Narsher gets Hitched and Gaborone Works its Mojo on the Boys-Night-Out After Party

I had not met Tlotlo Morekisi, Sonny as he prefers to be called nowadays, in a long while. We tend to drift apart only to have explosive reunions every now and then. We had met earlier during the day at a wedding luncheon hosted by Narsher and Boineelo Lucas in Tlokweng. It had been a small intimate occasion with an esteemed guest list of the bride and groom’s close family and friends.

Lunch was served in an elegant open garden, Cupids natural habitat that provided a charming and romantic setting. Amongst the guests were Peter and Aletta Tshiamo, Odirile and Ayesha Merafhe, and I also caught a glimpse of Ludo Makhwade, Taolo Lucas, Puma Matlhware and Vincent Kenosi. My dear friend Patricia Mpelega also graced the occasion, she was with a colleague, a young lady who introduced herself as Valentine Harward. I was happy to finally get to meet Valentine. My wife Tshego’, had told me so much about her and it was a pleasure to finally meet the protagonist of Tshego’s colourful narratives.

Bridget Mavuma had made a grand entrance. She was in her element, imposing and animated. Her effervescent character filled the air and was felt all round. For his love of firewaters, Sam Chimela sauntered in with a paper bag containing a six pack of Dutch beer Heineken and a half-jack of Gordon’s Dry Gin. In tow was the silver fox pair of Fifi Masogo and Essop Mokgwathi. Social butterfly, Pine Habangana was already well-oiled by the time the Master of Ceremonies Toro Motiki kick started the day’s proceedings. Liquid courage brings out the Romeo in him and he cavorted with the fairer sex with gay abundance.

The newlyweds, who must have broken the Guinness Book of Records for the longest courtship, looked stunning in their Victorian style frocks. Boineelo (Née Manowe) wore her dreadlocks in a tidy knot. Her exquisite, flirty, free-flowing grey wedding gown was a perfect fit that exuded quality, comfort and luxurious trend setting style. A man of fine tastes, the groom looked suave rigged up in a vintage two button single breasted wedding tuxedo complete with a grey shirt, white waist coat and grey cravat.

Toro did an excellent job keeping proceedings flowing and soloist Calvin Kaluza serenaded the guests with renditions of ballads from musical maestros like Luther Vandross, Lionel Richie, Marvin Gay and Louis Armstrong. Ever the diplomat, Botswana’s Ambassador to Nigeria, Clifford Maribe gave a sanitised version of Narsher’s bachelor exploits. Speaking on behalf of the grooms friends, the Ambassador concluded his speech with a glowing honour of the groom, kind and generous remarks on the bride and congratulated the couple, wishing them the very best of life together.

The buffet served a scrumptious assortment of traditional cuisine and several other dishes for the more contemporary palate. Guests helped themselves to dessert and wine was served at the table. The official proceedings ended with the Best Man, Ambrose Bashati’s toast to the newlyweds and the bride’s throwing of the bouquet. To sum it all, Narsher and Boineelo had put together a simple but charming garden wedding luncheon but while I wouldn’t want to put a damper to an elegant event, a fair assessment of this special occasion should mention the single serving point, the crowded tables, too few ushers and the unforgiving rain as the few arrangements and incidents that faulted an otherwise fabulous event.

After lunch, Tshego had returned to work with the intention of re-joining me at the after party when she knocked off. She had however decided at the last minute to go home to the kids. By default, this turn of events presented me with a boy’s Friday night out visa. Such a visa does not come easily nowadays. Age and ‘Home Affairs’ stringent protocols have conspired to deny me the privilege. So when the opportunity presented itself I grabbed it, and boy, I let my hair down.

It had begun to rain without let shortly after lunch but a sizable number of the guests had not been able to resist DJ Jeff’s mesmerising old school tunes and stayed behind. The young DJ set the roof on fire and kept everyone on their feet the entire afternoon as he dished out chart topping hits from the golden era of music. As the incessant rain pelted the carport which had now been turned into a makeshift dance hall the zeal of the merrymakers dancing under its cover intensified.

