A VISIT TO A NIGHTCLUB

A BIRRIBOO ADVENTURE
By Rami Abdo BIRRIBOO! COME OVER HERE THIS INSTANT! Simoon the owl screeched furiously. He was fuming to such an extent that his feathers were in danger of being ruffled and Birriboo could swear he saw smoke wafting out of his hot ears. The other Filani forest creatures scattered left and right, fleeing from his wrath. All except for one that is, a furry little brown squirrel all alone in the centre of the grove, whimpering in fear as it looked on with round glistening eyes at the oncoming owl. It was Birriboo the squirrel, and at that moment he was shaking in his furry little boots. Simoon stormed over to the quivering animal and slammed a thick folder at his feet. Empty parchments flew out and littered the forest floor. Birriboo squealed and jumped twice his height in the air from the shock of the impact. AND WHAT DO YOU CALL THIS?! Simoon proclaimed sternly, his wings on his hips in his best angry father stance. Birriboo carefully looked down at the scattered blank parchments. The green-leaf folder they were half protruding from was labeled Cyprius Humana, Latin for Cypriot Human race. Birriboo slowly looked up, putting on his most adorable expression ever with his irresistibly large round eyes blinking innocently. its thecypricypri.., he stuttered with his squeaky voice, trying desperately to get the words out. Simoon callously interrupted him. Its supposed to be our records for the Cypriot human race, but what I see is some pathetic attempt by a lazy nogood hairy weasel in avoiding his duties. At this point Harry the Weasel pricked up his ears from where he was hiding with the other animals and thought of intervening at this affronting insult upon his good nature, but decided against it for now, on account of the steaming owls lack of good judgment at the current moment. Simoon continued his tirade. All you have are two pages of the accounts of humans on this island. TWO PAGES! Birriboo, you listen to me now, you listen very well indeed. You will leave the Filani grove, TONIGHT, and bring me back at least twice as much as before, YOU HEAR ME! Birriboo jumped again at the owls last proclamation, his fur standing on end with fright. Butbut sirMr. Simoon great Owl sir, Birriboo barely managed to whisper his objection. its winter sir, its freezing cold at night. In response, Simoon

gave him a look that assumed if he didnt leave right now, he would turn him into a pretty little brown hat. Birriboo, knowing when to concede defeat and shut his yap, scuttled away as fast as he could, pausing only to grab his thickest coat, his trusty walking stick, and plenty of parchment and ink for the scribing to come. Herein follows Birriboos account of the Cyprius Humana in the habitat of a night club... After much searching in the streets of the capital town, I managed to find a spot of congregation called a nightclub by the locals, where the healthy males and females of the island gather late at night for dancing and other festivities. I was forced to wait till after midnight before the droves finally arrived, making me wonder if perhaps humans share the same night-prowling genes as cats or owls. They must sleep all day and only wander out to hunt at night. Here I was, waiting in a freezing dark corner from sundown; vainly trying to keep my paws warm, when hours later the droves of humans finally showed up outside the club. How unconventional of them to meet so late like that. Undaunted, I continued in my observations. The first thing I took note of was their clothing. The females barely had anything on, with far too much skin exposed to the cold night air. This cant be their winter coats, I thought to myself. I mean I wouldnt know, me being a squirrel and all, but I could logically assume that like all other animals, this race must find ways to keep themselves warm in the winter. Thinking of the humans that frequently visit Filani during the cold winter months, I recalled that they always wore extra hides, one layered over the other, in order to hold back the cold. These particular females however, looked like they suffered needlessly. Perhaps the poor creatures did not have any other clothes, I thought to myself as I tried to find an answer. And then it hit me...this is a test of will! The females are demonstrating to the male specimens around them, that by braving the chill, they are physically strong and healthy, able to stay the cold with the sheer force of their willpower. Hence they prove they are fit enough for partnership and to bear children. What a remarkable and amusing ritual this is. It is very rare indeed to see the female of the species initiating the mating rites, perhaps the humans have adapted in this sense as well. Of course the males werent any less peculiar with their choice of clothing. Their attire was either all black or all white, which I found very perplexing at first. After much contemplation, I have come to the conclusion that once in the

