Small Wars. Big Fights

  Some Friday nights are much better than others. But most are just plain basic.  And it is on these most basic Friday nights that girls and boys who cherish the nightlife come out to party, dressed to kill. –  I had no idea that guys too have special hanging [out] clothes. But now I do, thanks to some guy over there with a lame name. Oh, a friend just told  me the dude’s name; Ken Love.

Any how. The best Friday nights are those that find me curled up, feeling alone and dejected, in my bed. Wondering why I am in here’ when I should be out there. It gets particularly funky when I start texting some unfortunate individuals, informing them where I am and why, hoping that they would feel guilty, which they usually do, or so they make me believe. 

On some of these nights I sleep from 7pm to 3am, then wake up to watch television until five or six, sometimes.  Other times I wake at midnight (7pm to midnight) and watch television or a DVD to 4am. Nothing can be any more fun. 

It is on these Fridays, especially, that I wish I were in some one else’s bed, like my parents’ for example. And am cool with the knowledge that this wish can’t be anymore than that. But when the feeling persists, I pick my favourite book (at the time) and knock myself out while biting on some chocolate bar. Yeah, life can be sweet and sensual even in a third world country.   

Last Friday night should have been one of those. I didn’t have date; I wasn’t supposed to be anywhere work related, so I naturally should have hurried home hugged onto my favourite things; my pillow and the duvet.  But instead, I was calling up all my close friends (not more than three) and a couple of colleagues, arranging to meet at Nandos so we can drive together to Lubowa.  My favourite girl, Carol, had lost a brother.  Abu, as he was fondly referred to, had passed away that afternoon. He was only a boy. He was pursuing electric (or something) engineering at MUK 4th year. The most tragic bit is that five of his friends and classmates had died like, five days earlier. Some are still in Mulago, hopefully, no more deaths. Car crash. 

Any how. Sad as all that is, when we left the lumbe at about a half past midnight, I decided to pass by Club Rouge (good habit).  It is interesting how this little café/discotheque will consist of about 20 people up until 1:00am and then, bam! You can almost start searching the ceiling. Where do all those people come from in such little time?  And who set club Rouge’s ‘happening’ time at 1:00am?

  Anyhow, going to Club Rouge is a habit that I have still failed to kick. Even on a night like this, with no company or money to spend, I still went and left at 5:30 am.  Like they say, every nightspot gets funkier as the night progresses into dawn.  It must have something to do with the human mind set- do not ask me how.  It is at about 4-5:30 that things start happening; people make out, like in your face kind of making out, bottles and glasses are broken and some limbs do get dislocated at such a time.  And fortunately (for me) Club Rouge isn’t any different, as I got to learn on this particular night. A young couple, standing just next to me, was involved in heavy petting and making out like their oxygen supply depended on just that. And some how, I didn’t get to see how, these two sent my just purchased black ice to the floor.  The best part was that they were not bothered a single bit, even when I let them know. Of course I let them know, in almost physical ways-with the help of some dude who seemed to clearly understand my furry.

But then again, Club Rouge is my little sanctuary, it is the one place I go to when I need to think, be alone, have a blast, meet friends or just be me. So being a part of some nasty drama in such a place isn’t my idea of giving back. I let it go, totally.  

Although, not every one shares my sentiments about the place. Some very rich patrons will not think twice before they exchange F-words and engage in a fistfight.  So while my little incident cooled and these guys (involuntarily) apologized, something more spectacular was happening outside the club. 

I looked out the window, and right there, on the premises of this very lauded ‘up market night spot’, was Riyaz Kurji, Erkan Senocak (Casino Simba) and about six other guys, a mixture of Arabs and Pakistanis (for clarity’s sake) were kicking and punching some guy, a Ugandan, whom I later learned is known as Jamesie. Some guys who had witnessed the fight up close said Riyaz had stabbed James. I didn’t see that, but then again, I was watching from the window, and, some stories are better bloody spiced up.  Thankfully, club Rouge has like a multitude of bouncers and they all intervened and stopped the 10-on-1 fight. James was carried off the spot where he now laid, to another. TO BE CONTINUED 

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One Comment Add yours

  1. ken love says:

    better a lame name than a lame brain…yes, i’m talkin to YOU. and let’s hear YOUR so-cool-i’m-not-worthy name, then.

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