2 years ago my neighbor’s wife died.
So, in my first few months of service I ignored the fact
that he was getting drunk every night and waking up me and my family with
unbelievably loud music.
Then he went to work in the mine, and didn’t come to
madrigal for about a year.
When he did come back on the anniversary of his wife’s
death, there was a party like never before on the other side of my window. I
actually had to leave madrigal because 3 nights in a row I could not sleep and
I started to get the headache of my life.
Then, a few months later he hosted the town fiesta.
Literally, bands (plural) playing on the other side of my window. Once again, I left town for a couple
days. When I came back, they were still partying for a few nights more. I
tolerated it. I just laid in bed awake for hours.
Following the fiesta there have been parties more than I can
bare. He is still working in the mines, 20 days on 10 days off. For those ten days, he parties. I am
literally, not a joke, losing my mind due to lack of sleep. I am laying in bed
conniving how I am going to go cut the electricity to his house, or break in
when he goes to work and beak his stereo system so it can’t play base.
Finally, tonight, I had had enough of the no sleep. I have a
series of important meetings with the municipality tomorrow (today, beginning
in three hours) and I would really appreciate my sleep. I am pretty sure there
is no law for noise pollution in this country, but I can at least try to talk
to him as a kind neighbor that has tolerated much for long.
I wrap myself in a blanket and the dog and I walk around to
his house. As I knock on the door, no one answers, but a woman I know is
shaking her head and leaving.
“good evening, tia.”
“they are drinking, a lot.” She says
“can they turn down the music?”
“I don’t know, they are really drunk, will they understand?”
I walk to the door that some kid answers I don’t know
(probably younger than me), if I don’t know him, he doesn’t live here. I ask to
speak to the owner of the house.
Screaming over the music,
“I need you to turn down the music, your neighbor’s can’t
sleep.”
“this is my house.”
“I understand, but these are our houses, and we can’t sleep
in them.”
“my house… I do what…. in my house.” he says as he waves the
back of his hand to me signaling me to leave, the room reeks of beer and vomit.
“see that light on right there, that is the window to my
bedroom, and I can never sleep when you party like this, I need you to turn the
music down.”
“go to hell, this is my house.”
“ok, now, I am going to bring the police over to talk to
you.”
He turns the music up louder.
As so many young drunken eyes stare up at me (sitting,
because they are unable to stand) I realize, this house is the party house
because he has no wife. These men and boys are here because their women aren’t.
I had no idea before tonight these parties were groups of disgustingly drunk
alcoholics convening to avoid responsibility (did I mention this gentleman sent
his children to live with someone else?).
As I am walking to the police station another woman is
coming to the house to try and convince her son to come home. I am thinking,
this isn’t good for this man, for me to get the police involved, it could be
very bad, in fact, because he and his buddies are so drunk. But, what am I
going to do, not sleep, night after night, week after week? Isn’t it better
that these little rond-dez-vous be stopped? These drinking habits have to stop
not only for me, but for them. The officer kindly answers at my first knock and
explains that he will go with me, but isn’t sure if he can do anything because
they are probably drunk and out of their minds.
I go back to my house as he walks into theirs. I meet the
mother in the road and we chat about how this isn’t ok that the men and boys do
this. Then there is shouting. I hear a smack. One drunk man leaves to “go get
his pata who will take down this mother fu***” The mother jumps into a shadow so she isn’t seen, as I grab
my dog that, for some reason, wants to attack this angry man. Why is this woman
hiding? I am astounded that her reaction is to jump in the shadows of a man who
is friends with her son. Then I realize I should probably jump in the shadows
with her. I grab my dog’s collar and we start walking back towards her and my
house, briskly. Then, the entire group of men spill onto the street, the police
officer with his arm around one of the men’s bisep, struggling. The music still
blaring. They all follow down the street to the police station.
‘damn it, I didn’t want anything bad to happen to these
guys, I just wanted them to let me sleep. Did he just hit the police officer?
What just happened? They are so screwed if one of his buddies hit the police
officer, I didn’t want that to happen.’
Then the woman asked me, using a derogatory slang word, “who
narked?”
“it is that my family and I can’t sleep and he does this
drunkenness often. Look, my family is watching television because they cant
sleep right now. It isn’t ok for them to do this so regularly.” But I am thinking,
it isn’t ok for them to do this ever. Not for them, their families, or
neighbors.
Then, this woman hiding in the shadows, afraid of her
neighbors, says, “yeah, once a week would be fine, but they have done this
three times this week. The going away to work party.” My god, she is making
excuses for them!
Once the group of men were around the corner, I did
something illegal. While I wanted to cut all electricity to the house, I
controlled myself and just snuck into the empty, stinking room and turned the
music down to almost nothing.
As I walked back to my house I heard a man drunkenly
sobbing.
Then, I am thinking, if the police can’t handle this, or if
they weren’t here, what would I have done if things went badly? Don Juan is in
Arequipa, and I have not a single male friend in town. I work with women. My
friends are women. That feeling of being unable to protect myself is
debilitating.
Now, my dog and i are curled up in bed as the roosters begin
to crow. She, is who would protect me if this drunkard decides to take things
up with me. Thank god for her.
But what about other single mothers who live here? They just
tolerate it. They are abused physically and emotionally and call it being
patient and compassionate of their sons and husbands.
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