A Night Among the Stars

The following is the story of one of the more preposterous nights of my life.

As part of the WorldTeach orientation, the volunteers are split into small groups and assigned a Namibian host to stay with for a period of 24 hours, which includes a Saturday night. My group, myself and three other volunteers, was picked up early on a Saturday evening by Sula, a short and energetic man from Kenya. He is the father of the cutest 6 year old girl in Namibia, a well traveled man, having lived in several places in Africa and studied in Europe before deciding to make Namibia home, and he was a fantastic host. He also happens to be the manager of one of Africa's most successful pop music acts, Gal Level.

We all crammed into Sula's sedan, and he quickly offered to play us some not-yet-released Gal Level material. I didn't quite appreciate the significance of this opportunity and was actually rather worried that I wouldn't like what I was about to hear. I am a horrible liar, and attempting to explain to your enthusiastic host of five minutes that the pure gold he has just dropped in your ear is not exactly your thing is a poor way to begin a relationship. Thankfully, the music we heard, especially one track in particular, was excellent, and I could genuinely tell Sula and Frida (one half of Gal Level who was also in the car) that I really enjoyed it.

After a quick driving tour of Windhoek, during which Sula showed us (and commented critically upon) Namibia's majestic and humongous state house, we arrived at the Ogopy Butterfly music label's headquarters. This is a house where the label's producer and video editor live, and it is also home to the label's television and audio studios. Sula wanted Frida to rework a verse of a song still in production and invited us into the studio to witness it. Now, this song, as Sula proudly explained, is the story of a passionate inter-racial romance entitled "White Boy" and is one of the first songs of its kind in the region. Sula and Victor, the label's producer who I later befriended, agreed that Frida's earlier recording lacked a satisfactory level of emotion. Frida claimed she was struggling to connect with the material because it is the first song she has had to perform that she has not written personally, so Sula thought the logical solution was that I, being a white boy, be her inspiration.

"Sing to him!" he said, "Look at him and sing!" Frida was not pleased. Since I was a little uncomfortable too I quietly tried to deflect the attention from myself. I can't remember what I said, but if I managed any words at all they were probably stupid.

Shortly thereafter, preparations for a large braai started, Sula's brother Faizel MC arrived with a fairly large amount of alcohol, and the night began in earnest. After a few hours of carousing and general merriment, our small WorldTeach group was invited to accompany the Ogopy Butterfly contingent out for a night on the town. I was dressed in khaki shorts and a Rajon Rondo t-shirt, and fewer things typically excite me less than the prospect of a night of clubbing, but in those circumstances the only appropriate response I could think of was "Why not?"

Not long after arriving at Cheers, I proceeded to act a damn FOOL on the dance floor with Frida, her hilarious friend Kelly, and anyone else who cared to join. My dance-move repetoire was limited and absolutely ridiculous, but by all signs was quite well received. My dance fury culminated in me simply throwing my hands above my head and jumping straight up and down until I didn't have the breath to continue. Faizel generously drove the Americans (who are not party people) home at the lame, early hour of 3am. On the way back I contemplated the fact that I will never again have a night like that in my life, and I happily realized that I made the most of it.