Northern Road Trip 4
Trip Start
Apr 26, 2005
1
15
42
Trip End
Nov 17, 2005
Kashikishi,
Luapula,
Zambia
Saturday, July 9, 2005
Under-aged girls chatter and groove beneath red and yellow lights that flash above the dance floor. At random moments an air-raid siren blares over the music. In the hands of a competent DJ a siren can heighten the emotional effect of the music. Mushima's jockey is not so capable.
Bwalya's uncle, Alex, accompanies me to the bathroom, pointing out a squat building at the back of the club. "That's where the girls stay," he says, and I get the broad hint
Lake Mweru Sunset
. There's a general feeling that all is not safe and secure around here. At first I figure Alex needs a leak as well, but he waits outside the toilets and walks me back to the bar with all the cool of a Secret Service agent. Back at the table Alex and Bwalya try to talk over the music, and I know that Bwalya is skirting around a delicate subject for his uncle. Alex's three-year-old son died recently, and Bwalya's been warned by his aunt not to bring it up. Maybe tonight we can raise Alex's spirits.
I keep my eye on the dance floor, Bwalya asking once in a while if I'm enjoying myself. The crowd on the floor ebbs and flows by the music, which stops frequently and in mid-song, forcing the DJ to leave his seat at bar to chance the CD.
I notice a lecherous man on the dance floor giving me the eye, and I'm trying to avoid his stare when I realize he's gesturing towards a young girl as if offering her to me. I chuckle and shake my head. He stops dancing.
We finish our drinks and leave, walking past the market still crowded at this time of night with vendors selling sugar, scones, cigarettes and drinks by candlelight
River Washing
. People waiting for the next bus out of town huddle under the eaves of buildings, wrapped in thin blankets or chitenge cloth, trying to sleep. Down the street from market we stroll into Kafindondo Bar, which we'd walked into earlier in the night when Bwalya gave me a quick tour of the town. Dark, claustrophobic and crawling with sketchy characters, I'd suggested we give the place a miss in favour of Mushima, where at least there were women around. Bwalya assured me that the place gets better after 10 pm, and once again he's right. It's a different place when we return; bright, full and almost charming. We get a table beside the dance floor and a round of drinks but we're not sitting long.
Kafindondo is owned by a Congolese man, and when we stroll in rumba music fills the room. We're not the only ones who want a change in the music, though, and when the DJ switches to Zambian pop we join the crowd and dance.
(In a narrative like this it's next to impossible to describe contemporary Zambian music. Suffice it to say that it's very good, that it wasn't as popular or well-produced the last time I was here four years ago, and that it's great to dance to
Rock House
. I should also like to point out that Africans are always pleased to see a muzungu dance with rhythm.)It's not long before I'm attracting attention again, this time from a tall, half-drunk harlot named Brenda. She plops down next to me and slurs an introduction. She wants me to buy her a beer, and when I say no she looks at me like I'm speaking Greek, shaking her head as if to ward off the double-vision. When a good song comes on I get away from her and onto the dance floor, but as Bwalya says I've found a "fan." Lucky me.
Brenda hovers around our table, getting drunker and more pestering. When Bwalya buys her off with a beer his plan backfires, and she slumps down beside me with her fresh drink. "I'm in love with you," she stammers into my ear. I look around for help but unfortunately I seem to be on my own.
Finally Agent Alex steps in. I'm on the dance floor, my patience evaporated at this point, pushing Brenda off me, when Alex drags her away and throws her out of the club. A cheer goes up and we return to the song.
But our next round of beer is warm, surely a sign that it's time to go. We've been on the road for a week, and as nice as it's been to have a proper night out we have yet another early morning start ahead.
Outside the bar a fight has broken out, and in the dust and confusion I'm sure I see Brenda stumbling out of the fray, making to smack some guy. Bwalya says I'm seeing things but who's to know; the woman is covered head to toe in dust. It's a fitting end to a night out in Kashikishi.
