Why, in my decades of indulging in frothy liquids and their associates, I’ve only witnessed bar operators being hauled to the nearest police cells for selling during prohibited hours.
If I had the powers, I’d declare playing music in Bongo bars illegal. Please note that this son of Muyanza hates music. On the contrary, I’m crazy about music—music of all types, including Singeli (barring the vulgarity).
I’d forbid music in bars because of the penchant of their DJs to play it so loud that it renders meaningful conversations amongst drinkers impossible.
And to some of us, loud music is a recipe for headaches. Those with heart conditions know what I’m talking about.
Granted, there’s a law (or is it a rumour?) on noise pollution, violation of which attracts hefty penalties, but who cares?
Why, in my decades of indulging in frothy liquids and their associates, I’ve only witnessed bar operators being hauled to the nearest police cells for selling during prohibited hours.
Health inspectors are always making life difficult for operators whose premises are filthy and smelly beyond tolerance. Noise beyond acceptable levels? Acha ikae!
In one of my neighbourhood drinking joints, Halima, one of the akauntas, who happens to be the de facto bar DJ, has told me often she too hates noisy music, but she’s forced to push up the dial because a majority of the patrons love noise.
“You see, mzee wangu, I often close the bar well into the wee hours… midnight, 1am, 2am…depending on drinkers’ demands; yet I’ve to return here early to balance accounts with the manager and work again late…day in day out!” She says the schedule makes her so tired, and loud music tortures her a lot.
“So why don’t you play the music low since you’re in charge of the system?” I ask her.
“Mzee wangu, how can I?” She asks and adds, “As you’ve seen it yourself, if I reduce the noise, the patrons shout at me and threaten to leave without paying.”
Pole sana, you say. As I’ve severally noted here often, when I’m seated at the counter, and I’m carrying some reading material, I don’t mind the noise.
It’s when there’s a sociable drinker with whom I’m chatting that I get really bugged when the music is being played at a maddening high volume.
That’s when I passionately beg the akaunta to do the necessary.
Like it happens today when the account on duty is Halima, a very respectful and tolerant bar worker. Beside me is Lema, a mtani of mine with whom I’m discussing a small deal that could earn me something to supplement the peanuts I earn from this crap I call “my column”.
I bend towards her and ask her politely, “Eti, Halima, can you please lower the volume?”
“It’s okay, mzee wangu, I too hate the noise,” she says and moves to push down the dial.
A few moments after that, a guy who has been playing pool (our people call it “pool table”) rushes to Halima and shouts, “Why have you reduced the volume?”
“Our mzee here asked me to do it… The loud music is making it impossible for him to chat with his friend,” responds Halima.
“Halima You’re talking upuuzi; people come to bars to drink, not to talk… kwani hapa msibani?”
Lema and I agree to shift to another bar within the neighbourhood and let the will of the majority prevail, even if it’s against the law.
