He walked into our apartment wearing red suspenders and black gym shorts pulled up over his torso. Meet my neighbor, always good for a laugh.
Living in an African home has taught me a lot about loving the neighbors who live with me. I don’t yet know most of the people in my apartment complex, only a few by face and a couple by name, but the people I know well make my life a lot brighter.
Our primary neighbors, who are relatives of the people I live with, live in our same building. But because living down the hall was too far away, they moved directly across the hall from us. (Actually, they just needed more space.) We eat together daily, listen to Yemi Alade and Moise Mbiye together, even fall asleep in each other’s apartments. We’re tight.
Some might call that type of closeness intrusive – overstaying your welcome perhaps – but I think it’s fun. I love having lots of people around. Plus, they’re family to the people in my apartment, and the interaction goes both ways.
My one neighbor, who is my age, is hilarious. He’s constantly laughing and cracking others up with his conversation and antics once he comes home from work. He’s the one in the suspenders.
His mother is a gem, too. I can count on her to affirm me when I’m looking good and to comment on the good of something else she sees. We speak different languages, but we’re getting to the point where we can understand each other a bit even though we primarily speak our own languages aloud.
Without neighbor love, my apartment would contain less laughter, less food, less music, less of all of the stuff that makes life good. Without all the church members and other Congolese friends who pop over at random, there’d be less of these blessings, too.
So love your neighbors. Eat a meal together; heck, eat together daily. Share your home like the early Church did. You don’t have to live in one another’s apartments like I’ve described here, but if you don’t already, try inviting each other over more often. You might get to know some fantastic people.