Reblogged from Nyanchwani

If she dances with everyone in your presence, she will be screwed by anyone in your absence.
Nothing brings stupidity in humanity than dancing. It precedes sex and supersedes politics in the stupidity meter. On this one, my conscience is very clear. Absolutely clear. Dancing is for fools, was invented by fools and only fools embrace it.

Picture a woman without hips or an ass trying to dance, all sweaty and smelly on a dance floor. Now picture those really stupid, potbellied men, trying to readjust their groin to the bottom of a woman for the grind, or socket dancing as it is called. Look at those Jamaican video clips. Listen to people shout when a Beenie Man song is unleashed. If what you witness here is not stupidity, you clearly need a small meeting with a psychiatrist. Book it.

I must set it off from the word go, I can’t dance to save my life. I only dance when completely coerced. I consider myself too cool for that shit. And I am virulently judgmental observing women shaking their asses and men drooling from behind, ever so ready to undress them and have sex there and there, but for civility. Cool people like me, always distance themselves from the dance floor.

“But how will you ever court a woman if you don’t how to dance?” asked my lecturer Mr Kimingichi Wabende a few years ago, while we were on some research mission down the South Coast.

Kimingichi, a great dancer himself, and a good one at Salsa, offered some insightful opinion and for the Salsa dancers, they can get a pass here. I have actually suffered great for my inability to dance. I have lost three the dance floor, because  of my disability.  And they danced away with strangers in the club. Some of those strangers looked really bad. The kind that can brag while screwing, ‘YOU SCREWING WITH THE BEST’. Some looked uglier than me. Some were broke on some cheap faded jeans and a T-Shirt that looked like a moper. But they won.


Ever since it has made me skeptical when I am courting someone who drinks and likes dancing. Hate me or love me, a woman who drinks and has no qualms dancing with a stranger in a club, is a pass for me. Especially, if it a long-term thing. Short-term is OK.  Men in Nairobi have become such predatory opportunists and as soon as they take to the dance floor, you will see him make certain moves and she will be all smiles, from I guess, feeling the D, hot on her ass. I can’t rust men in Nairobi.

The next thing you see is them whispering to each other, mostly phone numbers. Or if audacious enough, they can exchange numbers there, but watching their backs. I have obtained numbers right under the noses of stupid men who don’t attend to their women in a club. What happens afterwards is not necessary.

But this is not about me and my inability to jig along to some beats. Neither is it about my insecurities that naturally stem from the fact that I have lost girlfriends in the dance floor. It is not even the dancing that hurts, it is the fact that they were high on drinks paid by MY OWN money. It is a ghost I have yearned to exorcise for four years now.

Generally, I don’t object anyone dancing, certainly not my girlfriends as long as it is done within the decency limits. But to most individuals in Nairobi, dancing and decency are metals somewhere in the periodic table. I have never quite understood the female obsession of rubbing their ass on the male groins. Naturally, it is the default setting of dancing in Nairobi, that women enjoy more than men.

97% of the men on the dance floor only want quick access to a lay. 77% of Chips Fungas are courted on the dance floor. 70% of women who can dance on the floor with strangers when drunk are susceptible to end on a bed other their own that particular night.

I think you cannot divorce the Nairobian club dancing from cheap, quick sex. In fact if you are hunkish enough, with liquid cash and a ride and you stay in any of the city suburbs, you are good to go. I have seen my friends dance and kiss strangers like every damn weekend I go out. I have seen some really nasty and dirtier dancing, especially on the wee hours of the night.

I hate men and women who dance vigorously and sexually. It brings the animal in them. It reminds me of evils such as the barbaric 2007 post-election violence. And I am not even playing hyperbole here.

Dancing is stupid. Just stop for a minute to ponder to ask yourself what you are doing when you are shaking your body. Why do we need so much alcohol in order to loosen up her? Would you like your picture or video while dancing to be put in the newspaper or on the internet? Imagine your sweaty self, and ask yourself, is this why Jesus died? if you are believer. Can mum and dad be proud of me doing this? Remember 6 million Jews died within six years, did it happen so that you can make erotic and drunken moves on the dance floor for the sole purpose of a danceorgasm.

What drives people to dance is sex. Period. Very few people are disciplined enough to balance their drinking, their dancing and at least end up in the same bed they woke up in the morning (that is if it was their rightful bed in the first place.) But I would be sexist and chauvinist if I draw conclusions, but I am sure I am not too far from the truth.

For men, I can speak for the straight ones. The main reason they take to the dance floor is to get some ass job done, right there. When we were younger, my friends routinely confessed that if you meet a good dancer on the floor, they can make you cum. What debauchery? I mean you dance holding her from behind; she probably has nothing under (65% of the time), she rubs her ass on you so hard. You get a boner, she grinds harder to feel it. Definitely she is enjoying, and the man is getting dirty as well. Then it is time for RDX’s Bend Over and all hell breaks loose… They both orgasm, just like that. She will go sit, sip her drink, if it is still there and start asking herself what life is about and what just happened. But the DJ wouldn’t let her finish…Because the will play Konshens or that other bugger with a bleached skin and she will jump back.

Only one woman has ever impressed me, when I took her out. It was an Easter date, and for long I was afraid of her, I actually respected her. I gathered guts and summoned her. I was glad, she never turned me down. We went out and she danced like lady, sensibly. My wily and cheeky cousin Patrick, who can shame Usher with moves, was not very lucky. They danced decently and every time he tried some mischief, she shooed him away. And only insisted that if it is not me, she can’t dance ‘indecently’. She couldn’t get down without me. That evening, I was so happy, I saved a street kid’s life.

See, the kid came to me, and told me… ‘Daddy, saidia.’

I asked the kid, ‘If I gave you Ksh 1,000, what would you do?’ The kid said, ‘I would be so happy, I will die of laughter’ OK, you know where this stolen joke is going…Right? I didn’t give the kid the money, because we don’t want people dying senselessly. Just kidding.

Until some sanity and decency comes to the dance floor. Until they stop that annoying socket-dancing. Until rubbing one’s ass on the man’s groin stops as the standard measure of dancing. Until women stop dancing randomly with strangers (that does nothing to nation building by the way). Until they stop exchanging numbers on the dance floor, I will always remain cynical about dancing.

Dancing is one of those things that we invented to allow us to interact with our stupid selves. Look at those old women and randy men, dancing in circles during weddings. Look at those old, bald, potbellied men in the locals dancing to Nimon Toki Lala and Mbilia Bel with Guinness in their hands targeting the waitress. It just sucks. And it is stupidity. Let us not pretend.
Call a spade a spade.

If I have sounded too judgmental, it is my opinion. The fact that I am right should not stop you from dancing. You will be stupid in my own eyes. But you don’t need my approval for you to be be stupid. Or do you?