Let's open a discotheque!

Just today I returned to my new and already beloved home in Busia, Kenya. Walking back from my friend's place towards mine loud music bashes my ears. My friend, walking besides me, shares with me that a discotheque has opened up some days ago. He starts telling me a story which, at first, seems totally unrelated. Interestingly it all has to do with the initiation of the dance outlet. It goes as follows:

Some women live in there, where the discotheque has opened. They are prostitutes and men go there to visit them. Now one of the ladies had a Somali man visiting her. She stole his money, which he found out. The man returned another day to retrieve his money but the lady would not give him. The man gathers some guys to visit the woman and strangle her. The lady survives but faces serious neck problems. She starts collecting money to pay a visit to the hospital. This takes her two weeks, during which her situation worsens. Then, once she has money to visit the hospital, the nurses are on strike, retaining her from receiving the attention she deserves. Within the course of the ongoing strike the lady dies. The family and community around her now face a new and higher financial burden: a funeral has to be arranged. Meanwhile family members come around to mourn their lost relative. The committee mandated to organise the funeral comes up with a solution: the house is turned into a discotheque. This serves two goals: the mourners won't fall asleep as easily and thus can mourn more effectively. What is more, people can come by and pay for drinks and song requests, which helps to fund the funeral.

And me, I'll mourn with them, now that I'm deterred from sleeping.