Oh my God, you’re an angel!!
We are at UC Berkeley. Africa hall. Or Africa section. Africa something.
I am expressing immense appreciation to a student.
She is tall, and she has some glittering party make-up on. I think she looks really interesting.
She just let us into a 21+ party.
None of us is up to twenty one.
Well apart from our American classmate who has a fake ID. He is 21+ according to his fake ID.
I did not know Americans also faked documents. I used to think stuff like that only happened in like Nigeria.
A few weeks after resumption, someone offered to help me and some other classmates out with fake IDs.
You know, for 21+ party access and stuff.
I politely declined.
Please, I just got to America. I just landed here a few weeks ago- this place where everything is supposed to be perfect and where life is supposed to be nothing short of heaven on earth. Please hold on to your offer, thank you. I did not fly here all the way from Nigeria to make fake IDs thanks.
We’re inside the party.
Come to think it, we came all the way from San Francisco without even being sure if we were going to get in.
Props to the infallible confidence of the American with the fake ID.
The party seems really fun. There’s cool music and party lights and people dancing everywhere, mm.
I walk around and talk to a number of people. There’s some guy who studies something interesting. Like Biomedical Engineering or something like that. We talk for a while.
I keep moving around and dancing.
At some point I ask the DJ for permission to play some music from Nigeria. It’s rap music and I enjoy rap, but it’s this party rap that has a vibe that I feel will provide some interesting contrast to the predominantly Western music that’s being played.
The student DJ agrees.
I look up Falz and Phyno’s recent collaborations on Spotify. Falz has been making some interesting waves recently. While in Nigeria, I was like the only one I knew, who knew him. Well, me and the person who introduced me to his music. Recently though, he has been experiencing some international recognition. His music is very good- I really enjoy it. And I feel happy for him.
Falz and Phyno’s “Karishika” begins to play. “Karishika” is a jovially superstitious song about agents from the underworld who disguise themselves as attractive women, with the aim of inspiring the ruin of men who are making notable headway in life.
It appeals to a pretty prevalent mindset in Nigeria that men are the primary beings with well-defined destiny and purpose in life, and that women generally exist to either support or preclude the realization of said destiny.
It’s definitely very patriarchal, the women in the society for some reason behave in ways that reinforce this perspective- making you actually begin to wonder if it’s some sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy thing. Or even more bewildering, if men in Nigeria are in actual fact the only humans with life purpose and women only exist as auxiliaries.
But it’s a great ass party song.
The people dancing also seem to think so. Everyone seems excited.
I’ve resigned from my acting DJ position.
Now I’ve found myself toying with the idea of just walking around and persuading girls to kiss me.
I think it’s an interesting idea.
There’s this Asian-looking girl. Her name is Melanie.
We’re talking and dancing. I make her aware of my current mission. She seems very excited by it, but for some reason is hesitant to actually kiss me.
We talk some more and dance some more. At some point we kiss.
Mwah. It’s a mwah kiss.
There’s this British-sounding girl.
She is very very fun to dance with. She has some serious moves.
We keep dancing.
I make her aware of my mission. She’s also excited by it, but she says she has a boyfriend.
I think she’s lying.
We keep dancing. I keep attempting to persuade her. In between dance moves and hearty laughter she keeps bringing up the issue of her boyfriend- a being whose existence I am very suspicious of.
I haven’t kissed any girls in a bit. My attention has been taken by all of the other rooms in the building.
I’m in the bathroom.
There are condoms everywhere.
I do not understand.
The sexual culture in this country is so different.
Growing up in Nigeria, sex was pretty much a taboo topic. Something people only talked about in detail, in private. Not every time hush hush, but definitely not this.
Here, sex is everywhere.
There is a surprisingly expansive heap of condoms in front of the bathroom mirror. And dental dams.
The impression I get is, “We know you people are going to have sex. Just do it safely please.”
I don’t even know what this dental dam thing is used for. At this very point in time, I do not even know what the name is. I pick up a few pieces of the coloured rectangular stretchy thingies, and begin to imagine what in the name of God they could possibly be used for.
I am in another room. It looks like some sort of a Computer research lab. There is a pretty large monitor in the middle of the room. There is a girl seated at the computer. There is a guy hunched over her, looking at something evidently very important on the screen. They look up at me as I walk in. They do not seem very friendly. I say hello and leave.
I am back at the dancefloor.
I’m with two female classmates.
Now I’m attempting to persuade them to cop a feel of my chest muscles.
I know one of them thinks I have a hot body. She wrote that to me at this school event where everyone had a large piece of paper that I think some of us taped to our backs, and then everyone else wrote pretty pleasant stuff on everyone else’s paper.
Now I’m trying to persuade her and her American bestfriend to take some action with regard to their evidenced thoughts.
They seem shy, but have the potential to be receptive. I keep exploring the possibility.
The party is pretty done.
I am in the kitchen.
Some guy is frying something. Tater tots or something like that.
It took me a while and some confusion-inspired concentration to realize that the name of whatever he is making is “Tato tots”. Like “tato” from potato.
Oho. Now I get it.
Unfamiliar accents further complicate the understanding of new expressions.
I have resumed my kissing mission.
There’s a girl beside me. We’re having a pretty alright chat, and I’m attempting to elicit multiple kisses from her over tato tots.
We are outside. We’re sitting on the floor- we’re all considerably tired and pretty drunk.
We need to get back to San Francisco. That is something we’re all subconsciously aware of, but for some reason no one seems to have the energy to translate into action.
We keep sitting on the floor and laughing. An immensely drunk Danish classmate somehow emerged from within the building with this very giant baguette. I wonder where in the name of God he found such a giant baguette. I thought I had seen all there was to see in that building.
An Argentine classmate takes up the responsibility of ordering us an Uber. This guy is our father this night- right now we’re all just a bunch of drunk college guys lying on the floor in UC Berkeley with absolutely no plan on how to get back to SF.
Image: A different party.