BOOGIE WONDERLAND!

Note: all these clubs were visited on different nights. And Iwaya said Ugandan boys don’t know what to do with their female colleagues. I beg to differ. What I saw…

SMOOTH AS SILK…

The first night out was dedicated to Silk. Right after paintball, (and after catching one-two at a kafunda) we headed for Silk. I must admit, I wasn’t ready for what I encountered.

First metal detectors, it’s like I was walking into a bank. Empty all the coins in your pocket, which were many (I felt like a slot machine). Then metal detector goes off, kumbe I forgot to dump my cell and keys. They do not have flimsy and ‘personal’ searches as the ones done in Kenya. This night we were like celebrity. I had thought only Kenyans like free booze, nope. This night happened to be the office party for WBS and Scanad people were there. We (the guys I was with) knew them so we got in saree and each got like eight beer vouchers. LET THE PARTY CONTINUE! Nilikunywa kama mjinga. And I danced like one too.

Before I over-indulged (I have a beer pot now), I noticed something I haven’t seen in a club in Nai yet. WALL TO WALL CARPETING! Kudos guys, your clubs are off the hook.

But…

Two things I must say, na wa-uganda msiniue. Just prove me wrong. Your DJs suck. To high heaven. Not once in that club did I dance to two consecutive songs, but I did sit down for two and more.

And the other thing, Ugandans are stiff like that stiff drink Ichiena proposed (sijui kuweka link). Never once did I see anyone who could dance (I should have looked in the mirror). The guys, were busy trying to forcibly dance with chicks (just like huku home) and the chicks were, well, rolling around like timber from a truck that had lost control.

Okay, it wasn’t thaaaaaat bad, I wasn’t that great either, but they were nowhere near great. Where are the dancers bana? (some did come out of the woodwork on new year’s day)

Meanwhile, the Ugandan we were with was busy darting chicks. All chicks. Yaani any chick who passed by was grabbed and was darted. Well, he had a high strike out record. But once or twice he did hit home-runs. (On another night, he tried chatting up Kenyan chicks who came a-visiting, lakini we all know how ngumu Kenyan chicks are. Okay, he had lousy vibe, one of the chicks whom I knew confided in me.)

I’m amused, the smoking section at Silk is called Oxygen.

We stayed there a while and headed for…


ROCKY MOUNTAIN HIGH!

Rock Garden! Now how do I describe this place? Hmm. Let’s see. F2, F1, Pango, eh. The guys introduced it to me as the F2 of Ug. All along I had thought Silk looked like F2. But this now had the people of F2. What’s the politically-correct name? Enter-tainment pro-fessionals? Commercial sex workers? Dispensers of favours you wouldn’t ask of your wife? Argh, THIS, was hoochie land. And they came in all shapes and sizes from different locations. Mostly Rwanda and Burundi.

(This is where I bumped into one of God’s rejects wearing man’s greatest inventions. The wonder bra. She wasn’t ati the greatest creation. Hell no. She must have been those ones that are thrown out and dumped at the back of a factory. Lakini, she was wearing this wonder-bra that gave her…well y’all know what. Lakini kumbe huko chini (don’t ask how I knew) bana, flat chested is better coz at least you are dealing with something that never was. But here, hers were like used airbags. Even a breast-feeding kid would ask for a refund. Hamna pumz.)

Evidently, I didn’t stay long. And then, incidentally while on our way out I bumped into a better creation. But the earlier one had traumatized me so much that all I could say was “hi and bye”.

Rock Garden also packed in a crowd. There was no room to dance well or otherwise on that floor, not that the Ugandans cared. Hehe. Okay, I’ll stop dissing your dancing.

STAKING OUT…

Another nice joint in Kampala is Steak Out. Interesting. It’s got this buffet park kind of feel. TO ME! I’ve been known to make lousy judgments. Look at my digs. Look at my choice of conveyance. Look, I’m single because…

Anyway, now here I find much more decent music. But there’s bila dance floor as such. Guys dance where they feel. Speaking of dancing, there is a show of improvement (all isn’t lost). My boy, the Ugandan, is on a roll. He’s chatting up chicks left, right and centre. At one point he actually pulls a chick towards him and starts unleashing hot vibe. Only problem is, he already has another mama he’s chatting up but he had forgotten. Chick number one flees, leaving behind words I dare not print (Fucking bastard guy).

Right next to us is this chick that’s fly and looks like she can groove. She’s cast the line (her shapely body) with the bait (eish, the assets) and the waters are right (music is timam), shortly fish is hooked (yours truly). I reel myself in. I start the chat up. She’s ingianaring. I’m thrilled. I give my boys a thumbs up, then, THEN, the line snaps. She’s from Kenya. Banaaaa! I didn’t cross Malaba border and get stared down by a cop and I didn’t risk my arse at paintball just to come all this way to talk to someone I can easily find in Nai. A Kenyan. The only time it isn’t thrilling to meet up with a local person in a foreign land is when you want to taste the foreign produce.

