Ficshun

So it finally happened. I knew it had to. Sooner or later. It couldn’t last forever.

I found a cool nightclub in Kingston.

It’s called ‘Fiction’ though all the uptown Jamaicans I hang out with call it ‘Ficshun’, a pronunciation I occasionally didn’t laugh out loud at. Ficshun! The hyperactive DJ was incapable of listening to one track for more than 45 seconds and was likewise hostile to the idea of mixing songs of similar genres into one another. I loved the man. What else to do but mix ‘Wake me up before you go go’ into Vybz Kartel?

Anyway, the DJ had something which is increasingly rare in his profession: he played music that actually made you want to dance. Once you’ve got that, you can’t help but like a club really. I also got a terrific opportunity to witness the miraculous spectacle that is young Jamaicans on the dancefloor; never have I seen a nation of amazing dancers. It must be part of the national curriculum, or a requirement before you get a passport, or something.