Most of you at one time or other have had something to do with landladies or as in most cases landlords but my point of discussion today is centred on landladies. In the early 70s, when I had just completed school there were many vacant apartments in my country of exile.

These had been left behind by Asians (Indians) who were being expelled by that self styled field marshal whose name I don’t like mentioning.  

Many of the Indian properties were nationalized while others were simply grabbed by locals. When I felt that I was old enough and had to move out of my parents’ house, I moved in the posh suburb of the city where Naluwu owned one such apartment.

Naluwu was relatively young and affluent with very high self esteem. She took care of herself and from the outside she would pass for a highly modern and sophisticated woman who was very careful with anything that would affect her dignity. 

After giving me a long list of Dos and Don’ts if I stayed in her house, we treated each other with mutual respect. One striking rule got me to develop a hiccup.

"I shall not entertain any female visitors be they relatives or otherwise as long as am still the landlady.” I was not allowed any questions regarding the rule.

While I paid rent for three months in advance, my would be kitchen floor was rugged and the roof let in water. One morning I approached her requesting the renovation since it was not only expensive to eat out in "Ndagaswi” but dangerous as well. 

In my long life and "career” of dating which many of my Christian friends call "evil womanizing” I can authoritatively advise young lads against landladies or very close neighbours. 

"Oh Shooter, don’t mind I will fix it as soon as possible but in the meantime, we can share my kitchen,” she said with a seductive smile which I ignored. I was not ready to share a kitchen. 

In the gone days, we did not have mobile phones so there was nothing like text messages so one evening returning from work and bar, I found she had slid under my door a beautiful and well designed writing pad. On it were the words, "ha ha ha, Shooter, don’t be shy and angry towards me, am one person who wishes the best for you.” She had also drawn so many hearts at the note.

I am not a stonehearted person, as a matter of fact am just like any other normal man. These small things she was doing obviously roused something in my heart. 

Guess what? We started sharing the kitchen by cooking in turns and before I could realize we were sharing everything but the bed. The shooter had been provoked out of his shell so it was time to unleash what he knew best 
When the mother cow is chewing grass, the young one watches the mouth so Chinua Achebe said. Therefore, when she proposed that we share the kitchen, I also later proposed we share the bathroom.

"Ayayaya” she had exclaimed in the typical luganda style. I actually thought she would object to my proposal but after a few days of insisting there we were in the same waters. 

After a few months with the Naluwu landlady, the shooter was reaping where he had sowed. What do I mean? I didn’t move in it’s against the Rwandan culture but she moved into my apartment (you can determine who moved in depending on how you kook at it).       

"You have been a good tenant Shooter, don’t mind about paying the next three months’ rent,” she surprised me one Sunday morning as she brought me breakfast in bed. 
I am a proud Rwandan.

I immediately packed my bags and left the house whose owner I "loved” because I was not ready to live in a house whose rent I wasn’t paying because of love nor was I ready to be used (taking my heart for granted).

I didn’t say bye to her and I have not seen or heard from her since.
 
angarambe2@gmail.com