Africa's not for Sissies

Chapter 9: The Real African Experience

"Brus!" Brett greeted us when we arrived back at the hostel that evening as if he was genuinely happy to see us. "How would you oaks like a real African Experience?"

"Sure!" Jerry said.

"Ummm –"

"Go get ready then," Brett said, cutting me off before I could ask what exactly this experience would involve. "My lady's gonna be here in a minute."

I was surprised when Brett's girlfriend showed up. She was much prettier than I expected. I don't know why, perhaps because Brett was short, and well, not that good looking. She was dainty and blonde and looked like she might have been related to Charlize Theron.

Brett drove us to a club in town called Babalaza (Afrikaans for "hangover"). Brett drove and parked on the street near the front door. The club was upstairs and consisted of two rooms and a central bar. There was nothing modern or fancy about the place, but the walls were colorful, the lights were dim, and the place was packed. Aside from the four of us, I didn't see another white face in the place. I guessed this was what Brett meant by a "real" African experience.

Brett disappeared. Ten minutes later he came running up to me, looking agitated. He placed his arm on my shoulder, as if we were old friends. "Bru, can you look after my lady for a few minutes? I have some business to take care of." He was gone before I could reply. His "lady" rolled her eyes at me.

His "few minutes" was more like a few hours. We were ready to leave, but we hadn't seen Brett since. He wasn't upstairs, so the three of us headed downstairs thinking he might be outside.

The doorman's arm came up to block my exit. "Sorry bru, you can't leave just now."

I had no idea what "just now" meant. I was still getting used to "African time." African's have a private sense of time. Everything seemed to move at a slower pace here. I had already learned that "soon" could mean almost anything and usually meant a few hours at least. The term "now" seemed to have lost its meaning altogether. When Africans literally meant now, they added an extra now and said "now-now." "Just now" was a new one for me. I hoped it would be sooner than "soon."

"What's the problem?" I asked, but looking past him I didn't need an answer. Outside the gates of the club were several young black men standing shoulder to shoulder with arms crossed. Poking out from behind those crossed arms were guns.

I looked at Jerry. I had never seen his eyes so wide. Brett's girlfriend looked surprisingly calm. I turned to the doorman, "Are the cops coming?"

"Cops won't come, bru," he said flatly. "They're too scared."

Brett appeared. "Sorry bru. I didn't expect this to happen. But stay chilled. We'll organize a plan, and then you and you," he pointed at Jerry and me, "my lady friend here and me are gonna walk outta here and get into that car," he pointed outside the gate at his car parked behind the row of crossed arms and guns, "and drive away. No problem."

I pointed at the men outside, blocking access to his car. "How is it no problem?"

"Don't move." Brett ran off. He returned a few minutes later, strutting like the hero in a low-budget action movie. "OK, my brus are on the roof. They've got guns. They got us covered. No problem."

If I could have stabbed him with my eyes, I would have. "You keep saying 'no problem.' I don't think it means what you think it does." And then the other thing he said registered. "And how exactly have they 'got us covered'?" Images of us walking into a maelstrom of whizzing bullets flashed into my mind.

"My bru here is packing as well." Brett tapped the doorman on the back where I could see the unmistakable outline of a handgun and winked at me. I think he thought this was going to make me feel better. "When he opens that gate we're gonna walk outta here cool as cats and straight into my car. Are we cool?"

I was feeling anything but "cool." My mouth hung open, butI didn't know what to say. Judging from the way the color drained from Jerry's face, I assumed he felt the same way.

"Are you all right brus?" Brett asked.

Jerry and I looked at each other. Neither of us said a word.

"I promise you, it's gonna be fine, my brus, just follow me."

I don't know how I convinced my legs to move, but moments later we were inside Brett's car. I locked my door and reached over and locked Jerry's. Brett sat down, but then jumped up and got out of the car.

We all looked at each other, dumbfounded. What kind of plan was this?

To my relief he was back in a few moments. "OK brus, we're outta here. I feel bad leaving those guys like this, but I think they got it covered."

We all yelled, pretty much in unison:

"DRIVE!"

Brett turned to us and smiled. "Africa's not for sissies, bru."