"Now, in the post-apartheid era, what is their excuse? Well, this is the great epoch of freedom. And freedom comes with conspicuous consumption and instant gratification: people of his clan don't only wear brands but see themselves as brands. They purchase and market themselves as such."
-Zanemvula Kizito Gatyeni Mda, "Black Diamond"
I catch a cab at the end of my street in Khomasdal, the coloured township of Windhoek. There are already two passengers in it, wishing everyone a happy Independence Day. The cab driver has been listening to some of the celebrations in Mariental being aired on the radio. It is a bunch of speeches from various government officials thanking other government officials. It all sounds kind of dry and I'm glad that I didn't make the trek to Mariental for the festivities and had stayed in Windhoek instead.
The cab driver changes the radio to a music station where the Afrikaner deejay is blathering on about the freedoms we should be thankful for now, like the freedom to go to the mall and shop and the like.
"Freedom," the cab driver snorts. "We are not free here."
"Nee?" I ask. He seems to want to talk.
"We do not have freedom when anyone can walk into our homes, rob our house and attack our women," he says. "This is not freedom. When you are not safe, we are not free."
"Yes, there is a lot of crime," I agree. "There still is a long way to go." I was going to add some dramatic comment about how it is a long walk to freedom, and then realize that someone else had already said it before.
Instead, at that point the cab runs out of petrol and stops at the side of Sam Nujoma Drive. I get out of the cab and walk the rest of the way. I feel bad leaving the cab stranded there on the road, but I am late.
I meet briefly with my old landlord, an old German man who tells me how his family used to go to Angola on vacation to get away from the apartheid regime. "It felt so free there," he says, "for those of us who were a little more liberal-minded and didn't agree with the system." He tells me how the black Angolans used to come up to his small blonde children, fascinated, and ask permission to touch their hair.
Afterwards, I meet up with A, who has been out of town working on a study of the behaviour of men who have sex with men, some still closeted, to assess their risk in terms of HIV exposure. We head over to Singles Quarters the Katutura township to have kapana for lunch.
Singles Quarters is where the apartheid regime had kept their male labourers, separate from their wives and families, while they worked. Now it is a giant meat market where you can also get delicious kapana. We pass a cow's skull on the ground and approach one of the stands where a man was cooking his meat. He invites us to sample a piece of beef. It agrees with A., who then orders sixty namibian dollars worth of meat, which the man finishes cooking on his grill and then wraps up in newspaper before handing it to us. L runs to another stand in the market to purchase some diced tomatoes to go on the side, and we sit ourselves at a nearby table to enjoy kapana with some Fanta. As a Korean-Canadian, I'll always be biased toward Korean barbecue, but kapana is still quite good. I eat a piece that is pure fat (it looks like a baked potato) and am struck in wonder how how full of flavour it is. I am suddenly afraid I might become Jack Sprat's wife who eats no lean.
By that point, AN and S. have joined us, and we decide to spend the afternoon at Goreangab Dam. On the way, we spot F partying on a balcony, so we pick her up and bring her along.
Goreangab is jumping; all of Katutura's residents are out celebrating Independence Day. We give up trying to find a spot at a picnic table and instead park our cars under the shade of a tree. We open the trunk and sit on the bumper, blasting kwaito rap and drinking beers. AN remarks that it feels like an awful lot like American tailgating. To me, it feel like high school for some reason and I find it comforting.
The two Oshiwambo girls F and L are wishing everyone a Happy Independence Day. F has been celebrating all night, dancing in the shebeens until 5:30AM and then starting up again at 7AM. She looks totally punk rock. I resolve to do the same for Canada Day.
Everyone is having a good time, drinking, partying, dancing to great Namibian tunes like Gazza. At one point, a pickup truck full of guys backs up straight at us and hits the tree dead on, barely missing AN and leaving a huge dent in the back of the truck. Nobody seems to care, and the drivers drives off as nonchalantly as he can. I envision him telling drunk stories later that night about how a tree had come out of nowhere and rear-ended him.
"Happy Independence Day," F says again, cracking open another beer. I look at the lot of us and feel thankful about our freedom to do this, in our independence after apartheid, to hang out with our friends, a mix of whites, blacks, asians.
Soon the weather takes a turn for the worse - not just rain, but thunder and lightning. F squeals and dives into the trunk of A.'s car, insisting that it's time to move, anywhere, anywhere indoors. We pile into A.'s fake sports car and An. and S.'s station wagon and go to one of the dozens of shebeens on Eveline Street. Eveline Street is like Newfoundland's George Street, heavily concentrated in rowdy bars, but Katutura-style. Seems like every shebeen is also a car wash or a barbershop. Three fun things to do in Katutura: drink beer, wash your car, and get your hair done. You'd think we were deep in Texas.
The rain is coming down hard and everyone's looking for shelter. I order a cheap Windhoek Lager that costs barely over a dollar and look at the tin walls and the tin roof and the bodies all pressed against each other, girls dancing on the floor, guys chatting with each other while sitting on the pool table. I feel a bit claustrophobic but at least we are out of the rain.
Once the rain lets up, F. convinces us to squeeze into the station wagon and drive around Katutura to find some cute boys that she had met the night before. Instead, we end up finding T at Druzo's. By that point I feel like I've done enough drinking for the day so I decide to head home to "my" neighbourhood, Khomasdal, the township where coloured people lived during apartheid. L and F give me one more hug and one more happy independence day, and then we depart. This is the last time I'm going to see them before I leave Namibia.
At home, N is waiting for me, ready to cook a risotto as my last dinner in Namibia. We pick up some drinks at the neighbourhood shebeen Benny's so we have some beers for the night, and then M and W come over just in time to drink it. N serves the risotto which is delicious. ZK refuses to eat it because the dish is vegetarian and he is Herero and Hereros apparently only consider meat to be food. M is also a self-identified Herero, but he doesn't pass up a good free meal.
I try to make a toast. "Happy Independence Day," I say without thinking, and then my voice falters. "...do you guys do Independence Day?"
And then ensues a heated debate between Hereros M and ZK, and W with her mixed background. I should have known better than to bring up patriotic rhetoric in front of queer Herero folks, but then I've been partying with Oshiwambo girls all day.
"Independence Day is the one day I tell my white boyfriend to leave me alone," W replies.
"No," M says at the same time. "Independence Day is what Ovambos celebrate."
"Oh, Hereros have to come off that," W says. "You guys have got to stop whining."
