Africa, la segunda temporada.

Just let it be… Just let it will be… Oh…just let it be…

Although this ear-pleasing new song of my sister (aunt, to be more precise) Madonna that I was listening while writing this message seemed grammatically disastrous, I still enjoyed it anyway.

Well, actually, the fact was that I would be happy to listen to any music that I myself chose to play, but… definitely not the one my generous neighbors kindly shared to me every weekend’s night.

Laughter, conversations, guitar melodies and, of course, techno/electro music burst out in unison from the room next door every Friday’s and Saturday’s night. Here came the end of peaceful era…

At first, I was glad to have a cute Spanish university student who was full of great interpersonal skill, considering from the fiestas he threw every weekend, living next to my room. Not only that I was desperately in need to get to know him (and, well, a whole lot of his friends) due to the fact that last year, Africa was full of the (mostly) middle-aged (and unattractive) latinos, but also I expected another year full of peace in my neighborhood on the 7th floor (that I exclusively had chosen and moved in before the influx of the new incoming students in hope of a better living condition).

New Spanish friends, new becarios, new room with better view, new neighbors and new courses…Wow..Africa… the future Utopia for my second year!

Yeah, that was all my dream, and dream it still is today.

As the second year of the scholarship started, all of my best friends had already moved to their own lovely apartments, pursuing their academic or professional goals, leaving me alone with the fear of having to face the whole new life in Africa alone. It didn’t seem so bad at all, frankly spoken. I only had to armed myself with a Miss Congeneality smile and fired basic questions to any newcomers who unluckily came within range. The best opportunity to get as much information (and friendship) as I could was when we had meal in the canteen. I quickly made acquaintance with the new becarios without any problems thanks to my unique (but stunningly beautiful) oriental appearance. As I was the only so-called chinito in the dorm, every one had no problem recognizing me. Sometimes, I even didn’t know the name of those who said hello to me when we met in metro!

The first phase went by without requiring me too much effort. I had made a few best friends who were both newcomers and those who had made a (wrong) decision to stay here one more year.

Then the exodus of the university students hit the dorm. Like a terrifying wave of Tsunami that could leave thousands of property and people devastated and with suffering, these energetic Spanish youngsters full of creativity, joy, happiness and destructive power who sought a better future through a process of academic maturation, financially supported and spoilt by their wealthy parents, roamed every corner and corridor of Africa.

They came, they saw and they conquered. Literally it was this way.

It had been three months since the departure of the oldies and the arrival of the Spanish newbies, which had changed the major aspects and conditions of the dorm; a door left broken, toilets left without being flushed, tissue papers all over the bathroom’s floor. These rowdy teenagers didn’t only throw fiestas in their rooms on Friday’s nights, filling the entire floor with more-than-90-decibel techno and rock music, they also ran stomping through the corridor regardless of the time. Sometimes they even made a reunion to enjoy their home cinema with a full range of hi-fi sets at midnight while leaving the door open.

I had no idea how they had managed to completely eradicate the innate common sense, supposedly inculcated by their parents and the Nature itself in their childhood, from their brains. They never stopped to think about how other people would feel about the disturbance of peace that they had made. The people incapable of thinking logically on their own. And that was what irritated me the most.

As for Africa itself, the food could never be worse. The becarios were much more open-minded than those of the last year. Apart from this, everything was supposed to be fine if it hadn’t been for the robbery that took place twice within a month.

And one of the victims was me. I could blame no one but myself for trusting too much in the security of the colegio. Last year, not a single robbery taken place in a resident’s room was reported. How did I become a poor victim of such a heinous crime? Well, as I said, it was all my faults. I sometimes left the door unlocked during a couple of minutes when I went to the bathroom. Apart from the fact that a houskeeper could enter my room to do her duty every other day, it was left to no doubt that someone, in a blink of an eye, sneaked into my chamber and snatched away the unguarded treasure.

During the first stage of mental trauma when I realized about the disappearance of my mobile phone, I came up with hundreds of possible hypothesis. Logically, I first suspected the maid who regularly did the housekeeping, but, in the end I came to the conclusion that it could be anyone passing by, discreetly observing from a corner of the corridor waiting for a good opportunity to strike. It could even be those little disgraceful Spanish kids who came as usual to the party next door.

All I could do in retaliation for this shameless action is to post a well-written condemnation message, wishing all the worst in the world to the thief and his/her family, so that the public would know that we had a villain living amongst us.

As soon as I recovered from the shock of the robbery, another odd event mercilessly stroke Africa without warning, a mentally-ill SOB randomly made obscene internal phone call to the residents. As expected, I was included in the list of the unfortunates. One fine day while I was doing my translation homework, the phone rang, so I picked it up, only just to listen to faint breathing on the other end of the line during 5 seconds before it was disconnected. A couple of days later I got another call, it was exactly the same, except that the panting was clearer, louder and seemingly more aroused and then he hung up. Later on I was bothered by this phone call for a couple of times before the culprit got bored of stalking me. As writing this diary, I had no idea if he still went on with his telephonic sexual pleasure project. I only hoped that all this freak would come to and end very soon so that I could return to normal life.

Well, that’s all about my life in Africa at the beginning of the second year. Since recently I have been spending most of the time locking myself in the room, in order to recover from the incision that had opened again almost a month ago, I can’t find any more interesting anecdotes than what I have written here. After the Xmas vacations I would surely come up with something new. Until then, I would keep praying and hoping that my beloved little neighbor would reunite with his clan very soon for the celebration and leave a chinito like me in peace for once!