nightclub, the men will be separated into two tribes, according to what they wear. The tribes should then partake in those dance rites, competing against each other for the hands of the females. What a wonderful little game they played. I couldnt wait to go in and witness it with my own eyes. Why werent they going in, I pondered innocently to myself after much delay. They were just standing there at the entrance, the whole pack of them shifting nervously amongst each other like bored sheep. They must be waiting for something, like a horn of the calling, or some other signal of summoning. They remained in that state for an hour, and just when I was thinking to give up and trudge back home, there was some commotion at the front of the queue. Clawing my way up the side of a nearby building for a better view, I could see that someone had come out of the club entrance. It was a male, and a very large one at that. He was very muscular, and his jaw protruded from his face like a park bench. He looked like a Kodiak bear someone had succeeded in partially shaving and proceeded to somehow stuff into the skin of an animal half its size. The bear-man stood in front of the crowd of eager onlookers with a mean look about him, as if he could crush any one of them with merely his pinky finger. Scanning the swarm of pitiful humans, he nodded at some and let them come forward. They scurried past him hurriedly, as if afraid he might suddenly change his mind, and with a sigh of relief they entered the nightclub. Now I get it! This is the Alpha Male, the Grand King, the lord of the Tribe. In order to be accepted into the society of the club, the crowd must first be accepted by this Alpha Male. How could I have not realized this before? It all makes perfect sense now. If they receive his grandnesss approval, then they are deemed worthy of entering and becoming part of the club. What a beautifully intricate culture these humans have. With all the stories I heard of their evolution, and me being the squirrel and all, I had assumed they have long surpassed their animalistic nature and advanced to a more civilized state of order. Yet here, before my very eyes, I see an age-old animal custom taking place, the Alpha Male accepting members into his pack. I eagerly look on, hoping I get to see another male challenging his place for leadership of the throne. After another hour of accepting, I was surprised to find a small throng of males left outside, I assumed to be the weakest of the pack. Most of these the alpha male had unceremoniously rejected as unsuitable in joining his clubtribe. I tried to find a common ground as to why these individuals were unworthy of entrance, but for the life of me found no theory of firm basis. They still wore the same clothes, and held the same appearance as the rest of

the males, yet the alpha male sent each of them packing with their tails between their legs. With what looked like curses muttered under their breath, they shuffled their feet home or try their luck elsewhere, hoping it would take a turn for the better. I felt extreme pity for these unfortunates, and as a result completely lost my admiration for this so-called Alpha Male. I resolved to find his dwelling later on and leave him a little surprise of my own. Scouring the outside walls of the man-made construction, I found an open window I could squeeze into, so as I could make my observations on the events occurring within the club itself. I was immediately knocked off my feet by a shattering noise coming from numerous vibrating black boxes. I had heard of this before, it is called music, but this was different. This earsplitting rhythm was deafening, so much so that you couldnt hear what anyone was saying. This couldnt be good for the ears, I said to myself writhing in pain. Me being a squirrel and all, I was used to the peace and quiet of the forest, not this merciless flurry of attacks on my poor little eardrums. Why would the humans subject themselves to such torture? I imagined it to be some sort of aid they would use to help them reach a trance like state, where they could perform their rites of passage or commune with spiritual beings. Making a note to ponder on this further in the future, I plugged up my ears with some tree-wax I had handy and proceeded with the examination. I had been told from reliable sources that a nightclub is in fact a dancing society. That is people dance in it. Yet as I sat on the rafters and watched, I saw that most of them were barely even shuffling their feet. All I could make out was people standing around and talking, (or trying to amidst this deafening racket!), snaking across the floor like some kind of regular animal trail pattern, and repeatedly going to this stand for various liquid concoctions of some kind. It must be the magical elixir I have heard so much about! From what I gathered from my observations of the humans who come to the Filani Grove, if enough of this liquid is consumed, it re-awakens their long suppressed basic instincts and breaks down those inhibitions that humans work so hard to master during their everyday lives. I could never understand this concept myself, for I am a squirrel after all. I do find it very confusing why the humans toil and sweat in creating these invisible barriers around them, only to magnificently topple them all down with a swig of this liquid. Previous experience had taught me that when enough of the fluid is taken, the humans will eventually commence with the dancing, so I had not lost hope yet. In the meantime, I kept an account of that paper humans frequently use being exchanged at that drink-stand for the highly-desired solutions. They seemed

