Tolerance

I once visited a friend who lived in a compound with two other families. He always had tales of his noisy encounters with the neighbours' kids. They made me wonder, always, knowing how much he dreaded disturbance. I finally got the opportunity of a first-hand experience. That very day.

We were mid-way into an interesting topic of the duopoly in mobile phone tech when the two children of the house on the right decided we had had enough peace for the day. I couldn't believe they were just two of them. They made more noises than a packed stadium brimming with football fans. My friend took it all like a man. Not even a whimper, though I could perceive his annoyance. No, not annoyance. His ire.

"Why being so tolerant," was on the tip of my tongue, knowing who Jide was. But something about his quiet demeanour kept me tongue-tied. Well...

Since we couldn't hear each other converse any longer (it was that bad) we stopped screaming at each other and turned on the TV to watch the highlights of an old football match.

We were so engrossed in the thrilling encounter (scores of which we already knew), we didn't notice exactly when the twin devils quietened. The peace was ephemeral though. Another set of neighbour's children, four boys of differing ages from the house on the right, had come out to kick some footie.

It took less than a minute from when Jide heard them playing and running around to when he whizzed through his front door to not only seize the round leather but admonish the kids about disturbing him with their racket.

From the window, I observed the drama play out. The forlorn looks on the boys' faces, as they walked away ball-less, was touching. Just before he reentered their house, the youngest looked back at Jide's retreating figure. If looks had daggers...

I was beyond astonished at this point. They weren't making a fraction of the pandemonium those other two raised before we gave up our conversation to watch that match. Neither were we marginally disturbed by their football game. So, why the double standards?

"Jyd," I began, "what was that about?"

He looked puzzled. "What?" He was dropping the ball just behind the door and turning around to face me.

"That wasn't fair, what you did to them. And claiming they were a disturbance? Haba!!!! Jyd! What will you then say about those two in the next house who may have been possessed by a legion of noise-demons?"

Jide laughed his full-throated, heart-warming rambunctious laughter (the laugh alone could've been from another legion of demons on its own). He ended up shaking his head, as if to clear the cobwebs that laugh must've patterned in his head.

When he answered, he was serious. He said, "You haven't met the parents of the two families."

I understood.