"We were the first ones to fight," M replies. "Back when everyone was still trying to figure out what to do, we were already here on the ground fighting. And now what? The Ovambos are in power and wasting our money, paying fifty thousand namibian dollars to exile kids like you."
M is referring to the fact that W had been sent out of the country as a child for safety reasons until after Independence. "You're talking about wasting money?" W retorts. "Who spent millions of dollars sending a bunch of representatives to Germany to retrieve like ten skulls? How many Hereros does it take to carry some skulls anyway?"
All throughout this, ZK is emphatically punctuating all these comments with his own exclamations of approval or disapproval. He's eighteen years old and was born after Independence, which is hard to think about. I can barely follow along the debate. Meanwhile, in all the excitement, N has accidentally sliced his hand open on a broken bottle neck of a beer and is bleeding all over the kitchen floor.
"Are you okay with blood?" he asks me, holding his hand with his other hand.
"Yes," I lie, closing my eyes. He instructs me to tear off a cloth strip from an old shirt so he can wrap it around his hand, which just won't stop bleeding. That's when I find out he is a doctor, having just completed a fellowship at Harvard.
The political debate in the kitchen ends when W checks her phone and discovers that one of her (many) admirers have sent her a, shall we say, adult photo. We then discuss how she should reply. Eventually we decdie to send her a series of close-up phtoos of other body parts: M's beard, ZK's nostril, my shoulder, and N's bloody finger. Two black guys, a white guy, and an Asian woman. Happy Independence Day. W's suitor replies that he wishes the photos were clearer.
At that point of the night, all of the day's drinking has left me sleepy and I find myself curling up on my mattress on the floor, turning in early on my own good-bye dinner. N thoughtfully closes the door and I sleep while the others keep drinking.
I wake up at one point in the night to hear my friends still talking in the kitchen. W and N are discussing what their notions of freedoms are, and whether they think they are free. They conclude that they are. I want to get out of bed to join in this discussion, but realize I have nothing to add. Instead I snuggle into my covers and think about where I am. I think about W and N, one an exile kid smuggled out of the country while being shot at during the war against apartheid only to return a decade later to a home she no longer recognize; and the other one having spent his childhood caught in the Bosnian war and then his adolescence with his town under fire and not being able to go to school. And then I think about me, having never lived through war and free to come to Africa and leave as I please. I think about how if they are free, then obviously I am, and I am grateful for it.
Showing posts with label windhoek. Show all posts
Showing posts with label windhoek. Show all posts
Monday, April 2, 2012
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
sundowner at rivers crossing, sunrising in khomasdal
I'd always heard that Rivers Crossing was a beautiful spot for a sundowner, but hadn't had a chance to check it out because the lodge is about five kilometres out of Windhoek and you need a car to get there - a nice sturdy one too, to make it over the rocky gravel roads.
Luckily, on one of my last nights in Windhoek, AN and S invited me to go for a sundowner with them. They have a nice study car. A station wagon, inf act, which fascinates Namibians everywhere, as they keep offering to buy it off S. They don't really have stations wagons here. I like AN and S because they let me intrude on their cool dates.
I love sundowners. It's a tradition I'd like to bring back to Ottawa. Basically you get to a high spot, and then you have a drink as you watch the sun go down. This may be a bit difficult in Otttawa, which is very flat and has no tall mountains.
We were seated at a table outside next to a swimming pool. I'm pretty sure this pool has the best view that any swimming pool in the world has. It was eerily silent on the top of the mountain at Rivers Crossing, with everything calm and still except for the wind blowing in our faces. It was chilly. AN and I had forgotten our sweaters, so the waiter gave us towels to wrap ourselves up from the cold. I couldn't tell whether we looked extremely cool, like the babes on Baywatch, or extremely dorky, wearing towels at a posh place.
The sunset was absolutely breathtaking. What is it about sunrise and sunsets that fascinate humans so much? Is it part of our fixation on changes in nature, like equinoxes and solstices, watching day turn into night and then back to day? Or does the sunset signify a socially acceptable time to start drinking without being judged as a boozer?
Whatever it is, the sunset at Rivers Crossing was pretty great. It's the rainy season in Windhoek so there were enough clouds in the sky, reflecting pink streaks from the sunset. It was an incredible sight: on one side of the horizon was the setting sun. On the other side of the horizon facing the sunset was a double rainbow.
(OMG WHAT DOES IT MEAN)
You could see the sprawling city of Windhoek in the distance, streetlights on and blinking. It was a very romantic moment for S and AN. And me, the third.
After the dark settled in, I had a very different night in Khomasdal, my new neighbourhood. I went out with nenad, WK, and Wi11be to Wells', a neighbourhood bar in Khomasdal, and incidentally, the first bar I had ever been taken to when I first arrived in Windhoek. As usual, the sight of an Asian woman in a coloured bar drew some attention from the locals, which produced the following conversation
man: Nee hau.
me: What?
man: Nee hau.
me: Why are you meowing at me like a cat? Woof woof.
This is my #1 most common conversation with Namibian strangers. #2 is the following:
man: So are you from China?
me: No, I'm from Canada.
man: Oh, you must take me to Canada.
me: Why do you want to go to Canad? It's very cold in Canada
man: It can be cold in Namibia too! Sometimes it gets down to 10 degrees.
(gloria suddenly starts laughing like a hyena)
Nevertheless, I have great conversations. We stayed out for a couple of drinks, and then hitched a ride home with ZK's old friend from high school, which, as I found out, was actually only last year. It was a bit odd getting teenagers to drive me home - I feel like the natural order of life should make it the other way around. At any rate, we rode home in the back of his pickup truck, which looks like a really cool thing to do but is actually quite uncomfortable. And then everyone stayed up for more drinks and conversation until the sun rose.
Luckily, on one of my last nights in Windhoek, AN and S invited me to go for a sundowner with them. They have a nice study car. A station wagon, inf act, which fascinates Namibians everywhere, as they keep offering to buy it off S. They don't really have stations wagons here. I like AN and S because they let me intrude on their cool dates.
I love sundowners. It's a tradition I'd like to bring back to Ottawa. Basically you get to a high spot, and then you have a drink as you watch the sun go down. This may be a bit difficult in Otttawa, which is very flat and has no tall mountains.
We were seated at a table outside next to a swimming pool. I'm pretty sure this pool has the best view that any swimming pool in the world has. It was eerily silent on the top of the mountain at Rivers Crossing, with everything calm and still except for the wind blowing in our faces. It was chilly. AN and I had forgotten our sweaters, so the waiter gave us towels to wrap ourselves up from the cold. I couldn't tell whether we looked extremely cool, like the babes on Baywatch, or extremely dorky, wearing towels at a posh place.
