By the Bucketby Setumo-Thebe Mohlomi / 16.07.2013
The night started off very amateurishly. When it’s the first time your ride is coming to your house, it rarely goes spectacularly well. After too much airtime spent on both sides, my ride and I eventually agreed to meet at the closest landmark he could see. He, my ride, is part of the reason I’m being carted to the depths of township oblivion on a perfectly decent Sunday evening in the suburbs. He, works for them and they are having an event at a place called Groove Lounge in Khayelitsha.
Our biggest blunder was still to come, after we got lost. Yes, we got lost. And no matter how many times or how hard he pushed the iPhone screen to no avail, my partner’s co-pilot in the front seat always gave Apple another chance. More airtime was wasted, this time on useless text messages and screaming contests over club background noises.
We made a U-turn when one of the streets we were driving down looked like it was heading towards a dark abyss. A petrol station appeared where all of us could have sworn there had been none a few minutes ago. We must have seemed pitiful when the petrol attendant told us ‘Oh, Kwa Ace? That’s very close’. He had this smile on his face as he gave us the rest of the directions that said ‘you idiots’ and ‘ag, shame’ all at once.
In case there was a chance that anyone could miss the rows of cars parked opposite the bar come chisa nyama, someone had put a massive inflatable Savanna can and a flurry of Savanna flags outside the venue as beacons. We parked and my ride explained to the big man at the door that he worked for them and that we were his friends. It worked.
To be fair, our biggest blunder of the night can be shared equally amongst us. We looked underdressed in a crowd where every single person could have been on their way to the Durban July. The person who confirmed our lack of style, to me, was a Venda man dressed in a white sports jacket and a baseball cap, he was the event’s MC. Some of you might know him as Glen Lewis.
This is the kasi and as expected there were many buckets. More buckets than since before the bucket demonstrations. Only here they were filled with ice and all shapes and sizes of coloured bottles of booze. The DJ, ‘a guy from around’, mixed house better than I had heard in way too long.
It ended too quickly when my ride decided to cart me back to the ‘burbs, the following day was Monday and he had to go back to work for them. And as we drove towards the higher ground, a storm of Savannas brewing in my gut, I was more thankful than ever to have a flushing toilet.
*All images © Setumo-Thebe Mohlomi.