It's 20h30. I have been steadily downing alcohol throughout the day. The rate at which i empty beers into my throat increases after watching Arsenal lose, and Man U win.
My friends decide to move onto greener things. Weed smoke fills the room. I do not partake this time around. I move onto my more traditional poison. 1 part Russian Bear vodka to 4 parts Stoney ginger beer. It is an innocuous mixture.
We run out of alcohol but it's okay because everyone feels their fair share of the buzz. We decide to move the party into town. The cab will take an hour. We will have to wait, because this cab driver is cheaper.
In town the cab driver drops us off right in front of Marvel. I convince my friends to come in with me. They are persuaded by the sight of beautiful, young woman dancing seductively on the tables. One of them is wearing what would barely pa** as a skirt. A closer look may be in order.
Inside I feel comfortable. The music is not my preference but the tempos and sounds are within my reach. My friends are into house music. They decide to buy drinks and look for somewhere to stand in the crowded club. There are many familiar faces, to which i nod politely. I also partake in my meet-and-greet rituals. After an hour the DJ plays some cla**ics. We all scurry towards the over-populated 'dance floor' to sing along. Unfortunately this brings more people onto the floor. My friends becoming claustrophobic. We need to leave urgenlty.
We take the party to La Reference. The big ba** of house music is being chunred out of two struggling speakers. The sound is too loud it distorts. The pain in my ears adds to my irritation. I comically put my hands over my ears. Some of the patrons look at me disapprovingly.
The good thing about this place is CHEAP QUARTS. Within an hour i have downed 2.25 litres of Black Label.
The music starts feeling good. The mixture of African drums and exotic instruments get me to my feet. This is what they call deep house.
I'm alone on the dance floor . Intoxicated. The music makes me think of heavenly spaces. I'm in a trance. i close my eyes and sway giddily.
All of a sudden my world is interrupted by some Bojo-mujo sounding house with Xhosa lyrics. My world becomes infiltrated by women's shrieks. I'm caught off-guard when this sweet looking young lady looks at me and shouts out the words. Luckily the words are quite repetitive. within no time I'm as animated in my chanting as the rest of them.
The Dj starts mixing the tracks. I don't know the upcoming song. My 'house' friends look comfortable. Apparently the song is from Big Nuz. The words are not as repetitive. Everyone else is belting out the words at the top of their voices.
In my drunken frustrationI scream out, "House music is shit! Yikaka le iculwa apha!"
Everyone else laughs. However 2 guys are offended by my comments. They approach me. They are BEE-fattened. They look intimidating in their inappropriately tight fitting golf shrts tucked into their Chinos. Their belts are struggling to hold back the overflowing bellies.
One guy steps closer to me and calls me a coconut. I tell him that he has enough rolls on his neck to feed Somalia for a month.
A fight breaks out.
I wake up the next morning with a ma**ive headache. My knucles have painful cuts on them and my ribs are painful.
My friends fill me in. They tell me that house music makes me violent...
I'll never listen to Big Nuz again.
