Bring on the dancing girls

It has been nothing but party, party, party recently. I finished off my summer season last night with a trip to Antwerp to see Femi Kuti, the multi-talented Nigerian musician and bandleader, older brother of Seun Kuti who I saw at Couleur Café last month, and eldest son of the late great Black President, Fela Anikulapo Kuti (Woyayah! Praise be to his ancestors!) the scourge of many a Nigerian dictatorship. I saw Femi play once before during my days out in the tropics with Harold, many years ago at the Peninsula Club in Lagos. I never got to see his esteemed father (Femi’s, not Harold’s) play at his Lagos club The Shrine, as it took a lot of organisation and security in those days to make the trip across town at night, and in any case Fela never came on stage before 2.00 a.m., which even back then was way past my bedtime. I regret it now, as Fela died in 1997. Femi is his father’s son, and although the concert started at 8.30 with a warm-up band, he didn’t come on until 10.00 p.m. The concert was at the open air theatre in the Rivierenhof park, a delightful location, and luckily it was a dry evening and not too cold.

Femi is accompanied these days by an 11½ piece band – a 5½ piece brass section (the ½ being Femi’s 10-year-old son, quite a mean sax player already, promising the continuation of Afrobeat for another generation to come), no less than 3 percussionists, 2 guitars, keyboards, not to mention the trademark dancing girls (3) in African tribal costumes, who are probably the most popular part of Femi’s band, especially among his male fans who welcomed them with a great woyaya. They are solid young ladies, with thighs like rugger players, and worked extremely hard for the duration of the concert, their versatile backsides shimmying like a windfarm in a Force 9 gale. Femi did a stonking set, and a large number of the crowd were on their feet from beginning to end, waving their herbal cigarettes in the air. I didn’t find him quite as danceable as his brother Seun, Femi having moved towards a jazzier variation on their father’s Afrobeat sound, but it was great music, and Femi is still a fine figure of a man, especially when he takes his shirt off to reveal a six pack that Jagger can only dream of (the ladies cheered at this point). Femi’s songs are still very political, and several of them mentioned President Obasanjo in a less than flattering light. I don’t know why, the Pres got an award last year, for running the most corrupt country in the world or something. He must be doing something right.

A few words about Antwerp before I settle down once more to dismal monotony. I am dead impressed. It is worth going there for the railway station alone, which is like a cathedral. Last time I went it was a national holiday, so the shops (apart from the diamond merchants) were shut. This time everything was open and I discovered an exciting, vibrant city with what has to be some of the best shopping in Europe. Some of the designer clothing made me stop in my tracks – and I’m a C&A girl as everyone knows. I must have been distracted, as I managed to lose my umbrella without even sitting down! There are more restaurants than you could manage to eat in if you stayed there a year, and of an amazing variety – South African, Indonesian, Argentinian, Croatian, Cuban bars, Irish pubs, karaoke clubs, you name it, there is something for everyone in Antwerp. Even the people were better-looking than in Brussels, particularly the gay men. (Was that the sound of Peter's suitcase snapping shut?). Although I do not speak or understand Flemish, all the waiters and shopkeepers and even the bus drivers speak English and French. I shall definitely be going back there frequently, especially as I plucked up the courage to venture into a diamond shop and get some prices. Dangerously reasonable. There’s a little ½ carat honey up there with my name on it. You will be the first to know.