People still crave genuine connection and a sense of belonging
On a Friday night in Ntinda, Kampala, a social gathering became something more than its occasion — a room of people confronting the quiet contradictions at the heart of modern relationships. Gilbey's Hangouts, now in its fourth edition, offered what few public spaces dare to: permission to speak honestly about infidelity, accountability, and the emotional costs borne unequally between men and women. In the gap between what people say they believe and how they actually live, the evening found its meaning.
- A single question — whether people in committed relationships should publicly introduce their side partners — cracked the room open along fault lines of gender and moral accountability.
- Men who framed infidelity as a matter of private discretion found themselves directly challenged by women who refused to let the normalization go uncontested.
- The debate sharpened further when the question of blame surfaced: should a woman who knowingly enters a side relationship accept the consequences, or does that framing itself become another way of shifting responsibility onto women?
- Remarkably, the heat never curdled into hostility — the space held the tension, letting people argue without the conversation collapsing into performance or point-scoring.
- Attendees left with branded merchandise, but the organizers and observers alike understood that the real product of the evening was the rare experience of being heard in a room full of people who disagreed with them.
Friday night at Old Tymerz in Ntinda had the feel of a room that wanted something real. Gilbey's Hangouts returned for its fourth edition, and host Ronnie McVex eased the crowd in with trivia, banter, and a soundtrack that moved between 1970s soul and early 2000s East African hits — the kind of music that makes people remember who they were before everything got complicated.
The evening shifted when someone posed a question that seemed simple and wasn't: should people in committed relationships publicly introduce their side partners? The room divided almost immediately. Some men argued that keeping such relationships private was the sensible, drama-free approach. Others insisted honesty had to count for something. The women pushed back harder — challenging what they saw as a casual acceptance of infidelity and insisting that the emotional damage left behind couldn't simply be managed away through discretion.
The argument grew more layered when blame entered the picture. One woman suggested that anyone who knowingly becomes a side partner must accept how things might end. Others rejected that framing entirely, refusing to let women absorb responsibility for the complications men created. It was less a debate about rules than a negotiation over who gets to define accountability in the first place.
What held the night together was the atmosphere Gilbey's Hangouts seems to have deliberately cultivated — a space where discomfort is permitted but hostility isn't. Brand manager Raymond Karama described it as a response to something people are genuinely hungry for: authentic connection, the freedom to say what they actually think, and the feeling of belonging somewhere that doesn't require them to perform. The drinks and music matter, he said, but they're not the point. The conversation is.
Friday night at Old Tymerz in Ntinda, the crowd was restless in a way that had nothing to do with the music. Gilbey's Hangouts had returned for its fourth edition, and after a week of political noise and the usual grind, people had shown up wanting something real—a place to sit, drink, and talk without the weight of the news cycle pressing down. What they got was exactly that, though the conversation turned sharper than anyone might have expected.
Host Ronnie McVex warmed the room with his usual ease, moving through trivia and audience banter, testing how closely people were paying attention to what was happening in the country. The in-house DJs kept things moving with a careful mix of nostalgia—The Real Thing's "You To Me Are Everything" from 1976 got the whole room singing—and the East African hits that defined the early 2000s. Ogopa Deejays tracks brought back the sound of people's childhoods. Between songs, McVex guided people through Gilbey's cocktail offerings, helping newcomers find their footing in the evening's rhythm.
But the real conversation, the one that would define the night, came when someone raised a question that split the room almost immediately: Should people in committed relationships publicly introduce or show off their side partners? It was the kind of question that sounds simple until you start answering it, and then it becomes something else entirely. The room divided along lines that were impossible to miss.
Some of the men in the crowd argued that keeping side relationships private was simply practical—introducing them publicly only created drama and confusion nobody needed. Others pushed back, insisting that honesty mattered regardless of the circumstances or the discomfort it caused. The women in the room, though, were having none of it. They challenged the men who seemed to be normalizing infidelity, arguing that people needed to own the emotional wreckage they created. One woman said it plainly: if someone knowingly accepted being a side partner, they should be prepared for how things might end. But even that sparked pushback. Other women in the crowd rejected the idea that women should carry the blame when relationships became complicated. The argument wasn't about winning points—it was about who gets to decide what responsibility looks like.
What struck observers was how the intensity never tipped into hostility. The room stayed engaged, even heated, but the atmosphere remained one where people could actually hear each other. That's what Gilbey's Hangouts seems to have built—a space where the conversation can get uncomfortable without becoming unsafe. As the night wound down, people left with branded merchandise—bucket hats, hoodies, T-shirts—but the real takeaway was the conversation itself.
Raymond Karama, the brand manager, framed it in terms of what people are actually hungry for. In a world where everyone is busy and distracted, he said, people still want genuine connection and the feeling of belonging somewhere. Gilbey's Hangouts creates that by letting people meet, unwind, laugh, argue about real things, and sit with each other in moments that feel authentic. It's not about the drinks or the music, though those matter. It's about the permission to say what you actually think.
Notable Quotes
If someone knowingly accepts being a side partner, they should also be prepared for situations not always ending in their favor.— A woman attendee
People today are constantly busy and distracted, yet everyone still craves genuine interaction and a sense of belonging. Gilbey's Hangouts continues to create an atmosphere where people can meet, unwind, laugh, debate real topics and enjoy authentic moments together.— Raymond Karama, Gilbey's Brand Manager
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What made this conversation about side relationships land so differently than the usual bar talk?
Because nobody was performing. Ronnie had warmed the room up, the music was right, people felt safe enough to actually disagree. When someone raised the question, it wasn't abstract—it was about something everyone in that room had either experienced or witnessed.
The gender divide seemed really sharp. Did it feel like people were talking past each other?
Not entirely. The women weren't shutting down the conversation—they were refusing to let men frame infidelity as a practical problem instead of an emotional one. That's a different thing. They were saying: you can't normalize this and then act surprised when it hurts.
One woman said side partners should expect things not to end in their favor. That's pretty harsh.
It is. But it also reflects something real—the precariousness of that position. She was naming the power imbalance nobody wants to talk about. And the pushback from other women showed that even on that point, there wasn't agreement. Some people thought that framing still put too much blame on the person in the weaker position.
How did the room feel by the end? Did people leave angry?
No. People left with merchandise and with something to think about. The brand manager was right about one thing—people are starving for spaces where they can actually disagree about something that matters. The fact that they could do that here, without it becoming a fight, seemed to matter more than reaching consensus.
Do you think this conversation changes how people will think about their own relationships?
Some of them, maybe. But that's not really the point. The point is that for one night, people got to be honest about something complicated in a room full of strangers who were listening.