At the end of March and beginning of April, German Karneval hit Windhoek full force with royalty nominations, parades, games, sausage and beer drinking, and massive parties to gear up for Lent where sobriety and fasting take over. Namibia has been celebrating their version of German Karneval for 66 years, but this year's celebration was bigger than ever because Deets' hip hop dance got to perform during Juka (yoo-kuh), aka Youth Karneval. Only kids aged 16-26 are allowed onto the premises unless you are royalty, related to royalty, or a stage parent for the performers.
Stern, square jawed ticket takers clad in red blazers and soldier hats admonished me for my tardiness, which was all of five minutes past 7 o'clock. Reluctantly, they let us cut the line past the throng of teenagers who were bottle necked at the entrance and told me that I was not allowed to leave until after his performance, which would be at 9:20pm. I dropped David off backstage was left to my own devices.
Wandering through the dance hall, I grabbed a beer and watched the crowds of teenagers. Many were proudly swigging full bottles of cheap wine while others double fisted bottles of beer. The kids were dressed in pithy Halloween costumes or in rhinestone-sequined gowns and heel, that would no doubt chafe their underarms and ruin their feet before the night was through.
The emcees and brass band were on stage warming up the crowd with coarse German chanting and Bavarian music that everyone seemed to know by heart. Dancers also took the stage wearing white boots that went up to the knee, short skirts, spanx, and vests. There was a lot of red lipstick and a lot swaying, straight arm raises, chorus line kicks, and cartwheels. And so. Many. Encores. Unsurprisingly, the entire show was spoken in German.
Luckily, because they were all of German heritage, I knew the schedule would run on time, so I spent my time remembering what it was like to be a teenager (I'm so glad I'm not anymore) and why I didn't see any other parents hanging around. Turns out, all the other the parents were classically Namibian and decided to drop their kids off and leave, no matter what the entrance people said.
Finally, around 9:18pm, the crowds on the floor parted as a line of deafening Harley Davidsons drove in the older Fusion Funk dancers. The younger kids followed on bicycles, and for those who didn't know how to ride, or happened to get flat tire at the worst moment possible, they walked in like a group of tiny, David Bowie thugs. 9:20pm, the music started and the kids did their hip hop thing, and the crowd went wild.
A few minutes later they ran off stage and did their encore, per the demands of the cheering crowd. I spent the remainder of my evening carrying Deet's bike with a flat tire and waiting for him to remerge from the dance hall. He had decided to disappear into the drunken (yet harmless) crowd and collect champagne corks from underneath the tables and benches. That kid kills me sometimes.
Stern, square jawed ticket takers clad in red blazers and soldier hats admonished me for my tardiness, which was all of five minutes past 7 o'clock. Reluctantly, they let us cut the line past the throng of teenagers who were bottle necked at the entrance and told me that I was not allowed to leave until after his performance, which would be at 9:20pm. I dropped David off backstage was left to my own devices.
Wandering through the dance hall, I grabbed a beer and watched the crowds of teenagers. Many were proudly swigging full bottles of cheap wine while others double fisted bottles of beer. The kids were dressed in pithy Halloween costumes or in rhinestone-sequined gowns and heel, that would no doubt chafe their underarms and ruin their feet before the night was through.
The emcees and brass band were on stage warming up the crowd with coarse German chanting and Bavarian music that everyone seemed to know by heart. Dancers also took the stage wearing white boots that went up to the knee, short skirts, spanx, and vests. There was a lot of red lipstick and a lot swaying, straight arm raises, chorus line kicks, and cartwheels. And so. Many. Encores. Unsurprisingly, the entire show was spoken in German.
Luckily, because they were all of German heritage, I knew the schedule would run on time, so I spent my time remembering what it was like to be a teenager (I'm so glad I'm not anymore) and why I didn't see any other parents hanging around. Turns out, all the other the parents were classically Namibian and decided to drop their kids off and leave, no matter what the entrance people said.
Finally, around 9:18pm, the crowds on the floor parted as a line of deafening Harley Davidsons drove in the older Fusion Funk dancers. The younger kids followed on bicycles, and for those who didn't know how to ride, or happened to get flat tire at the worst moment possible, they walked in like a group of tiny, David Bowie thugs. 9:20pm, the music started and the kids did their hip hop thing, and the crowd went wild.
A few minutes later they ran off stage and did their encore, per the demands of the cheering crowd. I spent the remainder of my evening carrying Deet's bike with a flat tire and waiting for him to remerge from the dance hall. He had decided to disappear into the drunken (yet harmless) crowd and collect champagne corks from underneath the tables and benches. That kid kills me sometimes.
:D Smiling for all of it! Well done, D!!!
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