It was not just a Rastafarian affair, nor was it a ragamuffin affair; it was for anyone who had the spirit for the only contemporary music known to have African roots.
Rastafarian colours run through the club. The dreadlocks mingled.
The reggae â€œriddimsâ€ blasted. What more could anyone ask for? On the dance floor, who cared who stepped on whom? The spirituality of Roots and Culture reggae, the sensuality of the loverâ€™s rock vibes combined with the groove of dancehall and the bumpiness of reggaeton was too much for anyone to care about any discomfiture.
The club did not have any smell of â€œweedâ€, neither did it have any foul body odour. Whether it is true that â€œyou donâ€™t have to be dread to be Rastaâ€, most clubgoers had the feeling that it was not a dreadlocks thing that night. Till then, nuff Respect!
Lions of Zion party