Gugulethu

A more precise description of our night in Gugulethu will come later when we've had time to process the series of events from the blur of dancing smiles and drunk camaraderie, but for now here's the down and dirty scoop of our night's adventures in search of Mzolis Place. On the N2 we rounded the mountain towards outlying townships that boarder the city and rocky landmarks. Mzolis is this popular braai joint where you can buy raw meat, and then cook it at a nearby grill while inebriated. Needless to say it has gained a massive following of locals and foreigners alike. I am endlessly surprised and impressed when introduced to new situations in South Africa, and this was no exception. Turning off of Klipfontein onto Ny115 I was astonished to see the packed streets. 3 in the afternoon on a Sunday, and there were people setting up lawn chairs in the streets in preparation for the party to come. We drove into the thick of the crowd scouring the scene for a place to park. We were flagged down by an obviously drunk man, in a pink t-shirt offering his driveway as a parking spot. Normally I'd be leery of strange drunk men flagging us down, but this seemed to be one of those places where that was pretty acceptable.

After convincing the drunk man in pink not to clean Gloria the Jeep, Muda led us towards the chaos and anarchy in the streets of this small township. Talk about a sensory overload. People were stopping their cars in the middle of the street to get out and dance to their mix CD's. The overall feeling was of happiness and release. Let it all out, let it all go, and get wild. Gugulethu has in recent years become a rare place of gay acceptance in the Cape Town area, and as such we were surrounded by some proud member of South Africa's gay culture. It was an impressive array of colorful characters, testing the boundaries and comfort levels of more traditional braai connoisseurs. After hop-scotching over and around an impressively disgusting river of piss in the street and rounding the corner, we took one glance at Mzolis and it's mob and knew there was no way we would be enjoying their fare. This place was packed wall to wall inside and pouring out into the streets. The great thing about townships and South Africa in general, is that people will not be stopped by such silly things as space or walls when they want to party. The residential homes surrounding the joint opened their doors and transformed their living quarters into impromptu night clubs.

We walked a block up Klipfontein to barred shack designated as an alcohol distributor (I think?) where we bought 3 glasses and a whole bottle of whiskey for some insanely low price like $10USD. Is it going to be that kind of night? Yes, apparently is was. At this point we had been in the township for maybe 15 minutes and I had already been hugged by 2 strangers. I'm not saying this place is somewhere that everyone wants to hug you and its full of rainbows and sunshine, but thanks to Muda as our ever vigilant guide we were able to experience a neighborhood in it's most vibrant capacity without getting robbed as the ONLY white people in a crowd of about 300 in a pretty sketchy area of town. We honestly couldn't have been more out of place, but the people we surrounded ourselves with did an amazing job at easing us into the crowd and buffering any weirdos. It's also hard to be socially awkward or self conscious after sharing a whole bottle of whiskey. By the end of the night we were hugging strangers and thanking them for having such an amazing country. We are so embarrassing. Walking through the streets with the overwhelming party jostling us at every step I could only think, "If only my parents could see this, oh my god would they freak out."

I felt completely juxtaposed into the scenery and yet strangely comfortable. I hadn't had that kind of fun in such a long time; dancing, yelling, talking, making a complete fool of myself, etc. I wish only that I had a picture or two of home turned nightclub we raided. Or the outdoor inhibition-killing bathroom we used that required us to bribe the matron of the house with whiskey for toilet paper and access to the commode, and be way closer to one another while we peed than I ever thought either of us would ever be comfortable with. I keep saying, we are one pair of overalls away from being lesbians.

The ride home was a whole new adventure including how I scrapped my knee on the floor of the passenger seat/in Caroline's lap, got kicked out of the boot of the Jeep, and ate a lava-hot french fry sandwich that changed my life. But that's for another night.