In A Perfect World, Ja Rule Would Be Putting Out New Hits.

Thanks to a glorious (and sometimes not so glorious) 9 and 6 hour time difference - depending on which area of Canada I’m wanting to talk to – I find myself in a unique position.   When I get to work in the morning, people are doing one of two things – heading to bed (the non-insomniac ones anyway), or drinking profusely.  Subsequently, when I am indulging in a Primus (or two or three), people back home are usually enjoying a nice quiet afternoon.  Although, I must say, the drunken-incoming-Skype-call-while-I'm-at-work remains a personal favorite.  Keep it up, Canada.

Where is this blog coming from?  Well, its Friday morning.  This means that the Thursday crowd is at the bar or stumbling home.  It’s odd to feel bar-ready first thing in the morning when you get to work.  But, I’m enjoying it. 

Anyway – the club scene in Kigali has been treating me well.  There is always the old option of Cadillac, where I first experienced “real” dancing, where gin and juices glow bright blue, and where finding a dance partner is as easy as looking in the mirror.  Then there are the other, less flamboyant clubs such as One Love, KBC/Planete, Top Tower, Sundowner, Papyrus, tons of other small local spots, and finally, the legendary strip bar (Sky Hotel) for which I doubt I’ll be able to muster up adequate numbness to enter.

Going out in Kigali is a bit of a game.  The night starts off Western enough: You’re at a restaurant or a house of one of your friends, drinking, card games, music, shinanigans.  Then you step outside.  You find a moto (at night its not uncommon to squeeze on two passengers + driver – the one sitting on the back gets to wear the helmet as they tend to fall off – since motos are not as abundant in the wee hours).  This is where you start to notice you are not in Kansas.  Moto drivers can generally weasel higher prices since we are buzzing, giddy, and have pockets full of money intended for drinks. 

For Cadillac, the drive through town is like a calling.  I say this because Cadillac sports a fine flood light that moves across the city beckoning the antsy to its depths.  Either way, you get to the bar and get in line (if there is one).  Here is where you can hear the beats of familiar songs like Letting Go – Sean Kingston ft Nicki Minaj, Baby By Me – 50 Cent, Loose Control – Timbaland ft Jojo, and Say Ahh – Trey Songz and you find yourself almost frustrated to get in there. 

Once you’re at the front, you pay your cover (again, if there is one) and get frisked at your own risk.  Head on in.  Welcome.  Karibu. 

I remember my first time stepping into Cadillac – I was like a kid in a god damn candy store.   The beats. The dancing.  Holy fuck, the dancing.

There is no such thing as lack of rhythm, and less than no such thing as shyness.  Dancing as god intended, as it were.   Often times as a white woman letting loose, there is an overabundance of African-Male-Attention.  It’s usually not a problem, we’re big girls and can take care of ourselves, but it often gets annoying.  However, I would say it’s always been worth the hassle because they just don’t give a shit.  You can dance with whoever, whenever, wherever, however.  Talk about luxury. 

With this whole visa thing I’ve been in need of some serious stress relief. 

So, pretty much wrote this to torture myself – I am just itching to go out tonight – but there is another 12 hours to go in this damn day and I’ve already started the playlist designed for these nights. 

That’s it for me.   For those of you who are lucky enough to be on the receiving end of my drunk dials, well, you’re welcome for tonight’s conversation.