'Tis the season

While the rest of you enjoy your snowy, fireside winter wonderlands, we are in perpetual summer here just south of the equator. Ninety degrees at Christmas is strange even for a kid from L.A., and try as Nairobi does, it just can't make it feel like the holidays.

 

A few stores play Christmas music on tinny speakers and have put up half-ass lights and dinky trees. Why bother? A grand total of three people have wished me a merry Christmas, and every time I remember to say it to someone I get a blank stare in return. The other day we were walking in town and saw a skinny Kenyan man dressed in a Santa outfit wearing sunglasses, saying "Hey hey hey!" Uh, Santa, that's "ho," not "hey."

 

Some Kenyans have a strange concept of holiday tidings. Last night we went to Florida 2000, Nairobi's megaclub -- very local crowd, mostly hip-hop on the dance floor, and teeming with prostitutes. The owners of Florida have introduced a new concept this December -- pole dancers. Two women -- not dressed in Santa suits, I can tell you -- gyrated on tables and against poles that looked as if they'd just recently been installed. "This is new," said my friend Jason, who goes to Florida as often as any white man would dare. Yes, because nothing says Christmas like ass prints on the bar.

 

I will really miss my family, who's all in Atlanta with relatives. But there are some nice things about being here for Christmas. Some friends are doing Christmas barbecue-and-drinks on Sunday afternoon, out in the sun. And Lakers-Heat will be on at 11 pm, the perfect way to fall asleep before leaving for vacation to Istanbul -- a real winter wonderland -- on Monday morning.

 

Merry Christmas, everyone -- and please stay off the pole.