MAN ABOUT TOWN
TEXT
JACKSON BIKO
ART
MOVIN WERE
DRINKING
WITH
MANNEQUINS
Some whisky
drinkers believe if
they drink a whisky
they normally
wouldn’t drink, they
grow old faster
Jackson Biko, is a lover of whisky and
people watching. He likes to walk the
shadows of the city at dusk, picking
conversations of a people spurred by the
night and by their drink.
T
here are chaps who won’t
drink anything else if the bar
doesn’t stock their devil’s
piss. I’ve drunk with them
before; sore drinkers with
bottles up their asses. You will go
to a pub and they will say, “double
Glenlivet please, no ice, water.” And
you will turn to shoot them that
dude-look-around-does-this-placelook-like-it-can-even-spell-Glenlivet
look. They will remain defiantly
unperturbed. The waiter will clear
his throat and say something like, “I
don’t think we have that, uhm, drink
here, but let me confirm with the
barman.” Then you will tell them,
“they don’t have that drink here,
man” and the waiter will come back
and say, “we don’t have that drink
here, man” and he will brood and
mumble and complain why people
just can’t stock a goddamn bar when
they decide to open a drinking
establishment. And so you will ask
him if he would like you to ask for a
handkerchief from the big-bosomed
lady seated across the room, so that
he can have a good cry in it. He will
settle for water. Only water. Which
means you will end drinking alone.
And where is the fun in that? You
might as well be drinking with a
mannequin.
There is a non-conformist attitude
with some whisky drinkers who
believe that if they drink a whisky
they normally wouldn’t drink, they
will grow old faster; or grow hair on
their backs; that they will be less
cool. It’s not even a question of taste
or a palate conversation. It’s elitism
worn inside out. It’s like a Mercedes
owner refusing to get a ride in an
Audi; or a BMW. It’s like a French
restaurateur refusing to eat spaghetti
Bolognese. And it’s annoying.
Still, when I visited the Deck,
one of the coolest shisha joints in
Nyali, cast at the backend of The
EnglishPoint Marina overlooking
Fort Jesus across the creek, I sulked
a bit when I was told they didn’t
have my 12yr old Chivas. They
had Jack Daniels and Glenfiddich
which I really don’t have a problem
with although truth be told, I
hate the smokiness of Jack and
the aggressiveness of Glen. I just
expected more from a place like
English Point, which is the only
marina between Cape Town and
Egypt. But to be fair, the bar is
fashioned more to be a shisha place
and folk gather there not to pander
to their whisky snobbishness but
rather to while away the evening
across the bay from one of the most
magnificent sights on North Coast:
Old Town. When the sun goes down
and the lights come on, Mombasa
glitters across the water like a lost
medieval city.
I thought of my mannequin friend
and asked the waiter to get me two
fingers of Jack Daniels and two rocks,
no water. Then I settled back in the
silver chairs and stared out at the
lights across and I heard Coldplay’s
“Christmas lights” in my head.
45.