Adios, 1824: Nairobi's hippest nightclub may have died, but the drunken memories will last for a lifetime

From the onset, the establishment sought to distinguish itself from the hotchpotch of Nairobi's nightspots, identifying its target audience early enough and breaking the bank to ensure that the standards were immaculately met. All the time.

Unlike many spots, 1824 did not try too hard - the management did not even necessarily put up a million-dollar concrete hall embellished with state-of-the-art finishings and packed with cushy swivel chairs and marble walls.

Armed with rustic barrel tables and wooden bar stools, 1824 was good to go. And, without too much effort, the spot soon began attracting a steady concourse of revellers.

For years, it became the unofficial cultural destination for all city clubbers. Located in a salubrious neighbourhood, just opposite Carnivore and smack by the roadside, it was easy to access - and ultimately get lost in.

Its popularity grew pretty fast - people were now driving from far-flung estates to Lang'ata just for that slice of magical nightlife where crisp music would judder through the speakers and where nights would easily merge into mornings.

Every weekend, one would be assailed by an endless churn of peppy girls dressed in outfits ranging from skimpy to nothing, shifting throughout the corridors, pathways, and smoke-filled chill-out areas, constantly flowing, constantly lounging, constantly cruising the venue.

To further bolster their popularity, the management brought on board the services of several online influencers whose business was to dress up, make constant online shoutouts and sit handsomely at a vaunted corner, sipping a pricey whiskey and pouting for the cameras.

Enter Seth Gor. Even before city nightclubs wrapped their heads around onboarding popular Instagram names, 1824 knew Seth Gor's immense power and they harnessed his bearded charm and mystical charisma to draw crowds and establish themselves as the go-to spot for all the comely ladies in their fetishy dress codes and moneyed gents in their dandy attires.

Their weekly theme nights too quickly became a crowd-puller - Reggae Mondays would kickstart the week in a roaring Caribbean style as the women sat quietly at a corner, sipping on their vermouth and the men bumped excitedly on the other end, khat in hand, ready to whirr back into gear.

With parties regularly running for days, it was practically impossible to know when to draw the line because once inside, the atmosphere would quickly homogenise all types of patrons - it didn't matter if you arrived in a Lamborghini Urus or simply just crawled your broke way in.

With time, the gentrification began - soon, endless flower pots could be seen daintly hanging from the ceilings as more and more adornments garnished the walls, the walkways, the washrooms and the general sitting areas.

Over at the main wall, the roman numerals MDCCCXXIV flickered imposingly. It was time to pump up the texture.

On Sunday, 1824 won hands down with the Sunday School concept - a brilliant idea which roped in virtually all of Nairobi's revelling tribes: the fashionistas, wannabes, influencers, corporate types, voguers, barons, celebrities and the commoners.

By 4pm on Sunday, you could see them lost in the revelry, tottering from end to end, drink in hand, eyes half open and faces looking haggard as the MC for the day roared himself hoarse on the microphone - at the entrance, you could spot new patrons waltzing in, fresh and peppered. Here, there was no telling what time it is. To go home, you would have to drink yourself to near-death first.

Slowly but surely, 1824 epitomised the best of the city’s clubbing landscape becoming the pumping techno of the Kenyan capital where merrymakers filled every inch and where the vibe, music and atmosphere was reminiscent of a hot Brazilian night.

And even when troubles began, first with the Covid-19 closure and then with numerous other closures or controversies surrounding the owner, the crowds stayed put.

It was an unchallenged hegemony which weathered numerous legal and media battles but still, somehow, found itself still throbbing, still thriving, still pumping and still rocking.

On March 1st this year, 1824 was, ultimately, demolished with videos doing rounds on social media leaving a section of Kenyans jarred. As the walls came down, the bricks toppled over, so did memories of thousands of people who called the spot home for years - people who fell in love from the confines of the establishment, people who, maybe, slumped into alcoholism right by the nightclub's washrooms.

For now, 1824 may have died... But the spot will forever be remembered as Nairobi's undisputed party cathedral. A place where magic merged with pleasure and a place where life became a savage delight.