Zimbabwe State of Mind - Nightlife
Last night we went out to experience Harare's night life, get drunk and act irresponsible. We wanted to start a fight, hahahaha, that's what I mean by irresponsible peanut brain. What were you thinking? Rotten mind. We thought we can mess up and blame it on alcohol, on Zambezi and Lion. So, after dinner, which is deliberately white rice and masonja we go to this loudest club on N.Nkrumah Avenue. This pozzie does not have soundproof so you can get serenaded as far as N.Mandela Avenue.
We pop in a find luscious sweating semi-naked senhoritas on stage doing their thing. We get our Zim beers and sit down among the throng to enjoy the show. That's pretty jiggly. This here are yellow bones with jelly-like butts juggled like doughnuts. You'd swear you've seen this booty sway from some porn video somewhere. This episode gets some sloshed bloke peeping like a Tom; trying to get sight of some private hair. The performers are both firm and jiggly and the half-drunk crowd loves it; especially when the dyke like character goes all patriarchal.
After one show we move to another vibey club a kilometre away called Portugal Club. Here's it's unadulterated, no-holds barred, it's even got a strip pole. It's the type of place you want to come to with your friends after polishing two bottles of tequila and Malawian tipped spliffs. Girls in skimpy skirts and tight-fitting pants drink and smoke. They play pool and they think they are the shit until I pop in tokens and kick their ass over and over again. I teach them pool - half sloshed nogal. Here I drink Zambezi beer, dance to old songs and mingle to prying eyes (I'll tell you about this prying someday).
It's humid and sweaty in the club. The mood could be Carribean short of coconut oil and sugar cane, chased down with another bottle of Tequila. Me and my friend we are technically sloshed as we find our way out of the club and responsibility ask if it's time to leave. We are very responsible fathers and uncles of people who need role models so regardless of the nice jiggily types swaying their things and showing love to us. What is love? We catch a cab and rush to our hotel to catch some sleep. Til next time. Maybe then responsibility won't truimph. Maybe then reason might not prevail. But today, stru, it did.
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Last night we went out to experience Harare's night life, get drunk and act irresponsible. We wanted to start a fight, hahahaha, that's what I mean by irresponsible peanut brain. What were you thinking? Rotten mind. We thought we can mess up and blame it on alcohol, on Zambezi and Lion. So, after dinner, which is deliberately white rice and masonja we go to this loudest club on N.Nkrumah Avenue. This pozzie does not have soundproof so you can get serenaded as far as N.Mandela Avenue.
We pop in a find luscious sweating semi-naked senhoritas on stage doing their thing. We get our Zim beers and sit down among the throng to enjoy the show. That's pretty jiggly. This here are yellow bones with jelly-like butts juggled like doughnuts. You'd swear you've seen this booty sway from some porn video somewhere. This episode gets some sloshed bloke peeping like a Tom; trying to get sight of some private hair. The performers are both firm and jiggly and the half-drunk crowd loves it; especially when the dyke like character goes all patriarchal.
After one show we move to another vibey club a kilometre away called Portugal Club. Here's it's unadulterated, no-holds barred, it's even got a strip pole. It's the type of place you want to come to with your friends after polishing two bottles of tequila and Malawian tipped spliffs. Girls in skimpy skirts and tight-fitting pants drink and smoke. They play pool and they think they are the shit until I pop in tokens and kick their ass over and over again. I teach them pool - half sloshed nogal. Here I drink Zambezi beer, dance to old songs and mingle to prying eyes (I'll tell you about this prying someday).It's humid and sweaty in the club. The mood could be Carribean short of coconut oil and sugar cane, chased down with another bottle of Tequila. Me and my friend we are technically sloshed as we find our way out of the club and responsibility ask if it's time to leave. We are very responsible fathers and uncles of people who need role models so regardless of the nice jiggily types swaying their things and showing love to us. What is love? We catch a cab and rush to our hotel to catch some sleep. Til next time. Maybe then responsibility won't truimph. Maybe then reason might not prevail. But today, stru, it did.
TO COMMENT ON THIS POST GO TO OUR FACEBOOK PAGE: THE Kasiekulture BLOG & write your comment on the wall
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