Summit Village

The village dance

Every time I enjoy secular songs on telly I’m consumed by the fascinating love songs, the excellent stage discussion and also the sexy-sassy dancing routines where women gyrate as if their bodies were boneless. Their sensual motions, extraordinary speed, design and also vibrant maneuvering make me wonder. Our songs had not been such as today’s hard-edged decibel, computer system driven type that my child, Ciku, enjoys. It had not been played along common steaming fluid guitar lines. No one then had the hint of converting also the stalest of our Kikuyu tunes to modern up-beat nightclub renditions. We didn't enjoy our dancings under those globes that send out sparkling multi-coloured grains across the dance hall, guitars and also configured drums roaring out of the PA. Right in the center of the town stood that groovy grass-thatched shack. It was our petition residence, our fixed black as well as white film theatre, our entertainment hall and also the vaccination centre. Njege, the flabby as well as melancholic bachelor tapering upward to a set of slim, not quite level shoulders as well as an elongate bald-head with streamlined grey bits at the rear of his head paradoxically proclaimed us and also the bliss that awaited us in Fasto’s farm. gHe wowed us with his melodious voice, his only attractive feature. Paired with males, teenage ladies who tottered their huge bosoms moved their legs in time to Njege’s rhythm and danced sinuously to his songs till they generated large perspiration with a range of sickening loathsome smells. The men would bump the ladies’ hips, dancing close enough to ensure they had contact with the leading halves of their skirts. From time to time Njege would abruptly stop playing the guitar either for a jockey banter or to prompt us to pack coins right into his box guitar or perhaps his tee shirt pockets till they formed a trembling fringe in the middle of outbursts of catcalls and ribald laughter where some women would purposely flex forward, wiggle their bottoms in mini-skirts that really pressed them, some with slits as long as your arm. Nevertheless, every person would certainly come here either to stare everybody else, in one of the most discreet manner feasible, or else be stared at. Wearing four- inch heeled footwear, their skimpy tops left their necks and also a hint of their shoulders bare. Their breasts not totally concealed, their tummies and lays out however filled the guys with indescribable excitement. I occurred to be in that hall one such night. Wanduru, the village baby bouncer who was risible sufficient to make your sides rupture with laughing and also that sent off any person who brought economic embarrassment, welcomed me with an uncommon liveliness, understanding my hand and wringing it, assuming this would certainly make me go into orbit around love. I refused. ” Yours is one of the most inhuman piece of impertinence I've ever before had. Emphatically, I’ll not dance with you,” I yelled. A team of men who were paying attention to Njege’s gush of music from outside packed their heads in the window during the commotion, salivating. Therefore, regurgitating in envy, he walked past the liverid bouncer, flashed into the thick darkness only to walk in shortly, dance with fast, short steps and afterwards going out again. Nearly everybody left the hall acrimoniously right into the dark that welcomed them into the ambience of subtle exhilaration, of tingling anticipation, that inexpressible ambience of love many of them looked forward to.