‘Nairobi, by weekday dusk, is a mad asylum of matatu (mini-bus) mayhem and stone-faced pedestrians, hurrying to get home. I’m definitely going against the tide of evening traffic’
- Tony Mochama, Nairobi A Night Guide
When the sun is out, Nairobi streets are an interlocking riddle of cars, buses, motorbikes and pedestrians. New lanes emerge and disappear as travellers take on the traffic. It’s a delicate dance, splitting potholes and narrow avenues, tires kicking up dust and gravel. In some places, motorists and hawkers jostle for roadside territory as pavements overflow with sneakers, potted plants, furniture and corrugated iron. Gated apartments, office buildings, embassies and roadside nyama choma flash by in the windowpane film reel. The requisite ad-breaks: ‘M-Pesa; Tuskers beer; “newly-erected flats for let”. Matatus, the city’s famed mini-bus taxis, run the streets: their car bodies emblazoned by local spray artists, interiors encased in lush fabrics, and windows reverberating club bangers.
When the sun is switched off, the streets clear and quieten. But around the city’s nightclubs is a cacophony of headlights and hooting, as Nairobi’s youth descend on the dancefloor. Nightclub gossip, over the past month, has circulated around B-Clubb, where the sons of Uhuru Kenyatta, Raila Odinga and William Ruto had reportedly spent 1.16 million Kenyan shillings on alcohol, much of which was used to wash the hands of their party. Nairobi’s skhothane, switching custard for champagne, and setting Kenyan twitter alight. Meanwhile, Nairobi Noir has flooded online catalogues with grey-scale images of the city-by-night: a dimly-lit street corner; the lone light of a motorcyclist; security guards at an alleyway precipice.
My first night in Nairobi took me to The Elephant in Lavington. It’s an outdoor venue, erected in the back garden of Eric Wainaina’s studio, behind an inconspicuous metal gate, in a dimly-lit suburban street. Slide through the gate and arrive at what feels like your neighbour’s driveway. Yet, around the back of the house is a dazzling stage, bathed in purple light, and set up for an eight-piece band. It’s Nairobi’s Narnia. The audience gathers on wooden crates in the garden, enjoying tightly-packed samosas, which are among the city’s signature street food.
The owner, Wainaina, is one of Kenya’s most acclaimed singer-songwriters, His debut album is titled Sawa Sawa. Perhaps the most commonly heard phrase in Nairobi, it’s a street-talk equivalent of ‘sharp sharp’ or ‘sho’. And indeed Wainaina’s music has often transformed street politics to soundtrack. His single, Kenya Only, became the unofficial song of mourning after the city’s 1998 terrorist bombing. In 2001, he released ‘Nchi ya Kitu Kidogo’ (‘Country of Bribes’). The anti-corruption anthem has, in the past, prompted state intimidation and censorship by the national broadcaster.
City politics had similarly infiltratd this night at The Elephant. The show was delayed due to some-or-other encounter between the band and the police. But when hey finally stepped into the purple light, Atemi Oyungu, Chris Adwar, Kanji Mbugua and The Villagers Band had the audience entranced with a Benga —Afro-Soul—RnB fusion. Midway, we were coaxed into rehearsing a series of dance moves, each an adaptation of Nairobi’s street-characters: the bus driver, the motorcyclist, and the soldier. With the moon ascended to form a spotlight over our heads, Atemi and Chris Adwar perform ‘Someday’, sketching a roadside romance: ‘Ningekuwa taxi driver. Ningekupa lifti kila mara…Ningekuwa dereva Citi Hoppa. Hata kileleshwa tungetembea.’
Next pit stop on my journey through Nairobi’s lunarscape is The Alchemist, perched on the narrow Parklands Road, behind another innocuous metal gate. In many guises, The Alchemist brings the outside, in. The outdoor, semi-tented venue is clearly a favourite among expats and locals alike. To the rear of the gravel dancefloor, groups cluster around hookah pipes or join the line at the bar. Around the side, street food is sold from a small caravan. The stage itself opens out from a truck: transporting music, literally, off the city streets. On stage is a Swahili rhumba band: Red Acapella. Their lead singer — draped in beads, overalls and red light — calls to the audience. The music unapologetically old school, unapologetically Kenyan, is branded ‘urban folk’.
Our final stop and the motoring metaphors are relentless: The Space is a car wash by day. At night, its neon-lit entrance is framed by a multi-story tightly packed parking lot. A long line of cars stretches from the entrance down the Ngong road pavement. Only a select few vehicles are allowed to park inside the venue, and the selection criteria are clear. Who needs red carpet when you’ve got BMs? It’s another part-indoor, part-outdoor venue, dotted with bar tables and hookah pipes. Young promoters, with spirits in their belts, offer shots by the minute. Expensive bottles are carried to their buyers, ablaze with sparklers: traffic signals to indicate who is spending and where.
Like a matatu interior, the walls of The Space are dotted with television screens, and the club’s playlist is a music video montage: tracks from Kenya, The Gambia, Nigeria, South Africa. Then add a dash of 90s American hip-hop. If Nairobi matatus are nightclubs on wheels, then perhaps its nightclubs are like stationery matatus: infused with rising smoke, flashing lights, motorist metaphors, and the pounding feet of night-crawler traffic, kicking up dust. At night, the life of the bustle-city is transported here, backlit in florescent light and set to music.
