Then, a noise.
I'm not sure how to describe the scream other than primal. It made me think of Native Indians dancing around a camp fire. It was high pitched and started out with "Ayy-haaaaaayyyy..." and then got progressively louder until the it ended with a loud "-HIY!". It was funny the first few times because I assumed somebody was really drunk and loving it. The people outside started to mimic the screamer in groups and laugh.
It seemed he or she was making their rounds through the neighborhood and entertaining the onlookers who sat relaxed in their chairs, sipping on their beers until finally, somebody got tired of it. A man bellowed something in a deep, angry voice, as if he was trying to shoe away an animal from his garden. Seconds later a beer glass shattered to a chorus of "Ooooh!"s and "Hey!"s, and everything went quiet. Slowly the talking began again as normal.
And then, somewhere further into the neighborhood, barely audible...
"Hay-yi-yi-yi-yi-yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-YA!"
The crazies really do come out of hibernation in the spring time. Thawed and rested, they have an ample amount of lunatic energy to put on display. There's the guy who stands in front of McDonalds laughing maniacally and babbling to himself; the old man mysteriously called "The Professor" who likes to shake hands and then ramble nonsense with vaguely racist overtones, and that one guy who lies down in the middle of the sidewalk with all of his belongings splayed out in front of him neatly like on a bed side table: cigarettes here, lighter there, broken watch neatly next to those, beer always close by. Matonge's slogan seems to be "colorful" and well, they got that part right. It's not just the super bright peppers and exotic fruits on display...
It's the other exotic fruits on display. Of the cake variety.
Speaking of hot peppers, Africans like spicy food and they use those extremely hot peppers to make really good pimento sauce. Which I love. However, you have to be super careful with the things when cooking because they will burn the shit out of your eyes and any sensitive areas you touch, like your penis or vagina. Which I touch a lot while cooking.
Now, I've mentioned Maurice, our local homeless mascot who lives in a small one-car parking garage in front of a kebab shop. He keeps to himself normally and talks to no one unless approached, just a quiet "Merci" when given food or money. But lately I have noticed he's some how acquired a radio, which he uses to listen to non-stop 80's hits such as Phil Collins and Michael Jackson... and I don't know if rocking out to Nostalgie FM has bolstered his spirits or something but he's been up to shenanigans. On my way back from the store one day I saw him walk up to one of the many shops with fruits and vegetables on display, peer into the window to make sure no one was looking, and then snag three bright red and yellow peppers from the stand.
I wish I saw what must have happened next. I didn't hear any screams but I can only imagine his silent pain. If he didn't eat them and writhe around in excruciating pain, I have no clue what his plans were. Maybe he put them on his shrine to the statue that is perpetually "relocated for cleaning".
There used to be a statue depicting an African woman carrying her child made entirely out of bullet casings. It was dedicated to those from war torn places like Congo and Rwanda. Since it's been taken away, I've noticed random crap piled onto the concrete block where the statue used to be, like offerings to a God. Three rocks and a beer can. A backpack. Sticks. All stacked, some like pyramids. It's right next to Maurice's pad so I can only imagine it's him, but who knows. There are lots of weirdos around here.
The other night I was out running to get something for dinner and a guy asked me for some money. Yadda yadda, the whole routine in French.
Une petite pièce? Spare some alms for an ex-leper?
I said no, sorry. But I was going into a night shop for a drink anyway so I thought Ok, I'll get this guy something because I shouldn't judge people and just assume they're drug addict leaches or scum begging for a living, and I bought him a beer. So that he could be a drunken leach instead.
So I came out, didn't see him and said screw it, I'll just keep it. I walked two feet to the left and there he was in front of me.
"Oh, you have money to buy things there but not enough for..." and then I stopped him and offered him the can of beer to get him to shut up. He reversed his pity story, thanked me 10 times and I walked off.
I was outside waiting for my food to be cooked, just looking around, and there he was again asking for a light and to say that it really was nice of me, and then to ask if I wanted to have fun tonight and if I liked cocaine. You give a mouse a cookie, and soon enough he wants gay sex and coke.
"No," I said, "not interested in that stuff."
Then he asked me how much the beer cost. I told him.
Well, he said, can you go back and exchange it for this and that, I like it better and it has more alcohol. Blah blah. I was hesitant to walk anywhere with the guy, but it was close by and there were a lot of people around so I agreed. Fine, whatever, give the mouse his preferred cookie with sugar on top. I got it for him and he then asked, "Well, can I just have the euros for it?"
"No," I said "I can't do that. Here you go, enjoy."
"Are you Flemand?" he asked. I suppose my accent gave me away.
"No, I speak English."
"British?"
"No, American."
I don't really care if he knows where I'm from to be honest. It's pretty obvious when you see me with my various t-shirts or what have you.
"I have a sister in Washington, DC!"
It hits me that he sounds exactly like Tracy Jordan with an accent and I try to stop myself from laughing hysterically.
"Yeah ok, that's cool. I'm not from there. I'm from Tennessee, in the south" I said.
"They're racist there, aren't they? Are you racist?"
"No. I just bought you beer, so obviously not."
"You're not racist! Thank you!" he said.
Then, he motioned with his shoulders and arms and said,
"You're a very big strong man! Lots of muscles!"
I told him not everyone agreed with him, but thanks, and went on my way with him giving me lots of "God bless you's".
Now, dude's a little creepy and I know his comments were to either get more from me (one way or another) but I took the comment and went on my way because I've been feeling like shit lately, especially after the mother in law's comments about how I've turned into a fatty over the winter months. So what if he just wanted a cocaine party with dongs everywhere? At least he thought I wasn't a fat bastard and said so. It was worth the price of a Leffe.
Now to just avoid him, forever.
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