Things that go bump in the night Part 3 (Go tsofala yo ratang)

Keletso Thobega | Wednesday May 27, 2015 16:36

Sometimes as person, you have to lighten up and enjoy your time on earth. As a writer who occasionally “moonlights as a social drinker and socialite”,

I’m always amused by how even the worst dancers think they can imitate Chris Brown moves after taking a few too many drinks. 

I’m reminded of a recent incident that occurred when I visited a popular Gaborone nightspot only to leave the venue with body aches all over. No, I didn’t caught in a night brawl. I danced. If you are surprised that dancing can leave you with pains and aches in the morning, chances are you are still young and agile. I must admit that I’m not as fit, flexible and energetic as I used to be several years ago. I have lost gravity and everything seems to be going south. 

Anyways, when I arrived at this popular joint in the company of a friend I bought my drinks and stood near the DJ booth where I started swaying to the music. As some of you know, the excitement of the golden liquids makes you want to move a bit. 

I was soon joined by what appeared to be a couple. The man had a huge head, which perhaps due to the effect of the poison I was consuming, took on an exaggerated shape that made it look like it could start a conversation with you. I suspect he’s a smart man, good at subjects like science and maths; you know what they say about people with huge heads, right? Let’s cal him Headquarters. The lady with him had her arms out, and had a mouth that could double as a beak, and with her hairstyle, which I hear is called a Mohawk. I decided to name her Chicken Lady because she looked like one.

Since it was noisy, we didn’t introduce each other, but instead started dancing like old friends. 

Not even my Zumba classes are as intense as the dancing that took place.

At some point chicken lady went down and did what seemed like squats, legs criss-crossing, thighs jiggling. Since I don’t like to be outdone, I also pulled my best moves. Just ask my parents, I have always been like that since I was a child – I always want to be the one who excels and wanted to be an excellent dancer. So there I was doing my sbujwa dance moves. 

At one point I did frog hops and kicked in the air like Messi striking a goal.  It was hectic. I also showed off my mangisa, kwasa, skere moves and in the midst of my excitement, the golden liquids swirling in my head spurred me on! My friend was to later tell me that he was scared for me, thinking I would hurt myself or tear my pants from all that jumping and bending. Ha! 

The DJ seemed to get the memo, and played that song that goes, ‘Shumaya, Shumaya eh eh eh eeeeh, shumaya eeee…’ The revelers went crazy, cheering and shouting, some with their arms akimbo, legs apart, jumping and flapping this way and that with their tongues stuck out, and their bottles hanging dangerously mid-air. 

Chicken Lady, Headquarters and I, soon attracted a sizeable crowd. By now, I was tired but had to keep up the momentum with my dance partners to appease the growing crowd.

I felt my knees turn to jelly, and had a sensation as if knife had been pierced into my back. As I panted like an exhausted puppy, I pretended to be doing a unique dance move (my own variation of the moonwalk) and glided backwards and plummeted on the first chair I saw, trying to recollect the trauma I had just put myself through. 

When I looked up, I saw Headquarters and Chicken lady still at it, stomping, jumping and wiggling like their life depended on it. They repeated the same moves over and over again, but the tipsy revelers didn’t seem to mind as the circle got bigger and the moves got more vulgar, what with the wiggling waists and crotches, spread legs and tongues stuck out ala Nigel Amos style.

As I watched them and the other elderly revelers sweating, stomping and gyrating to the music, I realised that indeed, ‘Go tsofala yo o ratang!’