27 Feb 2010 1000 local Iringa, TZ
An Evening at Shooter’s Expatriate Club
I quite like Iringa. A comfortable town of some 100,000 souls built on the
slopes of mountains nearly one-mile above sea level, a visit to Iringa after a month in the village brings on a degree of culture shock. The sudden reappearance of Western conveniences such as 24-hour electricity, paved roads & sidewalks and running water served as a clear reminder to how powerfully these marvels can change a place. We took lunch at the Hasty Tasty, a diner run by an Indian family and specializing in Western cuisine. I had a microwaved cheeseburger on flatbread and it was glorious.
After taking lunch, Boots and I wandered towards a shaded spot called Stereo Bar to take the edge off. After a pair of Castle Milk Stouts each we headed to out hostel to nap, clean ourselves up, and the like.
The evening took us to SHOOTER’S EXPATRIATE CLUB, home of a smart set and suggestive of a period updated Sam’s Place with wicker chairs, collared bartenders and a single television set showing the 2007 Robert Downey Jr. film Iron Man on a continuous loop. Our cast of players was somewhat diverse – three American Peace Corps Volunteers, a Yankee with a fledgling computer repair shop in Iringa, Max & Junior – two local hustlers,[1] and a 20-year-old Austrian girl named Laura whom, regrettably, was asked questions throughout the night about “life in Germany.”
Shooter’s was light and uncrowded for most of the evening, allowing the ladies and gentlemen of our distinguished party to hold sway on a variety of topics, such as the military histories of our respective nations, our loved ones back
Shooter's Expatriate Club, as seen through the eyes of a patron
home and what the hell strum und drang really means.[2]
We talked about comings and goings; past times and future plans. For the most part our conversations were refreshingly devoid of pretense, perhaps the fact that most everyone present had bathed but once in the prior three days had something to do with it. This evening also saw my first venture to a Tanzanian ATM (courtesy Barclay’s Bank (Boots is a customer there)). Let me tell you now, a withdrawl of 200,000 units of currency – whatever the currency – is good for the ego.
Late into the night we grew hungry. We ordered from Shooter’s kitchen. A disgusting “pizza” (essentially flatbread covered with shredded cheese, onions and peas was soon before us.
And then it happened.
In this far away land, in an obscure tavern built against the side of a mountain I never knew existed, my ears detected those first telltale chords.
Marvin (Marvin) . . . he was a friend of mine
And he could sing a song – his heart in every line.
Against all reason it was finally happening: they were playing “Night Shift” at SHOOTER’S EXPATRIATE CLUB! The Commodores in Tanzania? How now, this was quite a thing! Everyone – Tanzanian and mzungu, American and German[3] alike was moved to dance.
Marvin, he was a friend of mine
And he could sing a song
His heart in every line
Marvin sang of the joy and pain
He opened up our minds
And I still can hear him say
Aw talk to me so you can see
What’s going on
Say you will sing your songs
Forevermore (evermore)Gonna be some sweet sounds
Coming down on the nightshift
I bet you’re singing proud
Oh I bet you’ll pull a crowd
Gonna be a long night
It’s gonna be all right
On the nightshift
Oh you found another home
I know you’re not alone
On the nightshiftJackie (Jackie), hey what’you doing now
It seems like yesterday
When we were working out
Jackie (Jackie, oh) you set
The world on fire
You came and gifted us
Your love it lifted us
Higher and higher
Keep it up and
We’ll be there
At your side
Oh say you will sing
Your songs forevermore (evermore)Gonna be some sweet sounds
Coming down on the nightshift
I bet you’re singing proud
Oh I bet you’ll pull a crowd
Gonna be a long night
It’s gonna be all right
On the nightshift
Oh you found another home
I know you’re not alone
On the nightshiftGonna miss your sweet voice
That soulful voice
On the nightshift
We all remember you
Ooh the songs are coming through
At the end of a long day
It’s gonna be okay
On the nightshift
You found another home
I know you’re not alone
On the nightshift
[1] I gave Max my phone number and promised to take him to President Obama’s house if he ever makes it to Chicago.
[2] We still don’t know. Laura being Austrian (which is evidently different from being German) was familiar with the vocabulary but not the idiom.
[3] Austrian
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