By Charles Gare

It’s Friday evening, one John-John from Area 18 hits the club with his fresh new kicks and a couple of Mullah his dad dropped unto the former’s wallet; the usual monthly upkeep. 

John-John approaches the bartender and orders one green for a starter… Just after taking the first sip a creepy feeling hits his nerves.

“The money I’m blowing is for upkeep for the rest of the month but should I stop boozing? Hell Nah! my niggas will think I’m broke hence leaving the club early. Imma order a couple o’ rounds then am out; have to save some”…

Sip after sip slowly the alcohol molecules in John-John’s drink start making their presence felt. Two more greens land on his front. Dancefloor is his next destination.

“It’s gonna be alright,” or so he thinks.  

One two steps, alcohol rocks his developing grey matter.

The more he guzzles that liquid, the faster his judgment diminishes.

Mesmerizing disco lights start clouding his judgment…every night queen on the dancefloor is slowly becoming a Nicki Minaj lookalike.

Professional as she is, one of the Super night queens spots her target; hapless John-John.  

With Major Lazer’s ‘Particular’ song deafening John-John’s ears, the Night goddess does what she knows best; provocatively twerking her booty.

Shake yah booty! Turn it around!!! Wine it!!

She craftily approaches John-John, and politely asks for a dance. Can John reject the offer? Hell No!

Who would reject a Nicki Minaj tantalizing bid anyway? After a couple of melodies from the huge speakers across the dancefloor, lady Night Boss asks for a cider; a fuel for the prolonged new found night camaraderie.  

“Hunter’s gold.” She says.

Drunk as he is, her statement sends shivers across John-John’s spine. 

Hunter’s usually costs up to 1 500 bucks in some uptown clubs. For a student like him, that’s alotta money to waste, rather being wasted.

As he is pondering on whether to fall prey to Night Boss’ demands or move on, john-john has another issue to worry about. His earlier two bottles have run dry.

So, two issues to ponder here. His encephalon becomes an August House where evil meets good.

Buying her one more bottle will mean crippling his already crippled coffers. But, not buying her one at this stage could be the biggest embarrassment of his career, the imbibing career. It’s a fix! As is often times in such scenarios, the bad always triumphs. This case was no exception. 

“Bartender, one Green, and one Hunter’s please!  

She lights a cigar while she enjoys the cold cider she had just been awarded.

As the imbibing and the boogying progresses on the dance floor, enters Mr Papichulo, a fat pot-bellied sexagenarian who smells and looks money. Rumour has it he’s the regular for John-John’s prey. It’s a catch 22!

No sooner had Papichullo secured a seat at the counter next to the young couple than the Night queen and the Pappie’s eyes lock. Deal struck.

Quick as a flash, the Night rider feigns to relieve herself at the ladies.one minute turns into two….five…ten…fifteen up to one hour. John-John realizes the night rider won’t be coming back again. She’s been taken. He’s been f^%ked. She’s gone. Papichullo has spoken.

Realizing it’s getting late, rather, dusk is giving in to dawn, Little John-John has to be heading home; rather, to his hostel.

Taxis from this club to his crib costs about 3,500 MK at this awkward hour. Of course, the same distance, if it was in the afternoon, he could have parted ways with a meagre K300. There’s no other option. A taxi is his only option. More money spent.

Little Johhnie reaches his hostel red with anger, and deceit. Fifteen thousand kwacha blown in a day (a night) and he starts regretting; re-countering what that amount could have done to his life as a self-boarder. He’s sacrificed his money over nothing… That feeling of not wanting to be left out might have been the root of such doings.. that stupidity of satisfying other people’s needs first before he could attend to his.

Now back to reality.

John-John’s scenario had been the order of the day to most uptown, and even down town youths in the year going to an end.

Week in week out, you would find dem niggaz from uptown hoods hosting what came to be known as Mbuzi parties almost every weekend.

So, here is December, 2018, has it ever occurred to you how much you might have wasted for such good-for-nothing jamborees?

What have you achieved outta them mbuzi parties?

Did it occur to you that them niggaz you were trying to impress by not leaving the club earlier are all from well-known parents where money is not a problem to them?

As you were busy boozing day in day out, hosting dem chicks like the biblical King Solomon, your mum and dad were busy selling firewood or doing other manual works (maganyu) all in the name of footing your school bills. Shame!

So, as 2019 is fast approaching, let’s open our eyes and realize that bandwagoning won’t help us at any cost because no matter how hard we try to be like others, we won’t be them…in the end, frustrations are going to be the order of the day.

Whenever the libido for partying hits our encephalon, let’s remember where we’re comin’ from, and what our goals in life are.  

To fellow students, let’s learn to properly manage our resources wisely. Time inclusive. Time management also matters if you want to succeed. Partying every weekend doesn’t make you the freshest kid in town.

Not that parties are not allowed, nuh! but it’s just a matter of setting limits and priorities. If you are a student, then utilize the resources and time you have before it’s too late.

It’s better to go turn up or go clubbing with your own hard earned money than balling on your father’s budget.

Let’s put in work to take this country to another level; together we the youth can transform the nation. Let’s stick to our own lane and keep moving forward.

Wishing you a fabulous 2019!