Rasta!/The ubiquity of booze 'n' dancing

I think I’m going to love Rastafarianism. I get to dance.

The Warehouse is a rather charming indoor/outdoor club in the middle of Blantyre that can pack about 2000 if need be. Lucius Banda was, in my previous estimation, the Michael Bolton of these parts. I’ve heard his songs on the radio, and they’re sort of like Baja Men meet the Balding Mullet himself. Thought I’d get a laugh out of his show.

Grabbed some brandy from the grocery store with Nedson (Africans can and do drink. DRINK.) and went. And guess what was great? The music. Opening acts played mostly reggae covers, throw in an occasional trumpet and blues guitar, and ‘twas marvelous. Reggae just suits Africa. As does . . .

Got into a conversation about: Rastafarianism. (The following is probably me getting a bit carried away, but) Yes! Now that’s a way of life for Africa! Handed-down Western Christianity around here kind of gives me the willies. And it’s everywhere. Darned near every white person you meet here is on some sort of Christian quest. But instead of seeing African Christian churches, you naturally see Presbyterian, Assembly of God, and even Baptist churches. New friend sharing my beer crate (chair) tells me that the old guy with long dreads dancing onstage is an old, respected Rasta around these parts. Rastafarianism is a way of life, corollary to Christianity. The king of Ethiopia (kin of the queen of Sheba) started it, and adherents do not eat anything that involves blood (uh, meat). They’re about peace and love. Unity. Regardless of race. Since I can get away with it here, I go, “So even a white guy could be a Rasta?” My friend makes the funny sour face that I’ve come to love. It means “Are you kidding? Of course?” and he says “Yeah, of course!” Score! I love peace. I love love. I love unity. I love regardless of race. I might even have a soft spot for that Jesus guy. The point is, shouldn’t the spread of religion share some ideological ground with “development?” That is, if you want to save souls, shouldn’t you start with what they know/believe and go from there? There’s no way you can convince me that, as brilliant as John Calvin or John Knox were, they deserve to form the ideological foundation for religious practice in Africa.

And my dancing works here! Which leads me back to the music. The concert was joyous. Wonderful. Unbelievable to see the difference between cheesy radio Lucius and in-concert Lucius. I can’t explain it, but the music was good, all of a sudden. And everyone was having fun. Real fun. Dance how you want. Dance with your friends, or with strangers. Mostly I just danced around with my new friends, most of whom were male. I’m also newly convinced that dudes should dance with dudes.

As the evening got sloppier/drunker, the ho’s came. Nedson’s married, and Paul said goodbye to his girlfriend about an hour ago. Not that that stopped anyone from a little grinding. (Except me, Hillary. Ten-foot pole.) Interestingly, the whole thing reminded me of a recent trip to a Hollywood club with friend Lo. Similarities: ho’s who use you to get drinks, male friends getting into fights (blood and everything!), overpriced drinks (stressed-out bartenders too), and the half-drunk advice at the end of the night, from the guy with the girlfriend:
“F_____ bitches, man. She wanted 1000 kwacha.”
(me) “Oh.”
“Just dance with them and then go. They want you to buy them drinks.”
“Yeah, the one awhile ago, she wanted a Stout.”
“That one, she wanted 1000 kwacha for five f_____ minutes.”
“ . . . Well, uh, that’s too bad.” (Trying to change the subject, a little) “Gotta wrap that thing, too, eh? Don’t wanna mess around with that.” (Me feebly trying to be a “good influence”.)
(Paul takes out two condoms and shows them to me. The man’s prepared.)

One thousand kwacha is about $7, by the way. Salaries are substantially lower here, though. $300/month is considered a very good salary, and usually supports a lot of family members. Many people with normal jobs make about $35/month.