Migrant Troopers

 Do you recall a story have told before about my living area in Guangzhou China? Those poor quarters of the town and that particular apartment building with seven floors. This is another interesting story that happened there.

My flat mate wasn’t home boy or home made whatever they call such people that never stays for twenty minutes in their house is called. That is guy for you. That apartment building was full of poor Chinese villagers. To me an African man, those guys looked wretched, poor souls searching for daily bread. That building wasn’t like that when we moved in but not months after we parked in, they appeared in droves. 

 They call them migrant workers. I am African, I have seen poverty in Africa but on closer look, I noticed that those guys and gals am telling you about is in the poor realm of their own. The thing is that the environment and the wisdom of their leaders covers intelligently multitude of virtual tell tales.

 How do I mean?

Well, what I mean is that the so called poor man’s quarters there is actually an equivalent of rich man place here in Nigeria. It’s a kind of life made easiest by Government. The apartment has continuous power supply, continuous water supply, continuous internet supply. It was designed with the poor or let me say middle class in mind.

It had a paid cleaner that comes every morning to take away rubbish each flat placed in front of their doors and then proceed to sweep and clean the whole steps from top to the ground floor. 

The apartment is always clean 24 hours, it’s environment clean. Those villagers are really migrant workers. They would appear in droves from their villagers carrying mats, iron bucket and a small foldable table with their small traveling bags housing probably all the clothes they have on earth. You needs to visit train stations and stay there for only 30 minutes and see things for yourself.

They seems to have seasons. About three in a year. I don’t know who introduced that idea over there. I am guessing that the same person must also be the person that listed to them what you required to migrate. I mean they don’t come from the same village, the same town or the same province. Why were they all carrying identical items: mats, iron buckets, foldable table and small bag.

Like I have hinted earlier, we foreigner would at times on our spare time go to the train stations to watch those people arrive. Some with their wives, some their girlfriends, some alone. Once the train comes to a halt, and the door opened, they would rush en mass as if they had been all standing near the door before the train stopped. Shit!

They would all burst out at the same time from different doors rushing left and right to no where in particular and everywhere at the same time as if they knew where they are going or had been living in the city before. I guess it was advice from the ‘been to’ that returned to the village. One on survival strategy.  “try to be agile” or you would be dipped advice. So they all try to act smart.

Their ladies would trudge along struggling to meet up with her man who would suddenly stopped, eye left and right and approach some others standing with their hands in pocket or smoking and ask them questions. At times their inquiry would be met with simple shake of head or if lucky, with details. 

Armed with what might be wrong information, the same man would change direction and start at the same fast strides towards the direction he was told. It is really a spectacular sight to behold.

So those people were the same that one company, if the apartments ware house would be referred to as company. They would rent a house and pack them in without bed, foam or any chairs. Nothing . Just empty house. No sleeping, no leisurely items. Then the company would hire one or two women to act as Cooks for them. They feed them twice each day with what you an African man would not look at twice let alone put in your mouth. The same white rice, the same white vegetables, when in season, green one. The quantity itself would be one fit for a ten year old. 

Imagine 40 males and females in three bedroom flat. Terrible life to live. Once they finished work around 5pm and rushed home for one thing or the other. That half hour or more they would be they with you is usually like when primary school pupil were on break. They atmosphere that was peaceful suddenly burst out with uncoordinated noise that kept skyrocketing . Walah, Walah, Walah non-stop.

Despite your door being closed, the noise would penetrate the wall and the iron door as if they weren’t there in the first place. Major thing about these migrant people is their lurid behaviors.

They’re poor, no manners, some unrefined of highest order. 

They view you black foreigner as their own means of advancement. The apartment has no security personnels to checkmate some of their excess or teach them how to live in the city. I suspect from their “hello, hello” that we must be the closest they have been to a black race.

One day, I was in the room preparing to go out and hustle, I heard noises that sounded as if someone was struggling to break something. I finished dressing, picked up my bag and opened the door. There was a kind of scurrying from three guys. Two was breaking the door of my neighbor while one kept watch at the steps. The one at the step ran about three steps down and stopped. The two opposite me just shifted to wall and stood. 

The flat belonged to an African guy who seems to know that the doors doesn’t have security enough with the people around and decided to put extra padlocks on their doors from inside. I passed without eyeing those people twice. They had succeeded in breaking easily the front padlock but were struggling with the one inside. Looking at them twice would amount to committing suicide. 

“Where have I seen those three?”

Yeah, down stairs at the warehouse there learning tailoring and for sure monitoring movements too. They went on as if nothing happened. 

  I needed to do something. Who do I call. I called my landlady.

     “ that house not mine. I no concern me”

Truly, I no concern her and that was Chinese way. Even if someone fainted at the road, people would just be passing as if nothing happened. I no concern me culture of Chinese. 

The migrants most of them seems to have learnt city way of living very fast. When they fuck in those over crowded flat, the noise would be too noisy that you would be wondering how in the name of Buddha would someone sane would be making love in such flat. 

One day, I heard noise of key being put into my key hole, I opened the door to see a man that look like educated some one. He just waved at me and reentered their flat. That was when I knew it was time to fade from the place. 

The day I was ready to move out, I called two guys there and gifted them some of the property I lived with. Most were even second hand items. You needs to see their happiness. 

    I am sure prayers had been said for me without my knowledge uncountable times.