Natural Hair and Other Kinky Stuff

Lost in the Beat

This was written in October 2015 when I lived in Argentina.

 

The line isn’t too long and I stare at the crowd in front of me. Short shorts, T-shirts, and hip hop style is mainly what I see. I comment to my friends about the weed I smell. I don’t see anyone smoking a blunt but I can definitely smell it. I smile-EAGER. I can already tell that will be a different kind of party. I can’t quite hear the music yet but Ricardo says he think he hears house music. I reply ” I can do anything other than techno.” To my delight, its only 10 pesos to get in. No ID. No pat down. No bag search. I just hand over my money and step into the darkness. Its quaint yet, spacious enough. I see men and women staring at me. I feel comfortable in my ripped cut off shorts, graphic tee, and sandals. Some old-school hip hop song starts to play and I think ” Its going to be a great night.” The boys order food and I stand at the bar people watching. Snagging a seat on the balcony moments later is a perfect choice. I have a clear view of the Afro Mama band. I am not prepared for what happens next.

The portenos take the stage and I eye the guitarist and drummer. I size them up. I wonder if they will really live up to their name. Will they really manage to infuse  the “Afro” part into the music. And then it happens. The slim, handsome one croons into the mic with grace. I close my eyes for a sec and enjoy the moment. I look over at my friends and we are all hype. We feel good-we feel at home. For many of the songs, we sing along. I stand and dance alone stealing attention as I move my hips and butt to the beat. I watch as guys and girls break dance and pop lock. Some of them are good and others are just trying way too hard. LIke there is this one girl with baggy jeans, tattoos and a tear drop under her eye. Her necklace says “Tupac” and she eagerly tells Ricardo that she loves Snoop and Tupac. I wonder if she will ever be able to get a job….. I befriend with one of the musicians. He is originally from Canada but moved to Argentina when his parents decided to return.  He sings in a gospel choir and invites us to come to rehearsal. I agree and we promise to link up on Facebook.

A local tries to “twerk” and we explain exactly what twerking is and give him proper lessons.We joke and laugh and really wonder what type of drug one guy has taken. He goes hard all night, jumping, moving, and faux breaking dancing for 4 hours straight. We party all night wrapped up in the music and the vibe. I stumble into my room  close to 6am and finally climb into bed at 6:30am. By then, the sun is nearly high in the sky and I think about how grateful I am for this freedom. No early morning meetings or classes. No where I “have” to be. Only a few obligations and time for myself. I remember how good life is.

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