Happy Valentine”, another neighbor greeted. This time it was the girl- neighbor with the numerous girlfriends. We became close friends after the blocked toilet system saga last two months. At the end, I had told her the truth and she had taken to me afterwards. Now, we live more humanly- saying and responding to greetings like we are enamored to each other.
“Fine sisi, come first make I sama u small talk”, I called to her. She rushed half ways, and turned, running back towards her flat.
“I dey come, make I carry sumtin for house first”, she answered as she rushed-in and came out momentarily toting a large polythene bag. As she swayed towards me, I smiled, recalling that not until last two month did we ever talk or become friends. Before then, we were a “cat and dog” bunch- waging a cold war against each other over the repetitive blockage of the toilet system.

***

She was against me, her case being that I bring so many girls home. It wasn’t just the moans and catcalls that did her in. But the thought that I was actually disposing the condoms I used into the toilet bowls and flushing them down, thus causing the frequent blockages.
I was not fazed by her insinuations after all, she did her moans too- she and those barbie-type, doll-like lesbian friends of hers. It was unimaginable what those girls were doing to each other’s bodies and emotions behind that door. They’d turned her accommodation to a Gommorrah of sorts
Unlike her, I had a stronger case which was beyond the din of humming vibrators over their loud moans every time they got to play house. My case was that I suspected those girls disposed their sanitary pads into the toilet and flushed them down. I was sure it was the cause of the blockages. Gradually, the malignant cold-war festered and broke into an open sore of hatred between us. It was our version of the “War of Sexes”
After the last cistern blockage, we went verbal. She rained several curses; I sent a score of abuses back. Her dolly-girls cooed in their slanderous side talks. The plumber eventually arrived and I decided to stand guard. When she joined me, I realized she was equally worried about the issue. There was no pretense here, we both had to ascertain the root of the problem. It is a shitty work plumbers do- shitty and smelly too- and it takes courage to stand the odour oozing from an open toilet inspection tank. Yet, we stood our grounds. It didn’t take long before the problem was traced: a blocked piping in the cistern drainage caused by two soggy sanitary pads jutting out from the pipe arm connecting her side to the chamber.
Immediately, she had started fuming and swearing to her innocence about the matter. Seeing some honesty in her denials, I instantly hushed her and told her that I knew it wasn’t her. She was so taken aback by my words that she stood there muted for a long moment. “I know it’s not you. Rather, it is those friends of yours. They have been throwing their pads in there and it’s a shame we have been accusing each other over other people’s transgressions”, I had continued. She had apologized after we shared the bills and paid up the plumber’s exorbitant service charge. Then, we became friends.

***

No sooner had we started talking than her friends started thinning out on their regular visits. Soon, nobody came at all. Soon enough too, she had worked herself to the top of.....................................
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