The sunset was absolutely breathtaking. What is it about sunrise and sunsets that fascinate humans so much? Is it part of our fixation on changes in nature, like equinoxes and solstices, watching day turn into night and then back to day? Or does the sunset signify a socially acceptable time to start drinking without being judged as a boozer?
Whatever it is, the sunset at Rivers Crossing was pretty great. It's the rainy season in Windhoek so there were enough clouds in the sky, reflecting pink streaks from the sunset. It was an incredible sight: on one side of the horizon was the setting sun. On the other side of the horizon facing the sunset was a double rainbow.
(OMG WHAT DOES IT MEAN)
You could see the sprawling city of Windhoek in the distance, streetlights on and blinking. It was a very romantic moment for S and AN. And me, the third.
After the dark settled in, I had a very different night in Khomasdal, my new neighbourhood. I went out with nenad, WK, and Wi11be to Wells', a neighbourhood bar in Khomasdal, and incidentally, the first bar I had ever been taken to when I first arrived in Windhoek. As usual, the sight of an Asian woman in a coloured bar drew some attention from the locals, which produced the following conversation
man: Nee hau.
me: What?
man: Nee hau.
me: Why are you meowing at me like a cat? Woof woof.
This is my #1 most common conversation with Namibian strangers. #2 is the following:
man: So are you from China?
me: No, I'm from Canada.
man: Oh, you must take me to Canada.
me: Why do you want to go to Canad? It's very cold in Canada
man: It can be cold in Namibia too! Sometimes it gets down to 10 degrees.
(gloria suddenly starts laughing like a hyena)
Nevertheless, I have great conversations. We stayed out for a couple of drinks, and then hitched a ride home with ZK's old friend from high school, which, as I found out, was actually only last year. It was a bit odd getting teenagers to drive me home - I feel like the natural order of life should make it the other way around. At any rate, we rode home in the back of his pickup truck, which looks like a really cool thing to do but is actually quite uncomfortable. And then everyone stayed up for more drinks and conversation until the sun rose.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
the namibian children send me off with song and dance
My last days at the Bernard Noordkamp Centre, the after school program in Katutura that I've been volunteering at, has been one of the most beautiful moments during my stay in Namibia.
I arrived on one of my last days, with the intention of reading to the kids about the dangers of young people drinking (ironically, i had plans to go to the bar afterwards) when I discovered that the children had prepared a concert for volunteers like me who were leaving. They formed a choir of about fifty kids, all between grade 1 to 7 (with a few older kids helping to lead), and musical accompaniment only in the form of one girl hitting a drum.
It was absolutely adorable.
I always love listening to Namibians sing, because it seems like they all love to sing. Unlike many North Americans who needed to be pumped full of liqur and standing in front of a karaoke machine, many Namibians will sing, just because you ask them to, and they'll often break out into spontaneous harmony as well as call-and-response. I'm also impressed by their ability to dance in coordination with the music, which is something I've never really gotten the hang of myself. I just can't get enough of it. Especially with children singing. I love the sound of children's voices.
the kids sang a variety of songs in different African languages, many of them being spiritual songs, as I gathered from all the references to Jesus.
The children ended their concert with a touching song that was specially sung for us.
"good-bye our dear friends,
we shall never forget you
good-bye our dear friends
we shall never forget you
although you are very far
we shall never forget you..."
At the end of the song, they all filed off stage in a single line and gave me a hug. Every single kid in the program. All one hundred and fifty or so of them. That was a lot of hugs. Some of the kids were crying because they were upset about us leaving. I thought my heart was going to break. I may or may not have also had a tear in my eye.
the drummer
dancing
the biggest smile I've ever seen on Marybeth's face.
I decided to give back to the kids by giving my own little performance, in form of a singalong. I taught the kids a few North American classics such as "There was an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly", "There's a Hole in my Bucket", the theme song from the Elephant Show, and of course, "A Pizza Hut" (the consumerist junk food addict in me can't help but come out sometimes). The kids had never heard of these songs before, but they learned quickly and were singing the songs well after the concert - especially the Pizza Hut song.
My favourite moment was when, in a moment of pure selfishness, I taught them the harmony parts for my band's song "See Me". The kids loved that tune too.
The music of Scary Bear Soundtrack has never sounded so good, being sung by sixty cute Namibian schoolchildren.
It was an absolutely lovely way to send me off. Thanks for all the good times and the good music, Namibia.
I arrived on one of my last days, with the intention of reading to the kids about the dangers of young people drinking (ironically, i had plans to go to the bar afterwards) when I discovered that the children had prepared a concert for volunteers like me who were leaving. They formed a choir of about fifty kids, all between grade 1 to 7 (with a few older kids helping to lead), and musical accompaniment only in the form of one girl hitting a drum.
It was absolutely adorable.
I always love listening to Namibians sing, because it seems like they all love to sing. Unlike many North Americans who needed to be pumped full of liqur and standing in front of a karaoke machine, many Namibians will sing, just because you ask them to, and they'll often break out into spontaneous harmony as well as call-and-response. I'm also impressed by their ability to dance in coordination with the music, which is something I've never really gotten the hang of myself. I just can't get enough of it. Especially with children singing. I love the sound of children's voices.
the kids sang a variety of songs in different African languages, many of them being spiritual songs, as I gathered from all the references to Jesus.
The children ended their concert with a touching song that was specially sung for us.
"good-bye our dear friends,
we shall never forget you
good-bye our dear friends
we shall never forget you
although you are very far
we shall never forget you..."
At the end of the song, they all filed off stage in a single line and gave me a hug. Every single kid in the program. All one hundred and fifty or so of them. That was a lot of hugs. Some of the kids were crying because they were upset about us leaving. I thought my heart was going to break. I may or may not have also had a tear in my eye.
the drummer
dancing
the biggest smile I've ever seen on Marybeth's face.
I decided to give back to the kids by giving my own little performance, in form of a singalong. I taught the kids a few North American classics such as "There was an Old Lady who Swallowed a Fly", "There's a Hole in my Bucket", the theme song from the Elephant Show, and of course, "A Pizza Hut" (the consumerist junk food addict in me can't help but come out sometimes). The kids had never heard of these songs before, but they learned quickly and were singing the songs well after the concert - especially the Pizza Hut song.
My favourite moment was when, in a moment of pure selfishness, I taught them the harmony parts for my band's song "See Me". The kids loved that tune too.
