The caller on the line was alarmed : "Mr Landlord, Mr Landlord, you come quickly" It was an inner-city block of mixed races and I feared one of those newspaper headlines that begins "Non-National victim found....' It did not get that bad, though it had the potential to conflagrate.

For weeks there had been complaints about the loudness of two African families one of whom was my tenant. One should say, straightaway, that as a Landlord one has to make allowances for people of differing background. Africans talked and laughed loudly, but usually minded their own business and their watchful concern for their children would set an example for some of our own inner-city natives.

They hardly ever touched alcohol or mind-bending drugs and their religious services were a joy to behold. Okay, they could get high on Gospeller chanting on a Sunday evening and come home in an entranced state , which sometimes spilled over into noisy gatherings. The women were done-up like princesses , in robes of vivid colour, the children's hair must have taken hours to plait.Gospel Sunday was one of the few times when you could be certain to see the men, in their best suits. I often wondered where they - fathers of the children - went during the week....

All in all, an addition to the gaiety of nations in a drab capital.

Of course, when they came home in an elevated state and continued to sway and talk and and settle family and money business , it alarmed neighbours on the same landing . Their precious Sunday evening was disrupted by large numbers of people in tribal dress, settling disputes , shouting to each other across the stairwells and generally setting the agenda for the following week.

In response to previous complaints, I had asked my tenant to 'tone it down'. She appeared mystified, asking who had complained. Not wishing to name anyone, I said other occupants of the block were upset at the noise. Her neighbours worked six days a week and Sunday was their only time of rest. There we left it , until the panicky phone call, "Mr Landlord, Mr Landlord.....' The caller was a Latvian from across the hallway. When I arrived, he looked clearly frightened . "They make Voodoo, they make Voodoo" he said, pointing to balls of hair on the hallway outside his door. ( I had thought it the spilling from the vacuum cleaner used by the porter) On closer inspection, it was some kind of animal hair in a pattern . As the Latvian saw it, the Africans assumed him to be the source of complaints about noise . He was being warned.

What to do? Nothing immediately, as criticising the tenants might make matters worse. I slept on it for a few days, before speaking to the party concerned. A solution emerged, as I remembered her long list of complaints about various aspects of the apartment....

I arranged to see her and started the conversation amiably. When she listed her complaints, as expected, I suggested she was clearly unhappy in this location. She hissed when I mentioned the noise on Sunday, her brow furrowed, her eyes darkened ( yes!) She made some gestures which made me realise they sooner she was out of there, the better for everyone . A moment later, she was laughing again....

Encouraged by a financial incentive, (bribe) she did move to more spacious quarters. I hired a van for her household goods and chattels and drove her to the outer suburbs. She does not live in such proximity to her neighbours and seems to be getting on fine, though she treks longer to her Sunday gospel service, still held in the inner-city. You could say she goes on safari, preparing days before with her magnificent dress and childrens' outfits. She knows the bus routes and time-tables better than most natives.

I am not a District Commissioner in colonial Africa. I am only a Landlord in Ireland . '