It’s in our blood and every muscle of our being – the slow to quick pop and lock of the glutes
to the incredibly smooth motion of the vertebra translating into the S waist
motion, losing me and my fellow African mates in that afrobeat as it drops.
Slowly it builds, as Simple and Swagger fades out, Ice Prince, Oleku serenades us; eyes closed, you feel the heat of the African
sun on your back, though you are somewhere in the bowels of London’s
underground. It takes you back, to that rave, waves lapping in the distance and
the smell of burnt kebabs wafting over you. Crammed, vibing with the crowds and
lost in the moment – Bumper to Bumper,Fine lady, Ashawo’s sick remix and that tune from many Christmases ago
that even your mum got down to , oh yes
Angelina and Ahayed3.
Then the slayer of them all comes on, Muje Baya and you try
not to Azonto as you climb those escalators. Stepping out into the crisp London
spring winds, the promise of summer, roller-skating and barbeques not too far,
you plan your next trip back home.
Our dance moves can be theoretically derived from the
undulating motions of our mother’s derriere as she carried us, wrapped onto her
back………. and you can’t deny it. It’s in our blood and when that beats
drops, you shamelessly go for it and let it take you there.