Apartment J.

The neighbours at Apartment J were an extremely troublesome bunch. It was commonplace for confrontations to degenerate to fisticuffs. There were 12 families in the compound but the occupants in Apartment J were without doubt the headliners.

The Lady of the house, Shia, was a dramatist of epic proportions. She was a beautiful and friendly looking woman but close contact with her was not a good idea. Four months into our relocation to the compound, Shia had quarreled with all the other 11 women in the compound and some husbands and even some guests.

It was either an encroachment into her parking space or someone gave her the ‘evil eye’, a quiet hiss as she approached or whispers as she approached. Shia was a troubled woman, she troubled us so.

Then we got to know her and her ways, it became a joke actually. We created a bbm group and named it Apartment J, there we posted all the drama from Shia and her housemates. We knew that the day anybody from Apartment J got a whiff of the chatroom all hell would break loose. It was fun while it lasted, so much fun.

At least twice every week, there was a fight in Apartment J. Loud voices and smashing. Everyone was a warrior. We took to our mobile phones and chatted away. There was always comic relief from Apartment J.

On this fateful day, around 5:30 pm we heard Shia and her brother screaming on top of their lungs. I ran to get my phone and we chatted away. Someone posted.

            Trouble in paradise, Shia and bro in the wrestling ring.

            Laff wan tear my belle. I responded.

          They gat no chill, it’s like they are the only ones in this compound of twelve flats. Damn. Another person posted.

            It has lost its fun, the drama from Apartment J is not funny anymore. I replied.

We chatted on and on. As usual, everyone blared away on their sound systems to block out the noise.

Then we heard the blast. It shook the building to its foundation. Everyone looked through their windows to see fire and smoke in the evening sky. We ran out of our flats, disoriented.

Passers-by had tried to help put off the fire but the gas cylinder exploded, hence the loud blast. I remember when I told Shia that the cylinder was too close to the parking lot, she rained fire and brimstone on me. Her car was up in flames, mine was next to it.

The fire service came and helped salvage what could be salvaged. Their response was prompt. The chaos as co-tenants tried to drive their cars out of the raging compound was another story as was the embarrassment given the fact that passers-by heard the cries for help from Apartment J and came to their rescue while the co-tenants feigned deafness.

The cars were driven out and the compound clear. My own car was caught in the fire but the fire was put out. I did not have the guts to go drive it out.

Then the fire fighters went into the Apartment, Apartment J and brought out the charred remains of Shia and her brother. We saw them carry the corpses into the waiting ambulance. No one moved.

We knew. We killed her, we killed them! We sat in our high horses and judged them for their inadequacies and in the end we did much more evil than they could ever have done. We killed them.

We have all moved out of the house. We told people that the house needed renovation. We know the truth. We cannot remain with the constant reminder of our ruthlessness. I have not been sleeping at night. I sleep during the day. I ran into Abike the other evening in the hospital, her blood pressure is getting out of control.

I see things these nights when I am awake. I know that Shia is troublesome enough to haunt us till we die. I do not blame her. We killed her. We killed her in our self-righteousness. May God have mercy on us.

Credits: Ojonugwa Sapphire Abu