With good music, great company and St. Louis draught flowing from large kegs the now wet garden party progressed into the night and as the inebriation took hold and the nostalgic music took us down memory lane, it awoke the night owls in some of us. Primed, Sonny and I took off to prowl our old stomping grounds in a desperate and futile grasp at our distant and fast receding youth. We hit the streets of Gaborone on a late night excursion of night club hopping, reliving the carefree hedonistic days of our adventurous youth.

To our delight, we discover that in spite of the current prohibitive regulations that govern the entertainment industry and a heavy alcohol levy, Gaborone’s nocturnal charm remains intact. Apart from a few, ‘rundown holes in the wall’ that pose as sorry excuses for dance club and entertainment resorts, the local night scene remains vibrant and can hold its own in the regions clubbing stakes. After a quick rendezvous we ended up at Catch Jazz 22, a trendy jazz club and watering hole that caters for the Generation X clientele who prefer a more relaxed ambiance with live band music to the cacophony of noise that passes for music nowadays.

Nestled along Serowe Square and perched above Calabash liquor enterprises in Tsholofelo, the club offers ample secure parking and masculine but friendly bouncers stand at the entrance to remind patrons of the venue rules and ensure compliance. A casually elegant atmosphere greets one as they enter the club at the end of a flight of stairs on the first floor. The dance floor is sparingly illuminated with special effects laser beams and foggers. A mirror ball hangs from the ceiling giving the place a throwback feel of the decadent discothèque yesteryears.

My mind races back to the heady days of Shenaz at the Village, Club Cameo at the Oasis, the Shebeen at the African Mall, Club 585 at Maru-a-Pula and Bodiba Country Club in Mogoditshane. I recall that while Gaborone lead the way with the nightclub subculture other communities had responded to the challenge. There was Chicks Night Club in Serowe, Molepolole had the Village Gate and Mafenyatlala Hotel, Sethugetsane was the pride of Kanye, while Selibe Phikwe boasted Talk of the Town. In Francistown, there was the legendary Club Ritzmar, The Cave and Club New Yorker. Those were the funky boogie days, free of the pervasive hard-core drugs of today, save of course, for the occasional meditation herb - the spliff.

It saddens me that Gaborone’s rich and illustrious history of vibrant indigenous eateries and leisure resorts has not been acknowledged. Instead we have all stood back and watched as the native entertainment hotspots have been stifled and choked to death by a combination of ruthless macro-environmental forces and unfriendly decrees. I marvel at the contributions of scribes like Rampholo Molefe and Sandy Grant who have worked tirelessly towards preserving this rich heritage for the benefit of coming generations. Tomorrows citizens must know that long before the advent of the Mikes Kitchen, the Kegs, the Boulevard, Mag and Bean, O’Hagan’s and an array of other exotic pubs, sports bars and steakhouses this city had a vibrant night life.

In those days young men took their dates to places like Pop Inn, White House Inn or Kings Restaurant for the more urbane of the bothers. Fat Albert’s appeared briefly on the scene but quickly disappeared. A light meal at one of these cafés would be followed by a movie at the Capitol Cinema and a trip to one of the entertainment hotspots or house parties to unwind and dance the night away. It was this subculture that hatched and nurtured upstream trades such as disc jockeying in which phenomenal talents of luminaries like Cosmos Moapare, Thato Sikwane, Solomon Monyame, David Molosi dabbled and made a roaring success.

I am jolted back to reality when Catch Jazz 22 Club Manager Soares Katumbela emerges from behind the counter to give us a warm welcome to his club. Soares is an old hand in the unforgiving entertainment industry. His staying power is legendary and he is upbeat about the prospects of the new club. He gives us a quick rundown of the place, waxing lyrical about the clubs upcoming line-up of artists for the festive season. As he talks, Zahara’s chart smashing hit Loliwe blasts from the music system and Sonny throws himself onto the dance floor. He loses himself in the music, arms flying in the air, he shuffles his feet, wiggles his backside in a quirky manner and gives his signature redneck yell, “Yeeehaaw! Re a ditshela buddy. Heh!? Di ya mogobeng!”

