The pavement was crowded with people gathered outside the club. A large neon sign cast a luminous green tinge over them all. Nomsa was already pushing her way towards the entrance to the club by the time Busi had closed the door of the taxi.

Busi stood on the edge of the pavement, taking in the scene before her. Nomsa had told her a lot about the Hot Spot Night Club, but this was Busi’s first time. Nomsa said she had been there many times before. Busi wasn’t always sure whether she could believe Nomsa or not. Once or twice she had discovered that Nomsa did not always tell the whole truth. Once she had even confronted Nomsa about some untruth she had told. Nomsa had merely shrugged.

“Fake it till you make it girl!” she had said, with a toss of her pretty head.

But, for now, Nomsa certainly did seem to know exactly where she was going. Busi moved after her, hesitantly trying to push her way through the groups of noisy smokers clustered together on the pavement.

To Busi there was an intoxicating fragrance in the air: a combination of gently perspiring bodies releasing their heady perfumes, mixed with the strong smell of cigarettes and alcohol.

Busi began to feel quite dizzy. She could hear the blood pounding in her ears, almost as loudly as the beat of the music that pulsed out of the doors of the club to meet her.

Busi began to move faster. She could see Nomsa up ahead, waving her arm in her direction, urging her to catch up.

Nomsa would have to wait for her at the door. Busi was carrying all the money, after all.

Busi nervously avoided eye contact with the doorman and the bouncer, bending her head to scrounge in her bag to find enough money to pay for her and Nomsa. She let her long extensions fall over her face. She was convinced that they would take one look at her and see that she was way under age for a club like this. But the doorman did not give Busi and Nomsa a second glance.

Nomsa, she noticed, was smiling straight into his eyes, with her head held high, and her glossy lips shining under the neon lights. The doorman took Busi’s money, and stamped both their wrists.

Inside, the club was very crowded. Bodies pushed against the girls from every side. Nomsa confidently pushed forward towards the dance floor, with Busi following closely behind.

Busi could feel the beat of the music pulsating right through her body. She loved it! She paused for a moment to close her eyes and steady herself.

This was what had drawn Busi in and made her want to follow Nomsa’s wild idea to come clubbing.

The music.

Since she had been a little girl Busi had always been drawn to the beat of music. Her family had laughed at her then. They had made video after video of her moving, trancelike, to the deep repetitive beat of any music that was playing.

Busi knew that for Nomsa the club was about a whole lot of other things, but for Busi the draw card had always been to be part of this overwhelming rhythm, the moving bodies, the revolving lights, the beat.

The girls found the dance floor and Busi closed her eyes and smiled. She allowed her body to begin to move, and surrendered herself to the music.

Busi had quite forgotten about Nomsa when she felt a sharp slap on the shoulder. Nomsa was standing next to her, and moving her mouth really close to Busi’s face. “Something to drink,” shouted Nomsa. “I need something to drink!”

Busi opened her bag and took out some money. She pressed it into Nomsa’s hand, and Nomsa moved away. Busi closed her eyes and continued dancing. When she opened her eyes again, Nomsa was nowhere to be seen. But two men were standing together right in front of her, and they were smiling at her.

One of them moved his face very close to hers and as he did so, Busi noticed a diamond stud flashing in his ear.

“Those are some dance moves you’ve got there,” he said, his breath warm, and smelling of alcohol. “Show me how to do them too, pretty girl.”


Tell us what you think: Should clubs ‘turn a blind eye’ to under age girls? What kind of drink does Nomsa have in mind?