...At this juncture it started becoming apparent why nothing had been done to stop the music. We let the raging all-night party rage right on because, heck, everybody deserves one freebie. The kids here practice music all the time and rehearse for church on Sundays---guitars, drums, the whole 9 meters. I'm sure the neighbors think we're just the equivalent of rowdy high schoolers that try to be cool and form a band in their parents garage because chicks will like them and spend the whole day practicing Green Day covers because they think Green Day is a punk band (secret: it's a pop band).
On Sunday night, the music came and went with slightly less fanfare. There was no party, and it managed to stop in the middle of the night. But come Monday morning it was back on, playing away the whole day and blending into the night. At that point, Victor went over to have a little “chat” and to “persuade” him with “an offer he couldn't refuse”. No, he actually did all those things. There was no strong-arming or intimidation at all.
When Victor arrived he asked to talk directly with Marrerre. Maybe its time you know a little bit more about him.
Marrerre is our village chief. He's fairly new at the job. The old chief was also named Marrerre, too. (But for some reason our village is named Muthita while the next village over is named Marrerre.) Its all just a coincidence, I'm sure. It's also the only word I can't say, because saying it properly is predicated on being able to roll one's R's, something which frustrates me to no end. Anyways, the old Marrerre was well liked and was like 80 years old and died about 18 months ago. So now the new Marrerre is a punkish, 18-year old great-great-grandnephew-twice-removed-by-marriage (or something like that) of the old Marrerre.
He's pretty new at the job, which is somewhat difficult to articulate. The village chief, elder, and/or “traditional healer” (witchdoctor) are a legally recognized and respected positions here in Mozambique. If we were straight up in the jungle he would be mayor, sheriff, ATM, judge, jury, and executioner. Here nearer the city, his roll is a little diminished. He oversees land sales, settles disputes, upholds traditions, participates in ceremonies (ceremonies are bad), and other such things. For those of you over the age of 55 and living in Florida, imagine him as the president of you condo association.
So it's one thing for the president to remind you that you can't mow your lawn before 8am on a Saturday, or you can't have more than 6 cars parked in front of your house. But what do you do when the president is the one making too much noise after the 10pm curfew or letting his lawn brown? Who are you going to call? Anybody in power here is automatically above the law.
I wish to remind you that at this point we were still operating under the assumption that he was using rented speakers to disturb the peace. It's perfectly normal here to rent speakers for a party. It's like a do-it-yourself DJ. The equivalent in America is people that rent giant TV's just for a Superbowl party or newly-broke graduates that borrow friends furniture so when their parents come visit for Thanksgiving you don't have to explain why you're apartment is still furnished only with lawn chairs (but it's OK because you got a great deal on them during a post-Labor Day sale along with the inflatable wading pool that used to be in the corner).
Where were we? Right. It became apparent when the music kept going Monday that there was no intention of returning the clearly-purchased-and-not-rented speakers. So when Victor went over to confront them and ask them to turn the sound off, he was met by Marrerre's entourage of friends who are no doubt having the time of their life living off of Marrerre's spoils. There's still no word on how Marrerre's came about these spoils, or what his job is, or how he afforded a party for 300 people.
When Victor told the entourage he wanted to talk to Marrerre and tell him to the turn the music off, the friends all just laughed at him, a lot. Then after a long time of laughing and catching their breath, they asked (and it doesn't get any more clichéd than this) if Victor had any idea who he was messing with. After more of Victor's insistence on talking to Marrerre, he was informed that it would not be possible, mostly because Marrerre was passed out after having bought and drank all the kabanga within a 5km radius. Kabanga is the equivalent of moonshine , and it's pronounced just like sound you imagine people make after they swig it down.
After being denied an audience with the great and powerful Oz passed out Marrerre, Victor decided that to just have the entourage pass on a message. The message was that Victor is going back to his house to get his phone, and if by the time he gets there he can hear music he is going to call the police. Sure enough, by time Victor made it back in his door, the music had been turned off. And the next day, it stayed off. Peace returned, the natural order of the village was restored, and over a hundred people could now sleep at night.
Happy ending, right?
See, that's the point of the story that gets a little bittersweet. At this point, over the next week we had reached sonic détente. They would play music still, but only during the day, and never at a level where it sounded like more than a very distant thumping that couldn't disturb anybody. And it was like that for about a week. People were happy again, and there were no complaints.
Happy ending, right?
The whole week, people would talk about how they were relieved the noise had stopped, or if they lived far from the noise how what Marrerre was doing was messed up. Granted most of that talk was coming from those of us inside the orphanage, it was still all most people were talking about. And they weren't playing cool Botswanan music like our other neighbors do (and at completely respectable volumes, we're always yelling at the good neighbors to turn it up).
And then... this is where it becomes too strange to make up. The stuff that really happens here is so much stranger than any fiction that it just isn't worth it trying to make stuff up. There really is no way to put this other than just saying what happened as plainly as I can: the power surged, causing his speakers to blow up and set his house of fire.
Let me give that it's own line just to let it sink in.
The power surged, causing his speakers to BLOW UP AND SET HIS HOUSE ON FIRE!
I think I had some kids in my house playing cards teaching them go fish or something when it happened. All of a sudden the lights flashed brilliantly because of an exceptional power surge, which can be common here. About a minute later we heard shouting and crackling next door. I poked my head out the window and see a glow caused by the fire. I managed to scale to the fence to see what was going on. And in a span of 5 minutes the fire had managed to consume everything it could and died out.
Please take a moment to collect your shocked selves while I ease your minds. Nobody got hurt, and their house didn't get completely destroyed. It's a mud house with a straw roof. The mud, as you can imagine, didn't burn down. It didn't even look like anything happened the next day. The roof however was straw and went up like a Christmas tree on the 4th of July (if you've ever kept your Christmas tree around till Independence Day, you know that it goes up just like a straw roof).
On one hand, I did find any sense of justice in this situation both poetic and completely hilarious. However, the next day, I was concerned that, you know, under slightly different conditions something really bad could have happened. Namely, those circumstances were 15 people passed out drunk inside of the house, but thankfully that was avoided. Feeling convicted that these people were more or less a huge thorn in my side for a week---still I wouldn't have wished their roof burn down---but none of this was “payback” or anything I decided to pay a visit and see if they were okay rather than just nod my head in approval at the fire like the rest of the village.
I basically went over just to view the damage more than anything and make sure everybody was fine. The roof went up so fast it didn't even burn down the bamboo beams that keep the straw roof up. It damaged a few things inside, and other than that everybody was fine. They just seemed a little pissed off. I would be too. I wasn't feeling super welcome and they were probably trying to forget the incident, which was now closer to being an embarrassment that a danger, so that ended my visit.
Still, of the hundred or so people that passed by his house that morning, ninety-nine probably thought that he got what he deserved. Still, don't think that my visit made him weep in repentance or apologize for destroying the peace for a solid week. I'm sure if he had to do it over he would have gotten the bigger speakers and bought twice as much kabanga. Still, I felt better having repented of wanting to stab my neighbor in the face and instead showing kindness towards him.
Still, pray that those speakers never return, otherwise this is one person who will fall back into temptation and lunge for the nearest sharp object. Meanwhile, the neighborhood has been enjoying he silence for the last week.
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