Calabar Highlife Dj Mix Page

“Uncle,” Etim asked, “what do you call that mix?”

He dropped Dame Patience Umo Eno’s “Inyanga Nka.” The Ibibio lyrics washed over the crowd like a prayer. Men in suits loosened their ties. A fish seller from Watt Market closed her eyes and sang along, her voice lifting above the speakers. She was sixteen again, dancing at the May Day carnival. calabar highlife dj mix

His nephew, little Etim, watched from behind the speaker stack, wide-eyed. “Uncle, the laptop is dead.” “Uncle,” Etim asked, “what do you call that mix

An old man in a wheelchair, who had been staring blankly at the stage, suddenly straightened his back. His wife, fanning herself, froze. “Benny?” she whispered. She was sixteen again, dancing at the May Day carnival

“We don’t need a laptop,” Uncle Ben grumbled, pulling a dusty, silver flight case from under the table. Inside, nestled like a holy relic, were two CDJ-1000s and a battered mixer. “We need soul.”