There was a time when I had time.
Last year, I went to Old School Soirée intentionally, although if I am being honest, most of my visits were because I was working with All Events Kampala. I would show up, cover the event, write about it and go home. Somewhere along the way, however, the work would disappear into the background because the music had other plans for me.
By dusk, I would usually find myself shaking an almost non-existent waist as DJ Ssese played one of those early-2000s songs that somehow survived every attempt we made to grow up. Obsession. Jangu. Songs that did not ask whether you had a mortgage, deadlines, unpaid bills or a questionable career trajectory. They simply played, and everybody sang.
That is what I remember most about Soirée. You could walk in carrying the weight of the entire week and somehow find yourself surrounded by people smiling at songs that raised them. For a few hours, whatever catastrophe was happening outside could wait. Kampala had problems, capitalism had problems, I probably had problems, but nobody seemed interested in solving any of them at The Alchemist.
Then life happened.
Responsibilities multiplied. Time became that thing I was always looking for but never seemed to have. Months turned into months, and every time Old School Soirée came around, I had another reason why I could not make it.
But this Saturday, September 5, I am going.
Not as press. Not because someone needs an article. I am going as one of those people who apparently do not have problems.
And no, I do not expect an afternoon of old-school music to magically fix my life. However, there is something therapeutic about hearing songs from a time when your biggest problem was Teacher Opio David of SST insisting that you sit between two girls in P4 East.
Sometimes nostalgia does something strange to you. It takes you back to a version of yourself who had fewer worries, bigger dreams and absolutely no idea what adulthood was going to demand.
You might even start asking yourself questions. Why am I not the pilot I told Madam Christine I would become in 2004? Where did the neurosurgeon disappear to? At what point did the ambitious child who wanted to conquer the world become a grown adult excited about finding a parking spot at Bandali Rise?
If those questions become too painful, fortunately, The Alchemist Kitchen has food. I am particularly interested in whatever goat ribs they decide to put in front of me because nostalgia is beautiful, but nostalgia with something good to eat is even better.
Old School Soirée Vol. 35 starts at 1 PM and runs till late, with DJ Ssese, DJ Persha, DJ Slaughter Elly, DJ Hot, DJ Kasbaby and DJ Cross handling the music. There are no MCs and no performers to interrupt the experience. Just DJs, old-school music and enough time to actually listen to the songs.
You can even dress retro if you want. Although, knowing Ugandans, someone will arrive dressed like it is 2004 and another will claim their outfit is “inspired by the era” because they found it on Pinterest yesterday.
Either way, I know where I will be.
This Saturday, I am reserving my problems a table at the Old School Soirée