The music of Scary Bear Soundtrack has never sounded so good, being sung by sixty cute Namibian schoolchildren.
It was an absolutely lovely way to send me off. Thanks for all the good times and the good music, Namibia.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
the lawyer tries on an economist's hat
"Who wants to go to a meeting reviewing the national budget?" my boss asked.
"I do!" said everyone in the office. We immediately began to fistfight each other to the death.
No. Of course not. I was the only one who volunteered, because I am the only one who thinks "I have no idea what that's about. That means it'll be interesting!" Some call me a go-getter. Others call me a sucker. I myself am undecided.
I was being sent to a meeting with Members of Parliament, the business community, national media, and various civil society organisations at the Hotel Furstenhof for a briefing of the National Budget which had been tabled in Parliament last Tuesday. This was going to be interesting in its own way. I have a theory that lawyers are people that you pay to read all the stuff you find too boring to read yourself. Economists and financial analysts, however, are a different breed of the same type, and a lot of times theirs is a language I do not speak.
"Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?" I asked.
"Not sure. We haven't sent anyone to these things before," was the reply.
Like I said, I took this as a sign that it was going to be interesting.
I arrived at the conference room a half hour earlier than the scheduled start, which meant I was an hour earlier than everyone else, who was running on Namibian time. Luckily there was free coffee. I was also given a notepad from the hotel in which I discovered someone had written in the last few pages various pieces of bizarre advice on how to entertain yourself while bored ("Try not to think about polar bears." "See how long you can hold your breath." "Hurt yourself.") I also saw that a hotel buffet lunch was going to be served at the end of the meeting, which made me decide that I was not going to leave the briefing early.
Eventually the meeting started and the National Budget was analyzed by the Ministry of Finance. The theme of the this year's National Budget is “Fiscal Sustainability and Job Creation: Going More with Less”, a theme clearly written by a finance major and not marketing folks. Unfortunately, NBC's cameraman decided to stand directly in front of me, blocking my view of the speaker as well as the powerpoint slide. Some of the MPs complained. They solved this problem by handing out photocopies of the slides, but the copies ran out before they reached me. I felt like it might have just been easier to ask the cameraman to move. You are a Parliamentarian, after all.
One interesting thing I've noticed about Namibians is their love of their mobile phones. In North America, the polite thing is to turn off your phone during movies and meetings. In Namibia, the polite thing is to answer the phone during the meeting but try to whisper your phone conversation as quietly as possible. But it doesn't actually involve putting it on vibrate.
My task at this briefing was to try to understand the budget and report on the implications it would have on gender issues. The difficulty, however, was twofold. First of all, none of the figures in the budget were being presented along gender dimensions. Second of all, unlike the stereotypical image that people have of Asians, I am actually not that good with numbers, having never taken finance courses or an economics degree. Not only was I unfamiliar with acronyms like TIPEEG and MTEF, but entire paragraphs of the budget speech seemed like gibberish to me at times. Also, by the second hour in, I'd had three cups of coffee and was watching my eyeballs twitch, creating an interesting light show inside my eyelids.
In the end, instead of relying on the briefings summarizing the key points of the budget at the meeting, I ended up going home and looking at the original budget documents myself to make sense of them and to assemble the stuff I thought my organisation might be interested in. But at least I got to have a buffet lunch at the hotel.
"I do!" said everyone in the office. We immediately began to fistfight each other to the death.
No. Of course not. I was the only one who volunteered, because I am the only one who thinks "I have no idea what that's about. That means it'll be interesting!" Some call me a go-getter. Others call me a sucker. I myself am undecided.
I was being sent to a meeting with Members of Parliament, the business community, national media, and various civil society organisations at the Hotel Furstenhof for a briefing of the National Budget which had been tabled in Parliament last Tuesday. This was going to be interesting in its own way. I have a theory that lawyers are people that you pay to read all the stuff you find too boring to read yourself. Economists and financial analysts, however, are a different breed of the same type, and a lot of times theirs is a language I do not speak.
"Is there anything in particular I should be looking for?" I asked.
"Not sure. We haven't sent anyone to these things before," was the reply.
Like I said, I took this as a sign that it was going to be interesting.
I arrived at the conference room a half hour earlier than the scheduled start, which meant I was an hour earlier than everyone else, who was running on Namibian time. Luckily there was free coffee. I was also given a notepad from the hotel in which I discovered someone had written in the last few pages various pieces of bizarre advice on how to entertain yourself while bored ("Try not to think about polar bears." "See how long you can hold your breath." "Hurt yourself.") I also saw that a hotel buffet lunch was going to be served at the end of the meeting, which made me decide that I was not going to leave the briefing early.
Eventually the meeting started and the National Budget was analyzed by the Ministry of Finance. The theme of the this year's National Budget is “Fiscal Sustainability and Job Creation: Going More with Less”, a theme clearly written by a finance major and not marketing folks. Unfortunately, NBC's cameraman decided to stand directly in front of me, blocking my view of the speaker as well as the powerpoint slide. Some of the MPs complained. They solved this problem by handing out photocopies of the slides, but the copies ran out before they reached me. I felt like it might have just been easier to ask the cameraman to move. You are a Parliamentarian, after all.
One interesting thing I've noticed about Namibians is their love of their mobile phones. In North America, the polite thing is to turn off your phone during movies and meetings. In Namibia, the polite thing is to answer the phone during the meeting but try to whisper your phone conversation as quietly as possible. But it doesn't actually involve putting it on vibrate.
My task at this briefing was to try to understand the budget and report on the implications it would have on gender issues. The difficulty, however, was twofold. First of all, none of the figures in the budget were being presented along gender dimensions. Second of all, unlike the stereotypical image that people have of Asians, I am actually not that good with numbers, having never taken finance courses or an economics degree. Not only was I unfamiliar with acronyms like TIPEEG and MTEF, but entire paragraphs of the budget speech seemed like gibberish to me at times. Also, by the second hour in, I'd had three cups of coffee and was watching my eyeballs twitch, creating an interesting light show inside my eyelids.
In the end, instead of relying on the briefings summarizing the key points of the budget at the meeting, I ended up going home and looking at the original budget documents myself to make sense of them and to assemble the stuff I thought my organisation might be interested in. But at least I got to have a buffet lunch at the hotel.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
The queer side of town
Despite the fact that tolerance of LGBTI rights in Namibia still has a long way to go (case in point: apparently the police dockets recording Mr. Gay Namibia’s assault have vanished), there still is a thriving LGBTI social scene in Namibia, even if it’s not quite as overt as, say, The Village in Toronto. Namibia’s first beauty pageant for gay men, one of my most fun nights in Namibia, was a great reminder of that.
