One night around town can lead to many random events that will hardly make sense the next morning but, for one instant seem perfectly fine to be occurring. As long as the night tram shows up at some point and everyone makes it back to the kolej (dorm) one could assume the night went well. However, looking back on some of the more obscure nights in Prague it becomes increasingly debatable that anyone has survived this far into the semester.
One night after visiting a pub that was expensive even compared to prices in the states I ventured out to the beer factory in Wenceslas Square with another American student, Sophie Vodvarka, from Creighton University in Nebraska. We had heard about it from other students but never actually visited because it had been described like an average club with deafening music and seizure inducing lights. However, it seemed like a perfect place to acquire free drinks and since we were both running low on koruna (Czech crowns) our disdain for the club atmosphere could be ignored.
Just as expected after our first beers were just beginning to get low two men asked to sit with us and began to order more drinks. They explained their reason for being in Prague was simply a week vacation from work in Belgium. Although the music was too loud for any verbal conversing, it did not prevent us from passing notes around on coasters.
The two were interested in visiting the United States but, only Alaska, for the Northern Lights and whatever town possessed the best wildlife. I passed along the little information I remembered from my parents’ stories of Alaska. Both men were extremely excited to discuss the places they should visit but, wanted to go somewhere we could actually speak to each other.
Vodvarka knew of a quiet place across town that usually was only crowded downstairs because it only provided one type of beer upstairs. Nearly as soon as we entered and ordered four Stella Artois it became apparent that another pub might be needed soon. Even as I was ordering the Belgian men appeared uncomfortable with the group of Africans arguing just outside.
I simply sat down beside Vodvarka and began to discuss what could be going on outside. “It is probably a misunderstanding over somebody being charged too much,” Vodvarka assumed.
This made sense since Tulip, the pub we were currently inside, was mostly just a cover business to deal marijuana from downstairs. Even though it is legal to smoke and possess marijuana in the Czech Republic, as long as it is “a small amount”, it is not legal to distribute or sell any amount.
One of the African men, who wore a traditional African Dashiki, quickly entered the main room followed by an African man dressed in average Western clothes. Two more came in attempting to hold back the man in Western clothes. He was shouting at the other man who was now behind the bar wiping sweat off his face.
“Come back outside and fight like a man! Don’t hide back there acting like a better man when everybody knows you’re just scared. I have killed many in Africa and can do it again if needed!” yelled the man in Western clothing while shaking his fist at the man wearing a Dashiki.
The other two men grabbed his arms and tried to drag him back outside but this only seemed to increase his rage. Each time they seemed to have succeeded in silencing his shouts the other man would look up and begin speaking calmly.
“We are brothers and I do not want to raise a finger against you. Please let us just talk inside and smoke together for a bit. I mean no harm against you and wish to explain myself if you would only let me,” explained the man in a Dashiki.
These comments meant to calm the other man’s anger actually only provoked him further. As the one calmly requested another route be taken in solving the disagreement between them, the other would break his arms free and again rush toward the bar yelling. At one point he grabbed an empty beer bottle from behind the bar, when the other man was walking into a side room, and threw it toward his opposition. The bottle shattered against his forehead and blood began to trickle down his forehead.
“Why do you continue to harm me brother? Our blood is the same. We have both struggled in the same battles and should not be against each other anymore,” stated the man wearing a Dashiki.
The Belgians had continued to become uneasy throughout this entire fight. Vodvarka and myself simply watched intrigued in the whole situation. I regretted not having brought a camera out that night but at least could take notes on the coasters. One of the Belgian men found this very humorous and asked if I wanted some popcorn.
However, as soon as the fuming man had been taken outside the Belgians decided to leave. Vodvarka and I said that we were going to finish our beers since it would be a waste to leave them so full. The two Belgian men gave us strange looks but went outside to at least figure out what was going on.
They both spoke French and were able to find out that all four of the African men were from Senegal but did not meet until they reached the Czech Republic. Supposedly the man outside had become upset because, his keys were locked inside his car that was still running at that moment.
While the room had become quiet I took the opportunity to speak with the other man, who was still simply wiping blood off his forehead and picking up pieces of glass around the bar. He explained that when he arrived at Tulip the other man had been urinating outside the bar.
“I asked him to stop and said ‘Come inside man, we have a toilet you can use.’ He just waved his hand at me and shook his head. I asked again and said ‘Please this is a place of business.’ But he did not listen to me and than became angry when he tried to get back in his car but found out the door was locked and the keys were inside. I said that he could come in and use our phone but than he started yelling at me that it was all my fault,” exclaimed the man in a Dashiki.
I still believe there was more behind the disagreement but did not want to push further. Although the man in a Dashiki seemed very sincere and was extremely dramatic when explaining that he did not have anything against his “brother in Christ”. He even got down on one knee and made the sign of the cross while stating, “Christ shed his blood for him just as he did for you and me, so that we could all share in the beauty of his love. Why does my brother not see this? We are from the same country and any controversy that may have happened is in the past and we must forgive each other.”
The Belgians did not have much luck calming down the other man who entered even angrier than before and attempted to jump the bar this time. I returned to our booth and quickly finished my beer since Vodvarka had finished hers and was ready to leave. The Belgians were relieved to finally escape the conflict inside and did not mind their beers were not finished.
We parted ways at the tram stop and wished each other good luck for the rest of our lives. We all knew that even though they had a few more days any chance of actually meeting up again was slim. Vodvarka and I got on the night tram and waved as they lit a cigarette for the walk back to their hostel. Nothing more was discovered of the conflict at Tulip and I actually have not returned since that night.