I have always pitied my friend but never had the courage to tell him that he does not know how to dance. He believes he is the 80’s disco king Godfrey Raseroka, but he really doesn’t have rhythm, he dances like a white man. I try hard to correct the faux pas and get him to follow my cue, to learn from my smooth dance moves but it’s a futile exercise. I find myself flogging a dead horse and give up. His confidence made up for his lack of skill and with him tottering along to some fine music we nonetheless have fun and oh, what a night it was!

Also on the dance floor is Kgosi Curty Mosielele of Bahurutshe ba ga-Manyana. He is flying solo and having a blast. Love is in the air and sparks are flying thick and fast next to him as Felix Mashungwa snuggles into the arms of his fiancée Kgomotso. The two are making up for lost time. They have just retraced their tracks and found each other after a lovers tiff and breakup.

We are shortly joined by Sonny’s brother, Bobby Matenge. He’s on fire, floating in the air and displaying some nifty leg work. I am bowled over by his agility, charm and style as he moves his shoulders to the rhythm of the beat in startlingly captivating moves. His stylish, sensual freestyle dance moves are in tune with the beat and ooze confidence and flair. He certainly has talent and panache and does not shy away from flaunting it. My friend is totally upstaged by his elder brother but enchanting as Bobby’s dance skills are, he is however still a notch short of my polished dance technique, charm and style.

After a couple of exhilarating melodies and some pulsating dancing, the DJ tones things down and we all retire to the clubs watering trough for a quencher. The ice cold beer goes down very well and lead by Bobby, the ensuing discussion moves from governments earlier de-recognition of Kgosi Kgafela II to sport, and onto the upcoming launch of Gobe Matenge’s biography by Justice Key Dingake.

Bobby’s huge repertoire of conversation is interrupted by the giggles of a bevy of swervy young ladies who invite our gaze and total capture it with their jiggling bodacious cleavages and swinging curvy hips as they dance on stage. Temperatures immediately ratchet through the roof and I gasp for air with a lump forming in my throat, but I’m safe, I’m in the company of committed, honourable men of integrity who see beyond the quick-wins of low hanging fruit. Men who keep their scruples in the face of such epic temptation.

It is early Saturday morning when we part. We had thoroughly enjoyed ourselves and feeling rejuvenated Sonny and I promise to do it again the next time he comes into town. After all, we wear the pants at home and don’t need permits to go out, we fib ourselves. He drives off to his hotel to catch a wink before heading back to his workstation in Jwaneng. I get home and quietly slither into bed trying very hard not to disturb the applecart lest I arouse a barrage of questions I’d have difficulty answering. Alas, Tshego’ opens her eyes and gives me the look. I am immediately consumed by guilt, perhaps because such ‘freedom’ has become an alien concept for one who is now conditioned to a tight leash. “I’ve done nothing wrong!” I want to cry out, but I do not dare, instead I quickly roll over on my back and 'pass out'.

To be continued….

Homosexuality In Botswana - The Pink Debate

Recent media reports on same-sex relations have brought a sharp focus on the intricacies of the highly contentious subject of lesbians, homosexuals, bi-sexuals and persons of one sex who identify primarily as members of the other, commonly referred to as transgendered. I listened in to the ensuing national discourse when I recently stepped into a fierce debate on homosexuality as I boarded a mini-bus taxi home from work the Friday the local tabloid, The Voice broke the news of the, ‘first lesbian couple to publicly declare their love’ for each other.

Homosexuality is a topic of a wide, complex and multi-dimensional debate and the attitudes of my fellow passengers towards same-sex relationships reflected the broader cultural, religious, legal and moral norms that regulate sexuality in Botswana. Emotions in the taxi ranged from revulsion by a ‘decadent Western innovation’ forced upon Africans by white men, through seeing the practice as a sin before God, to impassioned calls for recognition of the rights of sexual minorities and casual it-doesn’t-bother-me acceptance of the practice.

