There was no reason to go to the bar, The Alchemist, recently. None at all. But I had had a haircut at the barbershop in the same complex on Parklands Road in Westlands, Nairobi and it was pouring down.
I didn’t see myself running to my car outside and getting my scalp wet, so I decided to nip in and wait it out. It was coming to seven pm.
I perched at the bar and ordered a hot dawa. The last time I stood at this bar was last year at a Coster Ojwang concert. It was inflamed.
He came out in a traditional straw hat and stood under a light that shone over him, only on him, and the crowd went berserk. A very Michael Jackson moment, if you will. And when he started singing, everybody else started singing. It was electric, the man’s talent.
I ran into an old friend, who I was happy to learn had stopped drinking. Lots of people are drinking, and lots of people are stopping. It could be a factor of age or awareness. He looked healthier, happier, standing there holding a bottle of water. “My wife is happier,” he said. Happier than you? I inquired.
That was last year, however. That rainy evening, I found myself almost alone at the bar. The stage that had hosted a plethora of artistes before now looked forlorn before me.
As daylight ended and night took the stage, a few people ran into establishments, with rain on their shoulders and hair. It was a wet and miserable night to be seated in a bar with a new haircut.
This was my third time at The Alchemist. The first time was in December years ago for a Ferre Gola concert, which I enjoyed thoroughly. The venue was small and intimate.
Music is intimacy. There is always an intimacy at The Alchemist whenever I have gone for a concert. I finished my dawa and ran out into the rain, which is usually an exercise in futility because who can outrun the rain?
