So this town we went to had a nightclub. I had thought that the pinnacle of my African club-going was reached in Club Fantasy, Namibia, circa 1997, but I was wrong. I hadn’t been to Candle Light Nite Club in Zambia, circa 2004. I hereby extend an invitation to our friends DJ Dan and Dr Emily to join us some time at this illustrious place - the DJ is secreted away in a high high crow's nest box thing at the back. Safe from fans, oh yes!!
Candle Light does not have screaming red walls, which is a disappointment. It does, however, have more than its fair share of mirrors. All the local chaps line up in front of the mirrors to watch themselves move. There is even some, ahem, breakdancing. I am itching to start up The Macarena (not really).
The middle of the dancefloor is empty. This is a prime target for a dancefloor terrorist like me. Some local ladies try to show me the African booty shake. It’s too slow for me. My arse is big and wants to go faster. The glitterball can’t keep up. Neither can the chap who appears next to me who is intent on translating every word of the Zambian song on the turntable. He tells me the refrain is ‘How happy I am to have met you’. Later he comes by to tell me that actually it is ‘How lucky I am to have met you.’ By this point I am so many vodkas into the night that I can’t tell if he’s talking about me or the song.
Fifty of us pile into a wrecked saloon car, to drive ten metres down the dirt road to where we are staying.