Nai-robbery!

Yesterday, a cultural experience designated to get in touch with the local nightlife ended up going slightly awry.

The tourists here all share a distaste for the edition of Lonely Planet Kenya currently on the market--it's incomplete, unhelpful and downright disdainful in its descriptions of Nairobi. However, it was extremely complimentary about a certain nightclub called Simmers, saying one simply must visit it to have a good time and to listen to some authentic, genuine, live local music. And since we're always suckers for an authentic experience, we decided to go.

Now, we were not alone. Our companions were a Russian-Jewish-American girl named Alina whose fearlessness is proven by the fact that she once spent a summer in Afghanistan and her friend, a 6-foot-10-tall man named Peter, who's a native of Uganda, son of a diplomat, former pro basketball player from U of Notre Dame and drives a white 1981 Mercedes.

So, in such good company we thought we could not get into trouble (even though Peter did warn us that Simmers was a notoriously seedy place).

Upon getting to Simmers, we discovered that while there was no live band, there were, however, many live performances by prostitutes eager to attract customers (including some whites) with their gyrations and also some performances by men, dancing with each other--clumsy hippo-style, hands-around-each other's hips--in an attempt to attract the attention of said prostitutes. Most of the customers' faces were grim and decisive. We decided to get out of there quickly.

Our next stop was another nightclub that was frequented only by Indians (everything in Nairobi, including the nightlife, is very segregated) and also had no live music.

So, at wits' end, we arrived at a much-hyped restaurant-and-nightclub called Carnivore, which was having Luo night. Luo is Obama's father's tribe and their music is monotonous yet joyful, accompanied by drums. When we got there, we realized that this is where the party was at. Hundreds of cars were parked on an open field and people--all locals--thronged into a huge party arena. Everyone around us was gyrating madly, swinging body parts like there was no tomorrow, and we did the same. Alina was frantically getting down across from a guy in smoky glasses (never a good sign) when suddenly, we saw her grab him by the hand and yell, repeatedly "Give me my money!" Apparently, he took it out of her jeans pocket and put it away, so quickly and expertly that he immediately showed us that he had no money on him.

Peter, the gentle giant, didn't intervene and, frustrated, we all moved off. Misha reassured me that our own money was very safe, secured in a buttoned pocket in his pants. However, he shouldn't have been so sure. A quick check showed that we were cleaned out as well, without Misha feeling any improper touch. All in all, we lost about $50--as much as Peter saved us by driving us to all these nightclubs in this super-expensive city, so not so big a deal.

Later, we learned that smarter people watch the spectacle on TV and don't go expose themselves to the work of professional pickpockets. But then, this was so much more authentic and fun--and we now know what the Nairobi nightlife is like!