I proceed to the window seat, two rows behind the driver. A middle aged passenger in faded blue overalls occupies the front passenger seat. He is straining his neck to face the other passengers. Frothing at the mouth and the veins running down his neck about to burst under enormous strain as he yells, “It’s these perverts who’ve brought us the dreaded HIV / AIDS scourge.” “They are the purveyors of all these dreaded modern sexually transmitted diseases,” he screams.

A soft spoken, younger, bespectacled passenger in the seat in front of mine asks if the disposition to experience sexual, affection or romantic attraction primarily or exclusively to people of the same sex is acquired or instinctive? His question is however drowned by the epic exchange between a couple of young women who view the press reports of the coming out of the closet of Onkemetse Pule and Lawrence Kwataka as a heroic struggle for civil rights pitted against an elderly woman who sees it as, “yet another indicator of society’s general moral decline.”

“Who is the righteous bearer of society’s moral campus and what do they use to determine that homosexuality is immoral?” is the swift rebuttal from an elegantly dressed young lady in the row behind mine.

“The Holy Bible and the constitution of Botswana proclaim homosexuality sinful and illegal. Just how do these girls hope to live in a country that prohibits homosexuality?” yells the driver with a strong North-Eastern accent.

“It is a sad day when we start identifying groups of people by how they choose to have sex,” chips in the soft spoken bespectacled passenger. “I find it amazing that a country like Botswana still treats members of society as second class citizens based on their sexual orientation.”

“We have no rights to impose our morals on others. Gays and lesbians have a right to identity. They are Gods creation and we must love them as we love ourselves,” declares the elegantly dressed young lady.

“If homosexuality is natural then why is it only human beings that show this blatant disrespect of all natural laws, that even animals respect with their very lesser intelligence?” shouts someone from the rear seats. “The Bible says Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve. Human beings believe they are superior to animals, why then do they go below them through behaviours like homosexuality? God help us! The birds and wild animals know how to do it better, I have never come across a gay cow or chicken.”

“This perverted practice is un-African!” retorts the elderly woman in disgust as she disembarks at the Taung bus stop.

“But what do you say of the body of folklore and documented evidence of same-sex sexual relations among men in a number of pre-colonial societies. How do you think herd boys and regiments released sexual tension?” a passenger with dreadlocks in a khaki coloured Yankees base-ball cap shouts after her.

He proceeds to relate how it was only after the arrival of the white man with the Bible in one hand and his laws in the other, that this largely ignored or suppressed practice among African societies became viewed with shame and dishonour. “Isn’t it ironic that the same white man who demonised homosexuality in the Bible and statutes is now propagating it as an acceptable and legitimate lifestyle!?” he asks. “The way I see it, it is ignorance and fear that fuel this irrational aversion and hostility towards homosexuality,” he proclaims.

Later in the evening at home, I’d reflect on the encounter in the mini-bus taxi and was struck by the extent of how the conversation was a metaphor of the broader debate on same-sex sexual relationships. Especially revealing is how much of the stigma, belligerence and chauvinistic ultra-repressive attitude towards homosexuality is justified by opponents of on broad religious, cultural and legal grounds. These attitudes are underwritten by powerful cultural norms and institutions such as the Church and the State whose combined might has come to bear on a citizenry who simply pray for the recognition and protection of their inalienable rights to self expression.

I am taken aback by the religious zealots, cultural hypocrites and the statutory abuse of the rights of people inclined to same-sex sexual relationships. This hostility and resentment flies in the face of our national values of Botho and the national vision 2016 which espouse tolerance, compassion, equality, justice and peace. I feel that as a society it is time we looked ourselves in the mirror and see ourselves for who we really are and what we are achieving with our widely accepted prejudice against sexual minorities.

We are a secular state, with an elaborate Bill of Rights that is enshrined in the Constitution and we pride ourselves with the values of Botho, where then do we get off maligning and criminalising consensual same-sex sexual activity? Why do we allow ourselves to be hoodwinked by the selective scriptures quoted by some maverick ‘men of the cloth?’ What business do we have in what consenting adults do in the privacy of their bedrooms? This is the height of bigotry!