Caveat: What you are about to read must remain strictly between us. Do not repeat it to anyone, lest our husbands get to hear about it.
Here goes:
The very day we moved into the Airbnb, one naughty grandma amongst us (I swear it wasn’t me) insisted that we check out the nightclub scene in Saly. ‘It’s only for research purposes,’ she claimed. ‘We need to find out how things have evolved from the discotheques of the seventies.’
Who would argue with that?
Yet one of us did; and she opted to stay behind.
So, around 22:00 we hired a taxi for three hours and told the bewildered driver to take us to the most popular nightclub in town.
At the entrance of the club stood one hefty young man who looked at us with an expression that said: These women must have missed their way. I couldn’t blame him. We were, after all, inappropriately dressed (very modestly, one of us was even in full hijab). I could imagine how out of place we looked; but we no send anybody.
Moi (boldly): Bonsoir, Monsieur.
Hefty Man (trying to hide a smirk): Bonsoir. Puis-je vous aider?
Moi: Yes, a table for five please.
Hefty Man (hesitating): Err…err…Okay… Come with me.
We followed him down to the basement. The place was windowless, all the walls painted black. The only illumination in the hall was from the blue, red and green lamps that hung from the ceiling and kept rotating, casting weird shadows all over us.
Hefty Man guided us towards the clients’ sitting area, which was empty of people. Apparently, we were the first to arrive. We chose a table directly facing the dance floor – we didn’t want to miss any of the action that was sure to follow.
At the far end of the room was a counter behind which stood a young lady, a young man and another human being whose gender we couldn’t decipher. All three of them were scantily dressed, with body piercings and tattoos here and there. Bottles of beverages arranged on shelves decorated the wall behind them. Hefty Man walked over and said something to the young lady, before disappearing.
The human of indeterminable gender walked to us with a notepad in hand. We gave our orders of soft drinks and watched in amazement as he/she/they wiggled away.
An hour later, we had finished our drinks and still not a single clubber had arrived.
Me (glancing at my watch and yawning): When will people start coming? I’m feeling sleepy.
Naughty Grandma: Let’s ask them to put on some music.
Moi: (raising my voice): De la musique, s’il vous plait.
He/She/They: Mesdames, the DJ has not yet arrived. But he’ll be here soon.
Moi: What! It’s 01:00 for goodness’ sake. Are you saying that things won’t start till 01.30 or even later?
He/She/They (with an expression that said: before nko?): Exactement, Madame.
Moi: Hmm. Na wa o.
Naughty Grandma (pleading with her eyes): Let’s wait fifteen more minutes.
Ten minutes later, two people amongst us had dozed off, the hijabi was even snoring. Naughty Grandma and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. We shook our companions awake and picked up our bags. Our research was done.
Yes, the nightclub scene has evolved. In our time, by 02:00 most people were ready to go home. These days, it appeared, things did not get going until 02:00 or thereabouts.
We went back to the Airbnb, changed into our nightgowns and called it a night. But first we agreed that what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
To be continued…
