The past couple of weeks, I have contemplated on rather heavy topics, and I was brought out of that deeply introspective space by the memory of how much I enjoy a good, well-deserved, random afters.

Drawing from the concept of after-parties, “afters” became a night-out phenomenon on its own, taking space in people’s homes, rented Airbnbs and some designated club spaces (residents of Hello Jua know what I’m talking about).

In some extreme cases of preserving the vibes, it is possible to find yourself gazing at the Rift Valley escarpments or feeling the sand between your toes in Diani.

I knew I was addicted to the afters when I found myself no longer looking forward to just going out. I had already jumped to the end of the night, giddy for the adventure that would unfold.

If you’ve watched How I Met Your Mother (I’m about due for an annual rewatch), then you’ve heard the infamous phrase, “nothing good ever happens after 2am”, that Ted (the main character) reiterates throughout the show, as imparted on him by his mother.

I partially agree with the statement because it is during those early hours of the morning that the energy on a night out titters on being destructive.

On the other hand, some of the best nights I’ve ever had are the ones that happened after 2am and stretched into the next day, when you find yourself enjoying the warmth of the rising sun, nary a care as to whether you have any sunscreen on.

The afters is not as debaucherous as it sounds, or as it has been portrayed, though that depends on who you ask.

In a city where third spaces have become unfairly limited, the afterparty acts as a safe refuge for those who hinge on extending after the main function, looking to squeeze as much magic out of the night as possible.

It’s a testament that although all good things come to an end, some people are not ready to bid the night goodbye.

Main functions at a club or event can feel overcrowded, commercial and heavily policed, whereas the afters provide a more intimate, relaxed atmosphere, where you are at liberty to let your hair down.

Usually, I can hardly stand the music at the club on account of it being tiringly repetitive, evidence that my primary focus on a night out is to be with my kin.

By the end of the night, I’m dying to listen to my own playlists (I’m something of a music connoisseur), and open to being introduced to new sounds.

The conversations that mingle softly with the music, as opposed to shouting over heavy bass and other overlapping voices, are unhinged, unfiltered and uncensored, often leading you to dig a little deeper and ponder more on what has been shared.

In some instances, the afters is a space for people to recollect a night that they may have all experienced, but through different perspectives, especially if it’s after an event and you all last saw each other at the entrance, most likely got separated by the chaos of getting in, and regrouped when it was time to call a cab to leave.

BREAK FROM ADS

As dramatic as it may sound, the afters is simply a momentary escape from reality, which is something we all crave (and truthfully need) from time to time.

A respite is subjective, but I believe pulling up to the afters is a reprieve; such an act of spontaneity is bound to increase your life expectancy, but don’t quote me.

At the beginning of the year, when I had just started my internship and our collective was picking up pace at an incredible rate, I shared with the homies that I could not wait for another great afters to find me.

We had sat in a parking space in the hood on a Friday evening, and I was watching a group of millennials intently. 

They were several bottles deep, and an epiphany occurred to me, almost as though I had never noticed before: This was their way to unwind, this is how they sought a break from their reality (I have been a teetotaller for almost three years now, so I’m generally ambivalent to people's drinking habits).

Despite yearning for an afters that can go down in history, yet again, I’m appreciative (and acknowledge my privilege) that I get to live at a time that, though such a culture is criticised, we do it anyway. Because in this life, you get to carve out memories that stay with you, and make a statement about the way you moved in the world.