I arrived home from Basse at 9.50 pm. We'd driven past my church and I'd seen people moving in the hall where our choir's fundraising Commercial Dance started at 9 pm. Of course as my church friend Mathias had said, nothing would really kick off till after 11 so the hall looked quiet. But, despite my colleagues pointing out that I looked exhausted, the hall looked very tempting.
Julie and Agnes were at my house when I reached it and Agnes offered me the remains of the spicy pea stew they had shared. This is undoubtedly one of the joys of a good housemate; having tasty food cooked and edible when you arrive home late. I was sleepy and a headache was building. But I was itching to go to the dance, to see my choir friends in a new context and because any non-attenders would be charged double the ticket price (D50) which sounded very boring. Plus I'd planned what to wear. But it was closing on 11 pm after a long journey. I was convinced I'd fall asleep on my bed. Eventually I thought "what is it you want to do?" took Katharinic advice of having a strong coffee, shower and 10 minute break, getting my glad rags on and heading out.
Outside I met a friend of my compound with whom I've drunk attaya in the past. He has just bought a taxi, fulfilling his childhood ambition to be a driver. He's very excited and offered me a lift for "whatever I think is a fair price". Leaving him at Westfield with my D50 fare, I stepped out to the party. "you look spectacular" claimed one friend as I bought my ticket. I felt it too, in my green 50s style dress, black stilettos (I knew they were worth bringing!) and red lipstick which was staying on in the cool night air (the heat means it runs during the day).
The dance itself was great. Lines of chairs were on each side of the hall, with men on one side, women on the other. There was a bar and I took a beer but didn't step over my "one an hour rule" I'd created to avoid falling asleep in the corner. There was also a BBQ outside and of course choir friends to greet and dance with.
Unlike in the UK men here aren't ashamed to dance, in fact most I have met totally love it. Paschal (bass) offered to teach me a few salsa style moves which was totally brilliant though I'm hardly up to the standard of my alto colleague, the very glamorous Marie Isabelle. Paschal's dancing style reminded me a lot of my grandad, and then of Irene who is his best granddaughter dancing partner.
Perhaps the sweetest moment was when flamboyant conductor Alphonse asked one of my alto friends Nancy if she could ask me to dance with him. Seeing them chatting and pointing in my direction I looked over at them "hey, Helen, Alphonse want to dance with you" Nancy shouted over. So we did.
And everyone danced the night away in groups and couples mixing about. At 4.30 I got a taxi home, ready to drop on my feet but deliriously happy with my new friends and adventures.
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