Mama, I joined a Kava Bar

By Corey Marshall

Growing up, I was already familiar with the concepts of community and fellowship, church gatherings, family reunions, neighborhood block parties, I’d seen it

all. But I never expected to find that same kind of connection in a kava bar, of all places.

I remember my first time.

My cousin was telling me about his experience at this local kava bar and suggested I check it out. At the time, I had recently relocated to Baltimore, reinventing myself, and honestly, I wasn’t making much progress connecting with anyone. No real friends yet, no roots, just writing and isolation.

When we showed up, the owner greeted my cousin like they’d known each other for years. I figured maybe it was a one-off, they just clicked. We were chatting near the entrance when a voice called out from the bar area, “Y’all coming up for slams?”

Now, for the uninitiated, slams are a group ritual where everyone gathers around the bar, shouts “Bula,” and drinks a coconut shell of kava together. Yes, a shell, it’s part of the charm. We made our way to the bar, and a crowd was already there waiting. I was handed my bowl with a slice of pineapple, and because it was my first time, the bartender read me my Kava Rights.

He explained what kava is, a root drink from the South Pacific, what it tastes like, earthy, not great, but bearable (the pineapple chaser helps), how it makes you feel, relaxed, mellow, sociable, and why it’s a community builder. Then we shouted “Bula,” (Fijian for life, health, and well-being) and drank.

Ten minutes later, I felt it. Calm. A little tongue tingle. Moments later, I was actually talking to strangers, willingly. Before I knew it, I was telling the owner I’d come back for their open mic night.

When I returned, I slammed my kava like a seasoned pro (I still needed the pineapple though), mingled, did a quick set at the open mic, and met some really talented creatives. That’s how it happens. Kava lowers your guard, and the community lifts you up.

Since those inaugural visits, I’m not only a regular, I’m actually hosting the weekly open mic. But my favorite part is always the conversations with my newly found kava community. What stands out most is the vibe. Everyone gets the same welcome, the same Kava Rights, and the same sense of belonging. I’ve met the most random assortment of people there, a cashier, a rocket scientist, a guy who sells meteorites, an OG hipster, and a couple I’m 90 percent sure are in witness protection (they wear those novelty glasses with the nose and mustache). There’s even a crew of young dudes who pop in daily, yell greetings, then disappear upstairs to a room full of vintage video games like it’s their own secret clubhouse.

In a society where it’s easy to feel alone and distant, this kava bar became my version of Cheers, where everybody knows your name, but they also hand you a bowl of muddy root water and say “Bula.” And somehow, that’s exactly what I needed. So the next time my mother calls to check on my well-being and asks if I joined any new clubs, I can now tell her nope, but I did join a kava bar. Then I’ll yell, “Bula!”

About the Author

Corey “Mad Man” Marshall is a comedian, writer, and creative consultant known for his sharp wit, fearless storytelling, and passion for building platforms that amplify culture. A two-time “Funniest Comedian” winner by Style Weekly Magazine, Corey’s work spans stand-up comedy, screenwriting, comic books, and radio. He’s the creator of A Madman Tale, co-creator of the viral Peter Panda series, and the host of The Mad Late Show on MadGood Radio. Corey is also the founder of NOSTR City Club, a decentralized social platform for Black creatives.