It is Monday, late afternoon. It has been, as all Mondays, a long day, especially since the good weather permitted a full enjoyment of the weekend. I managed to get home early enough, so I have some spare time after leaving for dinner at Jaïr’s, to welcome a Scots friend based in Beijing who is visiting.I lay on my bed, reading. I’m finishing one of the most interesting books I read lately: “The uncertainty of hope”, by the London-based Zimbabwean Valerie Tagwira. The novel describes life in Mbare, a disadvantaged suburb in Harare, in 2005, when the government launched Operation Murambatsvina (“drive out the trash”, in Shona language), which consisted in fighting informal trade and all problems associated with slums through a very straightforward approach: forced expulsion of all inhabitants and demolition of any form of housing that lacked an officially approved building plan. Eliminating the disease by killing the patient, in a context where the economy was nearly collapsing by structural problems of the supply chain which would continue for years and would eventually unchain the spiralling hyperinflation that I could see in person. This operation only reinforced the conditions of poverty that was supposed to alleviate.
It was not easy to enter into the story, but shortly afterwards the novel completely captured my attention and became another of those cases I love: when commuting to work becomes too short of a travel, when I allow myself a minute standing on the platform to finish a chapter, when sometimes sleeping hours are affected, but never too much…
-“Ferran!”
I think I heard a voice shouting my name. So now I hear voices? Am I nuts? I carry on reading.
-“Ferran!”
Yes, it was my name! I realize my windows are open, it is hot outside. It must be someone who knows where I leave and who is looking for me… What a strange thing!
I look through the window and the mystery vanishes with an enormous surprise. My friend Anand! He used to be my neighbour, up until he went back to India by the end of 2006. My landlady put us in touch, and that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, made out of long conversations about music, cinema, life and whatever else was on. I was absent on the occasion of all his recent visits to Paris. Today I am very pleasantly surprised.
We met and we established a good relationship as neighbours, which is something rare in Paris. While these things become increasingly scarce in the “developed” world, I come from a culture where neighbours are always well known, sometimes even an extension of the family. This is uncommon in Paris, a particularly anonymous city where people, be it out of shyness or complete lack of interest, very seldom make contact with neighbours, unless there is a leak or something similar. Actually people are famous in Paris for speeding up to close the door of the lift or of their house to avoid contact with neighbours. By the end of the spring, the municipality organizes every year “la fête des voisins”, so people have a space to meet!
Besides that, Anand did something that brings me back to childhood. He passes by, and in fact he is not even sure that I still live here, yet he sees an open window and just shouts out. Great, and even more unusual, as our culture’s evolution is such than going to see someone out of an impromptu becomes increasingly rare. A French friend completely astonished me with his reply on the phone. I just said “hey, it’s been a while, let’s get together for a drink”, thinking about sometime after work. He fired his reply: “I am free on Saturday afternoon in three weeks time”. Needless to say we did not meet.
My friend will be in Paris at least for a month and a half, as he is editing a documentary. His presence coincides with the nicest time of the year. Great!
