The laid-back nightlife of the Comoros
On a breezy Saturday night in Moroni, Boris and I were sitting at a wooden table at a sea-side disco, sipping warm beer by a makeshift dance floor, watching colorful garbs fluctuate to strobe intensity. People sat in the smoky darkness of the disco, talking and drinking Castle lager.
“You like staying up in Daché?” Boris asked me. “So far from everything.”
“Sure. The view’s real good and it’s peaceful and quiet up there.”
“I’d prefer living close to the beach. Nice and cool there when the breeze blows in from the sea.”
Boris filled our table with an order of mixed drinks. After downing a couple of whiskies, he flipped his Zippo against his jeans and lit another cigarette. Illuminated in the glow of a red bulb, we slouched behind a clutter of empty glasses on the peeling table, watching couples wiggle to afrobeats by Juls.
People on the dance floor moved their bodies to the rythm, projecting an aura of sensuous color and vibrations. The music blended with the crashing waves below us as silhouettes of fruit bats flitted among the rustling palms against a moonlit sky.
Boris stood up and said, “Let’s find Abdul”
We left the table and were nudged along by the sweaty bodies of gyrating dancers. Disoriented from drink and flashing lights, we shifted through random people and finally encountered Abdul.
“Salut les mecs,” Abdul said. “Come.”
He led us through cluttered alleyways, between metal shacks. We walked past the scuffling of rats and conversing groups of dark images laughing hoarsely after a song-filled night of palm wine and cards. We lowered our heads and entered Abdul’s home. Boris and I sat on a sleeping mat in the corner and Abdul leaned against a stained wall. His T-shirt and gray pants hung loosely over his bony frame.
From his pocket he took out some cannabis wrapped in old newspaper, pulled the leaves from the stem, removed the seeds and rolled a joint. With a match he sparked the joint, inhaled deeply and then passed it to Boris. Illuminated by a low hanging kerosene lamp, a small radio lay in a circle of golden light. Abdul turned on the radio and Burna Boy wailed softly.