I’m always surprised at how much there is going on here in Windhoek, given the generally not-so-friendly political attitudes of mainstream Namibian society towards homosexuality. Besides gay beauty pageants, there are numerous activist organizations such as LGBT Network Namibia, Out-Right Namibia, and the pro-lesbian feminist Sister Namibia. There’s even an LGBTI travel agency catering to international travelers. I’ve had the chance to meet all sorts of folks from Namibia’s LGBTI community, young, older, Afrikaner, black, coloured, foreigner, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender – it’s quite the rainbow. I’ve also had the chance to check out some of the unofficial LGBTI hang out spots.
One of these places was Sulie’s, a bar deep in the heart of the Katutura township where the black and coloured LGBTI folks like to frequent. It’s nothing like the North American or European gay clubs– no flamboyant flash, disco dazzle or even rainbows. Instead, it’s just a tin-walled place on a residential street, looking almost like any random shebeen in Katutura, with kwaito hiphop music and men sitting on wooden benches, talking to women – until you realize some of the high-heeled women in the bar are actually drag queens.
note: W, not a drag queen.
I met up with W, Micheal, and Solomon at Sulie’s. This was perhaps ironically after I'd spoken to a class of grade seven kids at an after school program about the dangers of young people drinking alcohol. Micheal was a bit nervous about taking me there. Like most places in Katutura, any white person there tended to stick out like a sore thumb, and an Asian woman even more so. There still is quite the divide between the black and white gay communities in Namibia. This was a regular hangout spot for locals (albeit LGBTI locals), not a tourist destination, so to attract too much attention to yourself always ran the risk of being robbed. Luckily, nobody paid much attention to me once we got in the bar, and we sat down on a wooden bench in the hallway with our Windhoek Lager. It was a pretty neat sight, but I felt like it would be a bad idea to take out my camera and start playing tourist.
barbed wires everywhere, as usual
Micheal introduced me to a beautiful but shy drag queen, who ran away soon after telling me her name.
W told me I had to check out the bathrooms. They were like the toilets you’d find at a lot of the bars here – no lights, no lock, no toilet paper, and definitely no desire to do anything but squat over it – but the nature of the graffiti on the bathroom walls were just a little bit different.
view from the loo
it seems like Namibia's LGBTI scene has its own peculiarities - the segregation of communities by race, for example, I guess as a leftover from the apartheid area. Although there are plenty of interracial couples and international hookups, it seems like as communities, the blacks and whites are seperate and hang out in seperate spaces. On the other hand, some things seem to be universal, such as complaints about your ex, and dramatic complications arising from one's friends all dating each other.
Another place I checked out was “Gay Night” at King’s Jazz, located closer to my end of town in Ausspannplatz. King’s is not a gay bar. It’s a sports and gambling bar, which to me strikes me as a pretty heterosexual male kind of thing. But I recently found out through the community that Wednesday nights were the new gay night.
“I’m not going to go to Gay Night,” I declared. “I’m tired and it’s Wednesday.”
“But they have five dollar shooters,” W told me.*
“Okay, fine, I’ll go.”
*Five Namibian dollars is less than one Canadian dollar.
It was an odd setting. There were a few coloured lesbians smoking near the patio, a few young gay couples dancing, and a number of regulars gambling on the slot machines and watching the rugby game on the big screen TV. You gotta love the random juxtapositions that you find in this city sometimes.
W and me, being fabulous, as a dude watches sports behind us
micheal says I'm going to pretend I'm not grossed out by Gloria invading my personal space
The music was definitely a lot more of what I’d expect from a gay club like Stonewall’s – Tina Tiner, Whitney Houston, even a sprinkling of Village People. It was mostly just us on the dance floor though. Maybe because North American flamboyancy isn’t the same as African flamboyancy. Maybe because folks still aren’t comfortable coming out in a generally straight space. Or maybe because it was a Wednesday.
I’m always surprised at how much there is going on here in Windhoek, given the generally not-so-friendly political attitudes of mainstream Namibian society towards homosexuality. Besides gay beauty pageants, there are numerous activist organizations such as LGBT Network Namibia, Out-Right Namibia, and the pro-lesbian feminist Sister Namibia. There’s even an LGBTI travel agency catering to international travelers. I’ve had the chance to meet all sorts of folks from Namibia’s LGBTI community, young, older, Afrikaner, black, coloured, foreigner, gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender – it’s quite the rainbow. I’ve also had the chance to check out some of the unofficial LGBTI hang out spots.
One of these places was Sulie’s, a bar deep in the heart of the Katutura township where the black and coloured LGBTI folks like to frequent. It’s nothing like the North American or European gay clubs– no flamboyant flash, disco dazzle or even rainbows. Instead, it’s just a tin-walled place on a residential street, looking almost like any random shebeen in Katutura, with kwaito hiphop music and men sitting on wooden benches, talking to women – until you realize some of the high-heeled women in the bar are actually drag queens.
note: W, not a drag queen.
I met up with W, Micheal, and Solomon at Sulie’s. This was perhaps ironically after I'd spoken to a class of grade seven kids at an after school program about the dangers of young people drinking alcohol. Micheal was a bit nervous about taking me there. Like most places in Katutura, any white person there tended to stick out like a sore thumb, and an Asian woman even more so. There still is quite the divide between the black and white gay communities in Namibia. This was a regular hangout spot for locals (albeit LGBTI locals), not a tourist destination, so to attract too much attention to yourself always ran the risk of being robbed. Luckily, nobody paid much attention to me once we got in the bar, and we sat down on a wooden bench in the hallway with our Windhoek Lager. It was a pretty neat sight, but I felt like it would be a bad idea to take out my camera and start playing tourist.
barbed wires everywhere, as usual
Micheal introduced me to a beautiful but shy drag queen, who ran away soon after telling me her name.
W told me I had to check out the bathrooms. They were like the toilets you’d find at a lot of the bars here – no lights, no lock, no toilet paper, and definitely no desire to do anything but squat over it – but the nature of the graffiti on the bathroom walls were just a little bit different.
view from the loo
it seems like Namibia's LGBTI scene has its own peculiarities - the segregation of communities by race, for example, I guess as a leftover from the apartheid area. Although there are plenty of interracial couples and international hookups, it seems like as communities, the blacks and whites are seperate and hang out in seperate spaces. On the other hand, some things seem to be universal, such as complaints about your ex, and dramatic complications arising from one's friends all dating each other.
