It's about midnight and I'm sitting on a wooden bench as my butt starts falling asleep. There's really nothing like taking sips of Sodabe, chatting with neighbors and enjoying some entertainment. A breeze swifts by and I take in a breath of fresh air. I realize how much I love the night, seeing that it's not 110 degrees outside. Lost in the moment, Ginger leans over to me and says, "Sara, do you realize that we are in a small West African village where the entire town has gathered together and is now dancing in front of us, in order to celebrate the throning of their new fish king? This is too surreal." I couldn't have agreed more -

The same morning, I was preparing for my business and girl's clubs at the local highschool when my neighbor, Abubakaar, stops by and says that he borrowed a friend's moped so we can ride around and check out some of the smaller villages surrounding Save. Delighted, I said I'd hurry back when I finished my clubs and we would head out. We started with Alafia, which means peace, where we rode around the almost deserted village. It was the heat of the afternoon and no one dares to go outside. Rather, everyone takes the afternoon nap until at least 3:00. We did however find huge pineapples and some wagacie, a cheese that tastes like fresh mozzarella, and then decided to continue. I heard there had been a new king in Kaboua, about 40 km North of Save, and we were more than half way there so I made the suggestion. There's another volunteer in Kaboua, Ginger, working in the health sector so we'd even have someone to show us around. He agreed.

When we arrived, Ginger explained the same-old-African tune that they were supposed to throne the king on Wednesday, but didn't. Then they were supposed to throne him at 4:00, but she showed up on time and they had done it at 10:00. Oh well! I will never understand African time. So we decided to go to his house instead to meet him.

En route, Ginger told us the history of Kaboua. There was a hunter looking for game as he came upon a point where two large hills met a river. He stopped as he noticed a man living in the river. So, he slowly approaches the man and asks why he lives in the river. The man responds, `Because there's a man that lives in the hills and I'm scared of him. So I live here, hiding in the river.' So the hunter is out on a search for the man that lives in the hills. Once he finds him, he asks the same thing, `Why do you live in the hills?' And he responds, `Because there's a man that lives in the river and I'm scared of him. So I live here, hiding in the hills.' Well, the hunter thought this was ridiculous, as you can imagine, so he brought the man out of the river and the other down from the hills and they decided to live together at the point where the two large hills met a river. AKA: Kaboua.

So now Kaboua has three kings: the fish king, the hunting king and the king of the hills. The fish king died about ten years ago and they've had a temporary replacement ever since. After a king dies, the family normally votes on who will become the next king. Only in Africa could this take ten years.

We reach the compound, which is painted white with dirt marks covering most of the wall's surface area. There is a picture painted to the right of the door of the river and a symbol representing the king. There are instructions to remove your shoes before entering. The three of us do so and humbly enter the room filled with people sprawled out on mats, sitting on tables, and four chairs lined up directly in front of us. There sat two members of the family, the temporary king and the new fish king. The king was dressed in an all-white robe, his fingernails and toenails painted hot pink, wearing cheap sunglasses and a hat that makes him look like he's a chef from Holland. We walk in and get on our knees on the mat laid in front of his chair with our heads bowed. He greets us, asking about our family and our health, as we reply appropriately in Tchabe. Then Abubakaar gracefully intercedes talking to the man to the king's left to explain we've arrived to greet the new king and that we are grateful he accepted our visit without invitation. The man replies by describing the significance of the kingdom of Kaboua. So Ginger and I have comparative value, he says that their kingdom is as important to them as the Queen of England is to the United Kingdom. He talks for at least twenty minutes about this point. Then we are offered Gin as a sign that we are welcomed and we are asked to give our prayers to the new king in return. Abubakaar starts, again gracefully, thanking the king and talking about all his hopes and aspirations for the new kingdom and talked and talked and talked. I have no idea where he came all with all of that fluff. But he took his drink and now it was my turn. So I stumbled out some let-me-brown-nose-the-new-king French and finally just said I agreed with Abubakaar. Ginger followed in suite talking about how she'll never forget Kaboua or the new king even after returning to the states. We sat through several more formal feeling speeches as the king was nodding off behind his cheap sunglasses. Finally we were able to leave and see the rest of Kaboua.

I decided to stay with Ginger after learning about the evening festivities. This town doesn't have electricity even though it's wired for it because it's too expensive and no one pays their bills. But on special occasions, they start up the generator. So this was one definitely one. After naps and dinner, we headed to the music and lights. I swear the entire village was there, snuggled together, trying to make enough room between the bordering houses. The crowd was situated to leave a circle in the middle where the drummers and singers were. All three kings attended. With the offbeat drums and coarse voices, the music never stopped. People got up, bending over at the waist and wailing their arms, slowly danced around the inner circle of musicians. After we met some friends and got acquainted, the two biggest dancers automatically adopted us. These Mamas grabbed us by the hands and wouldn't take `no' for an answer. So our first dance was Ginger and I, moving our arms side to side with lots of elbow action, faces toward the ground and a gradual step that led us around the inner circle. Everyone that had been dancing quit in order to form a circle around us and stare and cheer us on as we fumbled the traditional dance. Being the fifth child of six, I'll never get used to this kind of attention. Only after being crowned with our dancing Mamas' foulars (a piece of fabric the women use to tie around their heads) did we make it back to our seats, claiming we were too tired to continue.

Then Gelede started. This is a traditional dance where the single dancer is dressed up in a mask and full body costume. (Pictures coming!) They started with the smaller mask and he danced around the circle and mainly in front of the king for about an hour. Then the crowd danced again, awaiting the main attraction. Each time Ginger and I danced, it was gradually less of a spectacle and so we kept dancing until 4am! Each time we made the circle, as we reached a king, we would slow down and greet him by getting on our knees and bowing our heads. After much delay and a lot of suspense, the big mask came out dancing for the king and dancing an entire song for anybody that was willing to pay for it. He was huge! Enjoying the entertainment, we sat back in our seats, sipping on Sodabe, and watched our small West African village dance away, celebrating the throning of their new fish king.

There's storytime for today - Enjoy! And a HUGE CONGRATULATIONS to Roice and Sarah on their ENGAGEMENT!!! My oldest brother turns my best friend into a sister. Who could ever ask for more?!

Take care. I miss you all so much!

Always,

Sara Ellyn