Ghetto Dances: Happiness can only be an illusion

There was relative calm after the announcement of the election results. For one reason or the other, the  winners did not celebrate  and the losers did not take to the streets in protest.

There was relative peace although dark clouds of uncertainty hung so low one could pluck them out from the sky  with  bare hands.

 Notwithstanding  the details of the election results, people were discussing freely about the elections.

With nothing to do at home, I went to Zororo Bar to meet with friends.  I saw Baba VaTata before I saw Handitika who was unusually excited about something. Ever since he had employed a driver to relieve him, we now saw more and more of him.

I bought my own beer as I joined them at  our usual table. This was quite an achievement as I was not used to this habit of buying myself beer.  My pockets were laden with holes most of  the time. It was only the benevolence of Baba VaTata that quenched my thirst on most occasions.

Even as I sat down, Comrade Mobilizer joined us. He was now  a regular at our table. Having fought in the liberation war, he commanded some respect from most of the other patrons.

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His only problem was that he was forever whining about his wartime injuries and his miserable existence forgetting that we were all in the same boat. There were no jobs and the little that were  there hardly put enough food on the table.

 The streets were turned into bazaars and mini markets as almost everyone had something to sell. Every inch of Hwata Street was taken up by vendors and this was typical for most of the streets. Artisans like tailors, carpenters and welders were often found in the backyards of houses.

 Fatso's elder brother once  bought a wardrobe from his neighbour and within a week he had taken it back for repairs as it was falling apart due to poor workmanship. The more he tried to put it together, the more it fell apart.

The music was too loud and it was difficult to hear the next person speaking.  I was irritated.  The songs were not even to my taste and honestly speaking, their new  DJ was killing business with his type of music.

“At school, our geography teacher taught us about rural to urban migration,” said Handitika.  “ The push factors like lack of opportunities in the rural areas triggered migration to the urban areas,” he added.

I nodded in agreement. Even though I was not a bright student, I still remembered  some of the theories of migration.

“The young  energetic people are attracted to urban areas because of high employment opportunities and the bright lights of the city,” I said.

“So do you all agree with me?” Asked Handitika.

“What exactly are you trying to say?” Said Baba VaTata.

“So what it means is that  young energetic men and  women migrate to the towns, leaving behind the very young and elderly people,” said Handitika. 

The topic was quite interesting enough although I was not quite sure what he was driving at.

The music blaring above our voices drowned some of the words and made it difficult to hear everything.

“Is that possible that more than forty years after independence,  we have more people living in  the rural areas than in towns? Is it something to be proud of?” Said Handitika.

I saw  that Comrade Mobilizer was fidgeting on the bench. He did not say anything yet although I could see that he was listening carefully.

“Why do you say that?” Asked Baba VaTata.

“The figures announced in the elections show that there are more people living in the rural areas and  there is hardly any migration to the towns taking place,” said Handitika.

“Is that so?” I asked. I was more interested.

All around the towns, there is urban expansion taking place with new residential areas. The demand for houses could be a result of rural to urban migration.

“I don't think you are right, “ said Comrade Mobilizer.  “The rural areas still have many people. The land reform has also offered opportunities to  many young people to remain in the rural areas to work on the land,” he said.

Comrade Mobilizer could be right. Most industries  had shut down so the towns were probably not so attractive anymore.

“With new residential areas in the big cities, number of constituencies should also invariably increase,” I said.” The theories of migration do not seem to apply to our country,” I quickly added.

Our conversation was suddenly  interrupted by the arrival of Daudi and his colleagues.

“More volume please!” Said Daudi on top of his voice. They had just entered the bar making a lot of noise. They all worked for City Parking Department  and were regular customers in the bar.  They always bought a lot of beer almost on a daily basis which left many questions in some of us.

 The DJ increased the volume by more decibels and the loudspeakers sounded like they were blaring in my ears.  The group started dancing, whistling and howling like they were possessed by demons.

“Louder! Louder!Louder! Let us enjoy!” Shouted Daudi. They were joined by three other  ladies who displayed their sophistry in dancing.  For a wholesome ten  minutes, time seemed to stand still as they danced and chanted to the beat of their favourite songs.  The noise was atrocious.

These people were happy with their lives, something which I could not say for myself.  Maybe happiness is in the mind. When the odds are staked high up  against you, happiness can only be an illusion.

• Onie Ndoro is a an IELTS tutor, ghostwriter and storyteller. For feedback:  Twitter@Onie90396982/email:oniendoroh@gmail.com 0773007173