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Al-Fakher: Mirema’s Wild Shisha Den Where Lights, Music And Madness Blend
Chill Out Reggae Mondays At Alfakher Lounge Mirema Drive… Tonight and every other Monday
You don’t have to have a sheikh’s bank balance to enjoy yourself silly in Nairobi or at some of the city’s hidden holes.
Tucked at a junction where roads merge and darkness gambles is Al-Fakher, a little hedonism haven where the city’s saga boys come to play.
Uptown girls, who brandish their little iPhones and struggle to tuck their tummies call it ‘Al-Fakir’. But the dudes from down the road, who arrive in their loud, dusty jalopies while chewing a spilling ball of khat will cavalierly say ‘Al-Fakhaa’. And there’s very little you can do about it.
Unlike all the other entertainment spots around, you don’t just walk – or drive – into Al-Fakher. Here, the gate rule is super strict and you sometimes have to disembark from your car as the very zealous bouncers conduct a meticulous search of your car.
For those idly strolling in, you’ll be met by an unassuming black gate which is permanently locked and conscientiously manned. At no time, whatsoever, does the Al-Fakher gate remain open. Ever.
You’re quickly searched, sized up and down, ushered in and the gate is slammed shut again.
Once inside, you’re all-of-a-sudden thrusted into a little Havana where low-hanging lights dot the sky, chatty girls drown shots of colored mezcal, squinting blokes flash a wry smile at you and nubile waitresses proffer expensive cognac bottles.
Al-Fakher perfectly captures the current Nairobi nightclub zeitgeist – overhanging plants, moss wall installations, faux grass, pendant chandeliers, pallet seats and fancy, outdoor string lights.
With an allure that is undeniably magnetic, the night time energy inside is palpable – after several beers and a couple hours of muffled music, Al-Fakher quickly starts to be transformed into a patchwork of smoke, chatter, staggers and drunken stares.
Things here don’t take off too quick. Even by 10pm, it’s still a slow night and the chaos is manageable. Heck, you will even find a seat or two. The thing is, here, clubbers use the surrounding liquor stores as the jumping-off point to the bigger night ahead.
But by 1am, on a good Saturday night, Al-Fakher is packed with people who look like they stepped out of a Carl Hiaasen novel – by then you’re assured, an ungovernable all-night revelry awaits.
Here, under the brilliant night sky, is a cavernous al fresco which serves the city and keeps Nairobi roaring. The rich drive down from as far as Kilimani, slinky girls hopscotch from Syokimau, muguka-loving crowds pour in like a Haitian typhoon and drunk hobos waltz around in their frayed outfits.
Al-Fakher’s parking lot is actually a marvel by itself – here, hundreds of souped-up cars line up the fences; but they’re not entirely empty. Inside, the car owners, and their fleet of hangers-on, sit briskly, swinging around a shisha pipe, chewing muguka, bumping to Richie Spice and drowning a Captain Morgan.
By 3am, Al-Fakher is at its quintessential best – the main arena has now been converted into a neon-lit playground where the DJ is keeping the sweaty footworkers on the floor and scantily-dressed college girls, who look like they have been freshly-pampered for a magazine shoot, choke the air with their scented clouds of shisha smoke.
Even at 4.27am, crowds are still pouring in and an occasional Lexus LX 570 will be delicately trying to squeeze itself through the suffocating crowd, music on full blast as the driver, a bearded lothario who probably deals in credit card fraud, skims the crowd insolently. On the passenger seat is a bewitching damsel with a sheer, sequined dress and a bouffant Brazilian wig.
By 5.36am, the chaos is reaching fever pitch just outside the gate – there’s a kooky girl who is swearing at her boyfriend, there’re crowds who were too drunk to be admitted in, three Uber drivers are all reversing into each other and there’s a bummed out dude who needs to be slapped into sobriety.
Still, no one seems to want to go home. Not even the fellow who has clearly lost their phone and badly needs some sleep. Al-Fakher, at 6.15am, continues to prove why it’s the refreshingly unpretentious joint where the the well-to-do hide out next to down-and-out regulars in complete harmony.
It’s already dawn. On a Sunday morning. But the energy, the revelry, the vibe is still unmistakably high. Al-Fakher, by dawn, quickly proves that it it is definitely not for those with Catholic guilt complexes – it’s for the outright night owls.
At 8am, as the DJ segues from faint dancehall to old school R&B, the raucousness is still yet to settle. Outside, girls eagerly devour the stormingly good ‘smokie-mayai’ mezze paraded all around the front gate. Inside, their boyfriends, half-asleep, are desperately clutching on to a whisky glass, looking disheveled and dopey.
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