Libations

Following a four-rice lunch and a glass of Guinness that trickled down-throat like molasses, there was dancing and donations in the town square, where three funerals converged and each set of mourners took turns on the dance dirt. Miia and I obliged the old ladies by kicking up dust with them as they waved kercheifs bearing Mercy's visage in our faces and some of the bolder (or higher on Kola nuts) among them went to grinding us, mainly me. We dodged them deftly and ran full tilt boogie into the children, who showed us some moves then cheered en masse as if we were hiphop superstars as we copied them then added our own innovations.

Our protectors ensured, by force of pinching our arms if necessary, that we danced no more than a few beats at a time and ushered us to our lawn furniture whenever things got too dusty-footed. Someone must have missed an assignment when a beggarman found his way beside us and asked for some money so he could become a Big City Cat. We guiltily refused and asked the man next to us (who turned out to be Edward, the owner of the apartment we were inhabiting) if people usually gave to beggars in Ayirebi. "No, if someone is hungry we give them food," he said. "That man must have been unwell to ask such a thing." Ethical burdens and personal fears: if we give this man money others will follow asking and human relationships are replaced by dependency on foreign whites and a vision of them as potential saviours or withholders of salvation.

We did give a small donation to help cover the enormous funeral costs (part of which was the cost of our presence there), and our attempts at subtlety were thwarted by Patrick announcing our gift over the microphone.

The dance ended at the onset of dusk because the main square has no lights and ample mosquitos. We adjourned to drinks and further dance lessons from our new friend Prince (a school teacher who was sweetly drunk and looking for his lost cell phone) at a local clandestine chop (food joint), which was boarded up to prevent late night drinkers from being exposed. The site of us dancing drew further hilarity and incredulity - white men dancing. We were quickly joined by Stanley, who won the USA Visa Lottery and will soon be moving to live with white people, whom he admires greatly despite knowing few. Knowing his fate but also the difficult conditions he was leaving, we could only wish him luck.