Another place I checked out was “Gay Night” at King’s Jazz, located closer to my end of town in Ausspannplatz. King’s is not a gay bar. It’s a sports and gambling bar, which to me strikes me as a pretty heterosexual male kind of thing. But I recently found out through the community that Wednesday nights were the new gay night.
“I’m not going to go to Gay Night,” I declared. “I’m tired and it’s Wednesday.”
“But they have five dollar shooters,” W told me.*
“Okay, fine, I’ll go.”
*Five Namibian dollars is less than one Canadian dollar.
It was an odd setting. There were a few coloured lesbians smoking near the patio, a few young gay couples dancing, and a number of regulars gambling on the slot machines and watching the rugby game on the big screen TV. You gotta love the random juxtapositions that you find in this city sometimes.
W and me, being fabulous, as a dude watches sports behind us
micheal says I'm going to pretend I'm not grossed out by Gloria invading my personal space
The music was definitely a lot more of what I’d expect from a gay club like Stonewall’s – Tina Tiner, Whitney Houston, even a sprinkling of Village People. It was mostly just us on the dance floor though. Maybe because North American flamboyancy isn’t the same as African flamboyancy. Maybe because folks still aren’t comfortable coming out in a generally straight space. Or maybe because it was a Wednesday.
Monday, February 27, 2012
weekend parties in the townships
"When it's time to party, we will party hard."
-Andrew W.K.
My original plan for Friday night was to go see Gazza play in Katutura, but Mark’s nice Herero friend Nelson warned me against it, informing me that it was being held in a venue that was far too small for the crowd that was going to show up, and that it could get ugly. I imagine that could have ended up an interesting story to tell, but remembering what happened the last time I saw Gazza, decided not to and instead called up F and L to see what they were up to.
me and frieda
I met up with the girls at Jokers, and from there we moved on to Nessi Park bar, this little hole in the wall that wasn’t much more than a shebeen, deep in the heart of Katutura (the black township). There we joined the rest of the guys who were passing around biltong and a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. This was the first KFC I’d eaten in over half a year. It was delicious, especially with a side of biltong. The KFC in Katutura, by the way is one of the few places that are open late at night, and the drive-thru is as busy and packed as a night club on a weekend night.
It was a cosy bar, lively despite its modest size, with a jukebox chained to the wall where for one rand, Namibians could play their favourite songs from albums with titles like Vaar was Jy?. Even though I didn’t recognize any music from the jukebox (they didn’t seem to have Gazza), I was reminded of how much I love jukeboxes, and wish they were more prevalent in North America.
It was a pretty fun night, chatting up various folks, although for some reason the conversation kept turning to the subject of death. I remember reading in Heather Keachie’s blog that sometimes people in the Gambia just die, and you have to accept it as part of life. With the high rate of both HIV/AIDS and road accidents in Namibia, it seems like Namibians have to face death more often as well, especially since the average life expectancy is so shockingly low, around 50, for a country that was relatively developed as Namibia. Anyway, it means that I’ll often have surprising conversations like this:
Me: How are you doing?
Person: Oh, not bad. Kind of hungover still.
Me: Oh yeah?
Person: Yeah, my cousin shot himself last weekend, so we had the funeral.
Me: What?
Person: It’s not that bad. We partied. He told us to, in his suicide note. He said, Live life. Have fun.
Me: What?
Person: Should we get more tequila shots?
Or this:
Person: …And that’s where they found him.
Me: Hey, what are you guys talking about?
Person: My ex-boyfriend died in a car accident a while ago.
Me: ....what?
Person: Well, he was my boyfriend at the time. Of four years. But you know, you have to move on. At first I thought I could never love again, but you just have to move on.
Me: That's terrible to hear!
Person: Would you like another drink?
Anyway. Eventually the gang decided to move back to Jokers to shoot pool and shoot tequila. Thaddeus insisted on dancing, even though it was a pool hall. I ordered pizza.
this beer ad is kind of weird. why are you watching me?
Saturday was my coworker E’s birthday party. It was a proper Namibian birthday party, as in it started at noon and ended around sunrise the next day. Namibians have a party stamina like you would not believe. The party was held at S’s house in Khomasdal, the township that was originally designated for coloured people. It was about twenty women and Dean, who for some reason decided to spray his head like a half-hearted blind clown.
the smoking section at the party
little boys trying to sneak into the party
me and the birthday girl
singing happy birthday to emmerentia
As usual there was a lot of music and singing and dancing. S has a karaoke machine, so people went to town on it, even the baby.
At one point, someone put on Gazza's song "Seelima" and everyone was doing the dance around the living room. It was pretty awesome, almost as good as be able to see him live. I love watching people here dance.
teaching the baby to dance
even the little boys are amazing dancers
My favourite part of the party, however, was waiting for potjiekos. I have come to the conclusion that potjiekos is basically culinary torture. It's a southern African stew that is cooked outside in a cast iron pot called a potjie that seriously remind me of the Korean stone pots that my favourite dish soondubu chigae (soft tofu stew) is cooked in. Anyway, potjiekos is absolutely delicious but it takes a long time to prepare and it's cooked very very slowly...for hours. and hours. Basically, you sit around the pot, drink beer, chat, throw some more ingredients, drink, chat, dance, throw more ingredients in, and wait and wait and wait and wait for it to cook. And the whole time it smells absolutely delicious. It's torture, I tell you.
soondubu in traditional Korean stone pot
potjie
BOTH DELICIOUS
If anybody would like to buy me a potjie as a wedding present, they are totally welcome.
let's get a party going
now it's time to party and we'll party hard
let's get a party going
when it's time to party we will always party hard
party hard party hard, party hard, party hard party hard,
party hard, party hard party hard, party hard, party hard...
-Andrew W.K., "Party Hard"
-Andrew W.K.
My original plan for Friday night was to go see Gazza play in Katutura, but Mark’s nice Herero friend Nelson warned me against it, informing me that it was being held in a venue that was far too small for the crowd that was going to show up, and that it could get ugly. I imagine that could have ended up an interesting story to tell, but remembering what happened the last time I saw Gazza, decided not to and instead called up F and L to see what they were up to.
me and frieda
I met up with the girls at Jokers, and from there we moved on to Nessi Park bar, this little hole in the wall that wasn’t much more than a shebeen, deep in the heart of Katutura (the black township). There we joined the rest of the guys who were passing around biltong and a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. This was the first KFC I’d eaten in over half a year. It was delicious, especially with a side of biltong. The KFC in Katutura, by the way is one of the few places that are open late at night, and the drive-thru is as busy and packed as a night club on a weekend night.
