MY FIRST MAKOUSSA CONCERT

Monday, 17:30

Public Holiday

What the fuck was a nigga doin’ at a concert all decked up in a suit? When I say a suit, I meant the whole works…the long sleeves, the waist coat, the suspender and a bow fuckin’ tie, everything was up in the mix. Not only did he dress his ass in a suit, he was a walkin rainbow! Red suit, yellow shirt, navy blue waist coat and a blue tie to capped the ensemble up.

I took a sip of my spirit cooler and looked at that nigga again; dude was sweatin’ profusely like he stole some. I felt so uncomfortable, it was like I was the one sweating and y’all know what? Rainbow man was oblivious to the fact that huge lakes of sweat had pooled up on his back and armpits and I wouldn’t be surprised if tributaries of sweat had made their way down his pant from his balls!

Rainbow man couldn’t be bothered by such trivial issue as sweat, nigga was ballin’ and singin’ along to every word Fally Ipupa (the Congolese superstar) was singin’ out there on the stage. I must admit, the atmosphere was electric, I couldn’t believe I actually there to watch Fally perform.

I looked around and guess what? Rainbow man wasn’t the only one in suit, from my position in front of the stage; I counted six guys who were suited up! Somethin told me if I had had the opportunity of getting up on that stage, there would be more suit men in the crowd.

As far as I know, there are only two set of folks in the world who would unashamedly walk around in outfit teeming with colors (color riot) and those two would an Igbo man and a Congolese! Am I stereotyping? Maybe, but then again, maybe not.

45 Minutes earlier

Forty five minutes earlier, we (me, Barry and Kaysman) were coolin’ at some sports bar after me and Barry got done wit a lil somethin’ we were doin’ but then two other friends came through and plans changed and we had to leave for another place where shit was goin’ down. We arrived at the new venue in a convoy of three. I rode short-gun with Barry while the three other guys rode in the two whips behind us.

The place was already alive with loud music, the boozin’ crowd was buzzin’ and the smell of goat barbeque held the air hostage and that right there (goat barbeque) was why we came; the concert was jus the cherry on top.

18:10

On our second serving of that well peppered goat meat, conversation was goin great, beer was flowin’ for the other guys and me? I was doin’ The Spirit Cooler A.K.A Smirnoff spin (my mens always make fun of me for drinkin’ that stuff, they say it’s a lady’s drink…I don’t care. Normally I don’t drink but if I have to, then it’s gotta be Smirnoff spin).

I left the guys huddled up over a BlackBerry phone; somethin about the bootylicious pictures in somebody’s facebook album that one of guys wanted us to see *winks*.

I headed to the source of the booze to ask the bar tender what the name of the guy performin’ was (cause I wasn’t really sure if it was Fally Ipupa), in response to my question, she pointed to the big ass banner hangin on the wall and added wit a wink, “he’s good, ay?”

I nodded and said, ‘huh uh’’’. It wasn’t like I really gave a fuck who the Congolese superstar was, I jus wanted to get the name right for my blog!

So as it turned out, I was right about the artiste not being Fally Ipupa, it was some singer named Ferre Gola. Ferre Gola, hmmm, I’ve never heard of this guy before, not that I know many makossa artistes but from the number of people there, I could tell the guy was a big deal (gotta be on the same level as Fally).

Ladies of different shapes and sizes were screamin’ and moanin’ for Ferre and his dancers (four cats and two girls)…yep, they were moanin! Though, the music very loud, I could tell jus’ by reading them ladies’ lips, am good like that. Lol!

With the sixth spirit cooler in hand and hunger gnawing away at my stomach (nothin’ in there but goat meat, that doesn’t count as food or does it?), I turned my attention away from the television! I had become light headed and I could tell from my reflection at the mirrors at the bar, my eyes had no expression in ‘em despite the fact that I had a huge Smirnoff-induced smile of my face, they were expressionless like MJ’s when he was alive!

19:05

A few minutes past seven, we got in the cars and drove off to another spot where our convo was first about Manchester United’s scandalous loss to the noisy neighbor, Man. City then we talked that punk ass Gadhafi…then the convo shifted the Chinese and how exploitative they are; those niggas can’t be trusted, we agreed. Surprisingly, booty talk never crept into the convo! It was a good Monday but I woke up on Tuesday with a king-size headache.