And the generator, as if understanding the assignment, coughed once—and died for good.
“Uncle,” Etim asked, “what do you call that mix?”
That was the second sign.
The generator hummed back to life on its own—or maybe no one noticed because the music had become the only power source that mattered.
Uncle Ben wasn’t just mixing songs. He was mixing eras . He layered a Prince Nico Mbarga guitar lick over an Etubom Rex Williams keyboard solo. He used the mixer’s filter like a spice, adding just enough resonance to make the old recordings sound fresh, new, urgent. calabar highlife dj mix
Rex Lawson’s “Yellow Sisi” began to play. Not the original, but a rare, extended club edit that only DJs in the old Calabar Hotel poolside knew. The tempo was unhurried, the guitar line a shimmering heat haze.
The girl with the pink braids stopped complaining. She didn’t know why, but her hips began to move differently. Not the staccato pop of today, but a slow, circular roll. The waist of Highlife. And the generator, as if understanding the assignment,
Uncle Ben ejected the silver disc, blew a single grain of dust off its surface, and smiled.