It was a cosy bar, lively despite its modest size, with a jukebox chained to the wall where for one rand, Namibians could play their favourite songs from albums with titles like Vaar was Jy?. Even though I didn’t recognize any music from the jukebox (they didn’t seem to have Gazza), I was reminded of how much I love jukeboxes, and wish they were more prevalent in North America.
It was a pretty fun night, chatting up various folks, although for some reason the conversation kept turning to the subject of death. I remember reading in Heather Keachie’s blog that sometimes people in the Gambia just die, and you have to accept it as part of life. With the high rate of both HIV/AIDS and road accidents in Namibia, it seems like Namibians have to face death more often as well, especially since the average life expectancy is so shockingly low, around 50, for a country that was relatively developed as Namibia. Anyway, it means that I’ll often have surprising conversations like this:
Me: How are you doing?
Person: Oh, not bad. Kind of hungover still.
Me: Oh yeah?
Person: Yeah, my cousin shot himself last weekend, so we had the funeral.
Me: What?
Person: It’s not that bad. We partied. He told us to, in his suicide note. He said, Live life. Have fun.
Me: What?
Person: Should we get more tequila shots?
Or this:
Person: …And that’s where they found him.
Me: Hey, what are you guys talking about?
Person: My ex-boyfriend died in a car accident a while ago.
Me: ....what?
Person: Well, he was my boyfriend at the time. Of four years. But you know, you have to move on. At first I thought I could never love again, but you just have to move on.
Me: That's terrible to hear!
Person: Would you like another drink?
Anyway. Eventually the gang decided to move back to Jokers to shoot pool and shoot tequila. Thaddeus insisted on dancing, even though it was a pool hall. I ordered pizza.
this beer ad is kind of weird. why are you watching me?
Saturday was my coworker E’s birthday party. It was a proper Namibian birthday party, as in it started at noon and ended around sunrise the next day. Namibians have a party stamina like you would not believe. The party was held at S’s house in Khomasdal, the township that was originally designated for coloured people. It was about twenty women and Dean, who for some reason decided to spray his head like a half-hearted blind clown.
the smoking section at the party
little boys trying to sneak into the party
me and the birthday girl
singing happy birthday to emmerentia
As usual there was a lot of music and singing and dancing. S has a karaoke machine, so people went to town on it, even the baby.
At one point, someone put on Gazza's song "Seelima" and everyone was doing the dance around the living room. It was pretty awesome, almost as good as be able to see him live. I love watching people here dance.
teaching the baby to dance
even the little boys are amazing dancers
My favourite part of the party, however, was waiting for potjiekos. I have come to the conclusion that potjiekos is basically culinary torture. It's a southern African stew that is cooked outside in a cast iron pot called a potjie that seriously remind me of the Korean stone pots that my favourite dish soondubu chigae (soft tofu stew) is cooked in. Anyway, potjiekos is absolutely delicious but it takes a long time to prepare and it's cooked very very slowly...for hours. and hours. Basically, you sit around the pot, drink beer, chat, throw some more ingredients, drink, chat, dance, throw more ingredients in, and wait and wait and wait and wait for it to cook. And the whole time it smells absolutely delicious. It's torture, I tell you.
soondubu in traditional Korean stone pot
potjie
BOTH DELICIOUS
If anybody would like to buy me a potjie as a wedding present, they are totally welcome.
let's get a party going
now it's time to party and we'll party hard
let's get a party going
when it's time to party we will always party hard
party hard party hard, party hard, party hard party hard,
party hard, party hard party hard, party hard, party hard...
-Andrew W.K., "Party Hard"
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Sneakers on the red carpet
The folks of Ogopa Butterfly Records invited me to perform on Saturday night at the launch party of the latest issue of Red Carpet, a Namibian entertainment magazine. This launch party was an exclusive members-only event with quite the guestlist that included the Dogg, Lady May, Gal Level, Lize Ehlers, and a number of NAMA Music Award winners and nominees.
It was a pretty fancypants event, with beautiful women showing up in trendy ball gowns and rappers wearing suits (I love seeing rappers wear suits). I was wearing sneakers. There was also a sweet spread of free food and drinks. I always find it curious that fancypants events like law firm receptions and these media parties seem to feature all this free stuff, when their guests tend to be the very people that could afford to buy food. I'm reminded of the central line from Min Jin Lee's novel "Free Food For Millionaires". Not that I was complaining about the buffet spread. I could always use a fourth or fifth meal.
The party was held at NICE Restaurant which was, of course, very nice. The room was beautifully designed too, except for this really inconveniently placed palm tree that blocked the middle of the stage. I can't say I've ever had that problem before though.
the stage
that's quite the palm tree
nice nice very nice
The party featured performances from various different musicians, including a gospel hip hop artist, Lize Ehlers (whose new album was reviewed in the magazine), and some R&B singers. There was also a Russian guy based in Namibia named Smokey who did kwaito rap, which was quite the sight. He kind of looks like he belongs in a neo-Silverchair rock band, and yet there he was, executing the kwaito rap perfectly. I was impressed. But if a China (me) could sing a country song, why not a Russian doing kwaito? Why not?
gospel hiphop
My own performance went decently, although that unfortunately placed palm tree really was, well, unfortunate. We certainly had a completely different sound from the other acts and were one of the few live performances that didn't use a backtrack. I think the audience appreciated that we were different. Afterwards, many of the other musicians approached me to see if I was interested in working on some collaborations. I'm always impressed by the friendliness of Namibians, especially Namibian artists. It's always a pleasure to roll with the Namibian music industry folks, even if I wear sneakers on the red carpet. Gloria Guns is not what you would describe as "fancypants".
musicians from the Rusch Street Sessions
micheal
me...and the palm tree.
It was a pretty fancypants event, with beautiful women showing up in trendy ball gowns and rappers wearing suits (I love seeing rappers wear suits). I was wearing sneakers. There was also a sweet spread of free food and drinks. I always find it curious that fancypants events like law firm receptions and these media parties seem to feature all this free stuff, when their guests tend to be the very people that could afford to buy food. I'm reminded of the central line from Min Jin Lee's novel "Free Food For Millionaires". Not that I was complaining about the buffet spread. I could always use a fourth or fifth meal.
