Drum Beats

Ever since we've been in our apartment here on Krivoguza street in Karaganda, we've heard a strange ritual repeated daily. At about 10:00 AM, a bass drum starts beating. Slowly at first. Boom. Pause. Boom. Pause. Boom. Then the pace picks up. Boom. Boom. Boom. Then even faster. The sound of each beat echoes around our courtyard, drowning out the echo of the previous beat, soon rising to a frenzy. For weeks, we've pondered the significance of this event. And it's repeated several times each day.

Is this some religious ritual that is unknown to us? Do we have a witch doctor living as a neighbour? Will we see voodoo dolls lying around? Perhaps our own likenesses with needles sticking out of our.... Wait a minute. That's silly.

Maybe a drummer, practicing for the upcoming football game when his marching band heads out onto the field at half-time and.... Nope. Wrong continent.

Ahh. Maybe percussive maintenance once again. We've noticed that almost every type of maintenance that's carried out around here requires banging of some kind. Plumbing, masonry repairs, and hardware installation. Even electrical work, which is sort of scary if it involves banging. But maintenance every day, several times a day? One thing we've not noticed is a surplus of upkeep.

So for weeks we've wondered what this ritualistic thumping is. Our imaginations ran wild, as you can tell. But no real answers. And still the same bang, bang, bang.

Late this past week we wandered around our courtyard, pushing Alexey in his stroller, as we often do. All was silent. Then suddenly the drum beat started again. Slowly, softly, then more quickly and loudly. Ah! At last. Now was our chance to solve The Mystery of the Banging Drum. (Used italics because it sounds like a Hardy Boys novel.) There he was. The perpetrator of the mystery. The drummer. Or perhaps he should be called the beater. For here was a man outside smacking a large rug with a paddle. Clouds of dust rose into the air as he worked his way methodically over the rug. It appears that this fellow runs a rug-cleaning business out of his apartment. But what do you put on your business card? Rug-beater? Dust-raiser?

We came away satisfied with our new knowledge. Although perhaps a little disappointed that he wasn't a witch doctor instead. Because then we would've had a real story to tell when we got back home.