I was upset. Yaani, I risked and unleashed the smoothest lyrics I had saved up for Ugandans just to hook a Kenyan? I was tired. I was bored, but I continued entertaining myself with her while I cast my fishing line elsewhere. Of course, a fishing line can only get one fish at a time, so……

She was a wild and crazy one though. She’s from coast (Mombasa) and studying in Ug. Apparently, she had weed (which I so wanted). She promised she’d call the next day and we’d smoke like chimneys on a cold winter’s night. This chick, like most Kenyan chicks, was just downing her pint like water. I knew why. She confessed that she’s done ‘unga’ (coke, for the dandas) and other shait! before. I trembled in my open shoes. I only wanted a puff (many puffs) of weed.

Night turned out interesting though, her friend was into my friend and he was so sure amepata ka-take-away. Shock on his bums. The chicks hepad into the night. But my boy wasn’t bothered. He had plan B.

Who also hepad. Time for plan C.

Hepad. Unleash plan D, E, F. Hepad. Hepad. Hepad.

I, who only had a plan A (I never carry the whole drawing board) was just amused and jazzed. He was so pissed that he wanted to now buy pint like crazy. But the time was against us. It was 5. So as we were leaving he spots plan G. And yap, she hepad too. By this time I was laughing my silly drunken head off. I was laughing coz of two things. He’s never encountered a dry night before. And two, I had never seen a guy with so many plans before.


A MYSTICAL NIGHT.

The club that had me in awe was Ange Noir/Ange Mystique. Dudes, and dudelettes, three or more floors of again, wall-to-wall carpeted boogie-floors. Of course I never got to see Mystique coz I was inappropriately dressed in a tee-shirt. Bloody bouncer. I have just paid sijui 10-12k to ingia and anyway, this is my hottest tee-shirt (if you ignore the Dettol logo). The nerve.

Twendeni.

So we while away at Ange Noir. The place is kicking. It has dance floors all over. I like the concept. They have dance spots all over that look like boxing rings. Okay, that’s me and my drunken judgment again. Man, these guys know how to invest. Lakini, why don’t they invest in DJs. Like I said Ugandans don’t mind. By this time I was feeling more Ugandan than a Ugandan, Ssebo! So as they say, while in Rome…yap, so I was in the groove before you could say Tusker baridi. (huku hamna Tusker ya kawaida. Ni Malt and it’s called just plain Tusker. Sema “Malt” na watakuangalia ni kama wewe ni pastor kwa bar. And it’s always served cold. Sio kama huku ni lazima useme baridi ama moto ama warm.)

I had a blast here. I also almost scored. Lakini I was having a spell of bad luck I tell you. I think my ‘chick’ in Nai had paid Bakari the witchdoctor a courtesy call. She must have unleashed some charm on me. Kila dame naongelesha ni ukuta. Sawa tu. So my fun was restricted to just dancing with fly chicks. And the dick, sorry, buck stopped there.

AND THE VERDICT IS IN!

Ugandans know how to party. Again I’ll say, Ugandans like drinking, but Kenyans are drunkards. You know, never once did I encounter a staggering guy. Not once. Was I that drunk myself? Walevi hawaonani.

As for the clubs, they get top marks. Ange Noir, Silk top the billing. The others are just drink up joints. The Fat Boys, the Steak Outs, The Al’s bars and another which I can’t seem to remember the name (must have drank the most there). It’s no surprise that I went out every single night of my stay there. Every single night. Only two nights I didn’t go out. One, when my pal was dehydrated and the second night was on 2nd, coz I was traveling back.

Interesting also, never once did I rock home stinking of cigarettes (just cheap perfume, kama Kenya tu). Ugandans either don’t smoke much or the no smoking in public places has hit home. I’m trying to imagine, five minutes, FIVE, in ka-choi and I’ll be stinking of every cigarette from Rooster to B&H.

Plus, hawana Kenchic. I’m used to going home with a kuku quarter or a ka-choi burger. In Ug, it’s rollex and chicken fry over at Wandegeya.

All in all I enjoyed clubbing in Ug and I’ll be back to chafua. And no I didn’t hook up with a Ugandan chick. I already have enough problems domestically I don’t want international problems. (not with Tuju as the foreign affairs guy)

P.S. Roho safi, pictures will be seen them in Feb. Saa hii nimesota. Si mnaelewa Jan wasee?