The party was held at NICE Restaurant which was, of course, very nice. The room was beautifully designed too, except for this really inconveniently placed palm tree that blocked the middle of the stage. I can't say I've ever had that problem before though.
the stage
that's quite the palm tree
nice nice very nice
The party featured performances from various different musicians, including a gospel hip hop artist, Lize Ehlers (whose new album was reviewed in the magazine), and some R&B singers. There was also a Russian guy based in Namibia named Smokey who did kwaito rap, which was quite the sight. He kind of looks like he belongs in a neo-Silverchair rock band, and yet there he was, executing the kwaito rap perfectly. I was impressed. But if a China (me) could sing a country song, why not a Russian doing kwaito? Why not?
gospel hiphop
My own performance went decently, although that unfortunately placed palm tree really was, well, unfortunate. We certainly had a completely different sound from the other acts and were one of the few live performances that didn't use a backtrack. I think the audience appreciated that we were different. Afterwards, many of the other musicians approached me to see if I was interested in working on some collaborations. I'm always impressed by the friendliness of Namibians, especially Namibian artists. It's always a pleasure to roll with the Namibian music industry folks, even if I wear sneakers on the red carpet. Gloria Guns is not what you would describe as "fancypants".
musicians from the Rusch Street Sessions
micheal
me...and the palm tree.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
thunder road
"oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road
oh, Thunder Road, oh, Thunder Road
lying out there like a killer in the sun
hey, i know it's late, we can make it if we run
oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road..." - Bruce Springsteen
I'm the new scribe for the Windhoek Hash House Harriers. Here's my report on the last hash for the Hash website:
Hash No 995
Hares: Mountain Goat and Wine-ita 'Nother Drink
Nine brave Hashers set off in the Waldorf School area despite the ominous looking storm clouds overhead, and the sounds of rolling thunder in the distance. One Hasher assured everyone that this was just the sound of God moving his furniture around in heaven. A light sprinkle of rain was welcomed by the Hashers as it was a cool relief from the hot humid temperature. Hare Mountain Goat led us through an interesting windy route. Many flies were accidentally eaten along the way (perhaps this Hash should have been called the "Fly In The Eye" Hash?)
OnOn was held at Mountain Goat & Wine-ita 'Nother Drink's beautiful home, where all the male Hashers were impressed by Mountain Goat's extensive train set. It continued to rain and thunder, but the Hashers were brave and continued to eat outside. Wine-ita served chili con carne and vegetable quiches, which was so lekker that some hashers went back for thirds. The Hares also shared with us their unique liquor collection. Thank you Mountain Goat & Wine-ita.
setting off on our hike
Mountain Goat leads the way...because otherwise he might get lost.
dog attacking a chameleon!
really cool looking plant
group shot!
oh, Thunder Road, oh, Thunder Road
lying out there like a killer in the sun
hey, i know it's late, we can make it if we run
oh oh oh oh, Thunder Road..." - Bruce Springsteen
I'm the new scribe for the Windhoek Hash House Harriers. Here's my report on the last hash for the Hash website:
Hash No 995
Hares: Mountain Goat and Wine-ita 'Nother Drink
Nine brave Hashers set off in the Waldorf School area despite the ominous looking storm clouds overhead, and the sounds of rolling thunder in the distance. One Hasher assured everyone that this was just the sound of God moving his furniture around in heaven. A light sprinkle of rain was welcomed by the Hashers as it was a cool relief from the hot humid temperature. Hare Mountain Goat led us through an interesting windy route. Many flies were accidentally eaten along the way (perhaps this Hash should have been called the "Fly In The Eye" Hash?)
OnOn was held at Mountain Goat & Wine-ita 'Nother Drink's beautiful home, where all the male Hashers were impressed by Mountain Goat's extensive train set. It continued to rain and thunder, but the Hashers were brave and continued to eat outside. Wine-ita served chili con carne and vegetable quiches, which was so lekker that some hashers went back for thirds. The Hares also shared with us their unique liquor collection. Thank you Mountain Goat & Wine-ita.
setting off on our hike
Mountain Goat leads the way...because otherwise he might get lost.
dog attacking a chameleon!
really cool looking plant
group shot!
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Gal Level offers to be my valentine
Gal Level, "Kom Speel"
These women are being paid to be here, I tried to remind myself. All the beautiful women working at the night club were making me feel intimidated, not to mention underdressed. On the other hand, I was glad that my day job has never required me to dress like a saucy French maid.
I was at this new Windhoek night club called D-Club, where Namibian musicians Gal Level (sometimes called the Destiny's Child of Namibia) were throwing a belated Valentine's Day party. I had spent my actual Valentine's Day thousands of kilometres away from my valentine, doing laundry by hand because I'd run out of money. Romantic. So now here I was on the first Friday night after Valentine's Day, seeing if Gal Level could show me a better time than my laundry.
I was also eager to check out Gal Level, the winner of last year's Female Artist of the Year at last year's NAMA Music Awards, because I had spent some time last year recording guitar parts for their new album at the recording studio. Now that their album was going to be released this month, I wanted to hear the new tracks.
The last time I was at D-Club, it was for Gazza's album release party and it was full of so many partiers that my friends and I got pickpocketed and we'd barely notied it. I was wary of being robbed again at the same place so tonight I showed up carrying almost nothing and storing my cash in Wi11be's breasfteeding bra, which apparently has pockets.
Tonight it was like a completely different club though. D-Club is actually a really trendy classy club, the kind of place you might spot on King Street in Toronto. We had our own white table and white sofa by the VIP section, and our server Dean (not the same Dean) was constantly hovered around us to make sure we were well taken care of and well-watered, compliments of Sula, from Gal Level's Ogopa Butterfly Records who had invited us to the show.
There were also impressively huge platters of fruit skewers and all sorts of cheese. This was awesome because sometimes when I am dancing on the dance floor, I find myself craving cheese. And then I would turn around, and lo and behold, a cheese plate! Then I would go back to dancing.
The opening act featured three bellydancers shimmying it all out to "Jai Ho". They were much better than all of my attempts at my bellydancing lessons. This also only confirmed my suspicion that there was a highly disproportionate number of beautiful women in the club.
Gal Level came on stage around midnight, dressed in gorgeous red floor-length dresses. Opening with their new single "Your Love" (featuring guitar from yours truly), they beseeched all the couples to hit the dance floor, although it actually turned out to be mostly women coming on the dance floor, beautiful women.
They put on a great show, full of coordinated dancing and romantic atmosphere. At one point in the show, Daphne from Gal Level came over to dance with me. It was thrilling to hear my own guitar tracks on their ballad "Missing You", because it made me feel like I was a part of something very cool. It was a pretty sweet way to spend a belated Valentine's Day, even if it was without my valentine.
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