You are currently viewing Dying to Party – The Namibian

Dying to Party – The Namibian


Many years ago I was in the club when someone hit their head in the bathroom and died. I hadn’t thought about that in a long time, till a few days ago.

After the Burna Boy show in Windhoek last week, a whole bunch of us went to the club to dance and have a bit of fun.

When we got there, a mob had formed outside of the gate, trying to force their way in. It was quite chaotic, but with how small I am, I managed to fight my way to the front and then through the gate.

Once inside, I discovered there was another fight for people to enter the VIP area. It made me wonder what VIP even means, if I have to shove 20 other people out the way and explain to the bouncers why I deserve to be inside.

And yet the mob persisted. Everyone had their reason: “I’m an influencer”, “it’s me, Jane”, “I was here last week”, etc., but the bouncers didn’t give a damn if they weren’t talking money.

At some point, it was practically a stampede and the buff guards had way too much on their hands. That’s when they deployed the strategies that made me think about the guy who died in the club all those years ago.

Firstly, these people have no regard for human safety at all. It’s surprising because clubs are literally part of the hospitality industry, but you can go there as a paying customer and be manhandled by the staff.

Yes, I know that dealing with unruly and drunk crowds is something no one wants to do and can be damn near impossible, but there are protocols and methods one can put into place to safely disperse crowds (especially since it wasn’t thousands of people).

These guys are not trained for that at all though, and they don’t seem to know that their job is actually a customer service role.

If a mob is pushing forward in one direction (like towards the gate), then pushing back against them will not help and could actually injure them. What I personally suggest, based on watching a few YouTube videos on the subject, is crowd control starting at the back and slowly working forward, first removing people who aren’t that much stuck in the thick of the mob

It’s like if you brush or comb your hair. You should start detangling at the tips and work your way to the roots. If you start at the roots, you’ll break your hair.

The thing that really made me think about death though, was the next tactic they tried: threatening people with a taser.

In an area populated with other people, where you can stretch your arms out and not touch anyone else, you’re probably experiencing three people per square metre. If you’re walking through a crowd and can easily bump into someone, the density has gone up to about six.

During a stampede? There are over 10 people per square metre. It’s a dangerous level where you could get trampled, shoved, elbowed, etc., and it can happen so quickly and with so much force. (I learnt this in a five-minute video that I’d like to send to all club owners.)

So when I heard the taser (that terrifying sound of electricity), I was actually shocked. I think that no matter how crazy things seem to be, such a thing will only make things crazier because people will panic and push and fight even more fiercely.

If they weren’t stepping on each other before, fear would definitely push them to now do so, thus a change in tactics is needed.

I’ve spoken to no fewer than 10 people who cannot believe the behaviour of those guys on the night. I know one woman who felt the sting of the taser on her private parts. Someone else told me they were elbowed in the face. One had their head pressed against the wall violently. A few other women say they are never returning to that place again, and I get it.

I keep wondering, with the amount of people who were caught in the ocean of bodies, what if one of them had been seriously injured, maimed or killed? What if someone has epilepsy and an attack by an electrical charge could cause a medical emergency?

Being in the club is great, but not enough to die for.

The morning after the chaos, my arm was stiff and sore. I think maybe I sprained it slightly (just don’t tell my mom). Thankfully, it wasn’t worse, but honestly, I have no words.

* Anne Hambuda is a poet, writer and social commentator from Windhoek. Follow her online or email her at anneham[email protected] for more.





Source link