to be giving an awful lot of it for this magic elixir. From what reliable sources have told me, it is not so dear when acquired outside the club. Perhaps the kind they sell in the club is rare or impossible to find elsewhere, possessed of extra magical properties that will imbue them with the greatest of powers. It could even explain why people give so much of that paper to enter in the first place. I shrugged my shoulders and tossed this aside into the mental pile of unexplained mysteries that collectively make up humankind. The focus here is the Cypriot human and I have been veering off course trying to make light of the cultures of the entire human race, an impossible task if any for a mere squirrel! From the birds-eye view I had in the rafters, I could easily make out the patterns of interaction with the males and females below. The females, who seemed to always keep one eye open for suitable suitors, clutched a drink in their one hand and a burning white stick in the other, which they would habitually bring up to their mouths and inhale a gust of smoke from. I had seen it before. It is called a cigarette. While constantly scanning the room, they would occasionally shout something in the ears of one of their female friends, probably giving attention to a newly spotted suitor. At other times, they would fall into a shuffling dance, wobbling their hips and other body parts in accordance with the beating music, keeping it up until interrupted or bored. It was as if they were sporadically falling into a trance-like state, induced by the music, the drink, the cigarette, and the atmosphere generated by all of these put together. They must have been performing their dance motions well apparently, since members of the opposite sex were watching their every move. Speaking of the males, most moved around with the air of prowlers on the hunt. I watched one in particular, who was no different from the rest in his actions, but clearly stood out for his tenacity and persistence. On finding a female to his liking, he would stand some distance away, shambling his feet nervously or playing with his cigarette and drink. He would attempt to make eye contact, prancing to and fro, edging a bit closer with each sign he took as encouragement. I have seen the chickens in farms do a similar dance, although that involves dragging their wings along the dirt and clucking like there was no tomorrow. (For some, there wasnt). This wasnt very different, except that the human kept failing in his attempts to woo a female of his species. When he got close enough to striking distance, instead of jumping on her and biting her on the neck like many mammals would, he instead continued to dance with her. He would move in rhythm with her and make all

other obvious indications that he is interested in mating with her except for the actual act itself. This approach obviously didnt work, for with a huff and a puff, the female would turn her back at him and reject him, or simply walk away in disgust. The man in white was not daunted however. With a quick look around he would proceed onto his next quarry, without so much as a second thought for the last one. I quickly lost interest and left him to his own devices. This process of filtration seemed to be taking place in some form or another in every corner of the nightclub. Females would allure the men over with their charms and seductions, yet reject them just as quickly when they approached or if the female lost interest. Shy males stood in corners staring at desirable mates, hoping they would be noticed, but were outclassed by the more dominant, proactive of their kind. Everywhere I turned it was there, the intricately complex mating rituals which so distinguished the human race from other animals. Each method was different from the last, and each specimen reacted to it differently. You would think by now, given that the humans are such a clever race, they would have agreed upon a simple standardized mating ritual that they can rely on, but it does not seem the case. My firm resolution now is that nightclubs are not for dancing at all, which seems to be just a pretense to lure people to its grounds. The true purpose of these clubs is to act as breeding grounds and watering holes. Hot-blooded humans flock to it, intent on finding ideal partners through the aid of an atmosphere generated by loud music, intoxicating drink, and the unavoidable mashing of so many specimens crowded in such a small space. That is my unyielding conclusion on the matter of nightclubs in Cyprus. Choking on the expanding fog of smoke, with throbbing in my ears and a general dizziness precipitated by the overcrowded swirling movements beneath me, I furtively escaped the tumult and hub of this place of such high expectations and made my way back to the Filani Grove to present my findings to Simoon the Owl. I hoped it would be to his satisfaction and he doesnt make me into a pretty little brown hat, me being a squirrel and all