The Sunday Mail
DURING my bachelorhood and early years of marriage, there was a time I contemplated flying back to the parental nest after failing to cope with the demands of an abrasive landlord.
Besides demanding his money in cash, without the option of using other payment options, the chap always used coarse and uncharitable language. He ran his house like a totalitarian state where he was the absolute sovereign.
It was illegal to take a shower before him and, worse, to use the toilet when he was nearby.
His wife made it a point to check whether or not you had messed the toilet.
At this Sunningdale den, gentle reader, no tenant was allowed a visitor of the opposite sex and no one could enter the yard after 7pm without the express authority of the landlord and his wife. Relish like beans, beef bones, mazondo, which took long to prepare and chewed more electricity, was a big no. Each time you met the landlord and his wife in the passage, you knew you would get long lectures on their version of morality. Of course, the conversations never ended without the routine reminder that you were a dispensable tenant.
“My son, building a house in town is hard. I do not think you can do it despite your level of education. Kuforera imba mudhorobha kwakaoma. I cannot stand by and watch you destroying my house and that is why I do not want to see any picture frames on my walls,” he would often say.
It was worse if the water or electricity bill arrived mid-month because you would be expected to unfailingly pay your contribution there and then. However, despite religiously settling the bill, power and water supplies were frequently disconnected. Yet you never dared to ask why.
“If you want to know the reason why council officials disconnected water supplies here please buy your own house. No lodger can ask me anything here because this is my empire,” the landlady would say before reminding you to remove spider webs from the walls of her “beautiful” house. Being a lodger seemed to be a crime — one literally ceded their rights to the landlord. Some tenants are going through hell in communities in which they live.
Somehow, the moment someone becomes a lodger, they become worthless.
“Unotaureiko iwe uri roja? Dai uine njere handiti ungadai uine imba yakowo here nhai chikomana?” you are reminded.
Though painful, such are the challenges lodgers have to contend with on a daily basis.
The moment you mention the word landlord to some people, they grow goose pimples.
A landlord resembles a lion in the eyes of a tenant. Perhaps that is why some people desperately settled on wetlands.
“My friend, I was literally living in bondage. The moment I got the opportunity to own a house I leapt on it. Imagine a woman of my age being told who to date, what to eat and when to get home by someone who lives off my rentals?” said one woman to this writer.
“ . . . you may look down upon those people who built homes on wetlands in Budiriro and Chitungwiza, but at least they had peace of mind.” While being a landlord is a privilege, it is critical to be respectful of others.
Inotambika mughetto.
