Pest Control

The notice was waiting on my door when I returned home Friday afternoon.  It was essentially meaningless:

MANDATORY FOR ALL RESIDENTS
Quarterly pest control treatment
Take out all things from cabinets
Make sure everything is free of clutter

Okay.  There seem to be some details missing.  Like, when is this happening?  "Cabinets," like kitchen cabinets, or the whole house?  If all the cupboards are emptied, won't that guarantee clutter?

I called the apartment manager (who, miraculously, actually answered the phone), and she filled in the details.  "Monday," she said.  "Just the kitchen cupboards, but they'll be treating the entire premises."

Then she paused.  "Oh, hey—you sometimes help, you know, the other tenants, right?"

"Yes," I said.

"Do you think you could maybe tell them, too?  We have the notice in English and Spanish, but we don't know all their languages and dialects."

My turn to pause.  "...Okay, sure. I'll do what I can."  In my head, I'm wondering how the heck I'm going to help.  I mean, I would have tried to help my neighbors, anyway, but what was the office ultimately expecting me to do?  There are more than a hundred units here, and I still only know a handful of the tenants.  And it's not like I speak Nepali, or Somali (or Arabic, or Kurdish, or Kunama, or Jarai), any more than the office does.

I'm also encouraged, though, that—even if it's in a vague way—it seems the leasing office is beginning to see me as an ally.

There is ongoing tension between the office and the tenants here.  I can definitely see why: On one side, you have this group of people who don't speak English, who have no idea how the American system of paperwork and checks and deadlines works, some of whom have distinctly non-American hygiene habits, and some of whom do things like throw their trash on the lawn instead of into the dumpsters or start "cooking fires" on their kitchen counters.  Then on the other side you have a normal American leasing office trying to maintain order and sanitation and run a successful business.  The language and cultural barriers turn small, easily-resolvable issues into huge problems.

Unfortunately, at my particular office, certain employees' frustration seems to have turned into apathy mixed with a lazy sort of exploitation: they don't really engage with the problems anymore, and take advantage of the tenants whenever doing so is more convenient than justice.

I have been trying to establish what my role is here, as someone who is not technically on either side.  How can I sow peace into this situation?  Of course, I want to advocate for the rights of the tenants, and step in when they're being treated unfairly.  At the same time, though, I've been praying through how I can do that in a way that shows love to the leasing office as well—that acknowledges that they do have a perpetually frustrating job, and that shows them that I want to help ease that frustration for them as much as seek justice for the tenants.

I haven't been convinced that it's working.

Friday was the first glimmer that the office recognizes me as a potential help, and not a threat.

There really wasn't much I could do in this case, though.  I asked the neighbors I saw whether they understood the paper on their door (always "no").  Trying to explain that they needed to empty cupboards for pesticide treatment was largely unsuccessful, and it's a very hard thing to mime.  I brought a couple ladies to my house to show them what I meant (I still don't think they understood), and explained it to some older children who spoke better English than their parents.

Hopefully, though, even if no one emptied their cupboards, God has begun—however slowly—growing peace here.

(Side note: Can I just say, I'm not a huge fan that there will now be poison coating every cooking and food-storage surface of my home?  I'm all for preventing cockroach infestations, but still.  Not a fan.)