Perspectives

From outside, the building looked okay. And why not, it was in the part of the city that housed villas. Those large multiroomed houses for families above upper middle class status.

We entered through the narrow gate, which kind of betrayed the expected affluence. The compound was nothing short of disappointment. You see, this villa was an old abandoned building, the owner had neglected it, and only painted the outside walls after the directives of the municipality.

The room was first on immediate right, after the gate. Inside was dark, stunk of rottenness; the floor was brown dirty, where the cream tiles had been smeared with glue for installing plastic carpet by the previous occupant.

The makeshift kitchen had a sink that was propped on two pieces of wood, at an awkward angle. The wood was rotting, and there the walls had a dark oily residue from the cooking and the heat in the windowless kitchen.

The bathroom was surprisingly big, but the bathtub had holes on it- perhaps from cigarettes or some sharp objects. Plastic pipes were running along the walls, indicating that the original plumbing of the house was not working, and this was a solution to make the bathroom usable. The AC unit on the wall was not working. It was summer- temperatures at 40 Degrees C.

My heart sank.

How would this 'one bedroom' be turned into an habitable place?

You see, this was a previous 'bedspace'. And the new tenant wanted to make it a bedspace too. As the name indicates, in this region, bedspaces are shared spaces- basically a room with several beds, and shared amenities. They are not really legal, but they house temporary 'immigrants' who have come to seek greener (sandy, sunny?) pastures. Rent is paid as per a bed, monthly.

Fast track- one week later. Room cleaned. New carpet laid. Beds fixed. Plumbing repaired. Kitchen sink propped anew (straight this time around). AC unit repaired- at least it was blowing air.

Everything looked decent. Unfortunately not to me. The perfectionist in me would not accept it.

However what amazed me was the new tenant. He was overjoyed. He could barely hide it. He was over the moon. I was not. He asked me how it was. I lied it was awesome. In my heart I was saying this looks bad.

It took me a few days before it finally hit me. My mind went back to the time I got my first job. I was 27 years old. All my life I had been living with relatives- not even my parents. I had to live on people's terms. I had to eat what I was given. I had to sleep where and when I was told. I had to pack and go when everybody did. I had no say. When I got my job, my first 'house' was a 'one bedroom' flat in the Eastlands part of the city. It was paradise. A tiny windowless kitchen. A sitting room. A bathroom that had no window. But thinking back on those days, I understood my friend's ecstacy. This was his. Like me, he never had a real break in life. This represented hope, and a bright future.

Anybody seeing my joy in my meagre start up would have felt pity on me. The same way I was feeling pity on my friend at this time. But now I understood, and I could honestly tell him from my heart- that his room looked good.

God is the one who changes our circumstances. And such small beginnings are so beautiful. I cherish those moments of starting from the bottom. And they give me a perspective, which helps me to see things from others point of view. Isn't it amazing to see somebody derive joy from something that you think it is nothing to be joyed about? In my world, I think it is.

It is refreshing.

And to my friend- all the best. May this be the beginning of great things.