After dinner BushDiva got the bright idea that was should crash the reception. By that point we had eaten and we were fairly certain the food had been served there, so Fancy called around to make sure it was ok and we were invited to join. Of course by that point, the party was winding down but the novelty of the three of us (Wry-ly didn’t come) didn’t go unnoticed.
A woman, introducing herself as the aunt of the bride, chatted and laughed with us for a little while. Turns out she is the comptroller of the Liberian House of Representatives and her nephew is a colleague of ours. After some more talking and joking she invited us to join her and her nephew at the local nightclub.
After a moment’s hesitation we were sold. So at 10pm we loaded up six people in an extended cab truck, and headed to the Serengeti.
The parking lot was littered with an assortment of vehicles – belying the hodgepodge of patrons – UN, Africare, local taxis with “Barcellona” and “Nissan” painted on the sides. We filed past the sparse, mostly Liberian, crowd outside and walked through a wooden door leading to a large room. Chairs and tables were set up on one level, the DJ booth a glassed off room nestled in the corner, while the dance floor was a step or two below in a kind of sunken living room style.
It wasn’t very crowded, but maybe 10 or 15 people crowded around the single wall of mirrors dancing with…themselves? The mostly Ghanaian and Nigerian music provided a bootie shaking groove that enticed us to get on the floor. And dance we did. Folks were happy to join us, but without the grinding groping frenzy that I usually associate with clubs. Instead we joked and danced, created a soul train circle and applauded everyone as they showed off their moves in the center.
Around 12 we began winding down but the smell of fish wafted by. BushDiva and I perked up and looked to our colleague LA to find out if he could hook us up. He could. He smiled brightly and gestured for us to follow him outside. There, to the side of the building, was a covered area with a coal pot grill glowing in the shadows of the weak lights slanting under the cover and highlighting enormous butterflies – their wings beating softly against the pale wall.
After a soft discussion – Kpelle, Kru, or Liberian English, I’m not sure – the man pulled two large fish from a bucket, skewered them through the mouth and out their tales, and placed them on the grill. We jumped up and down with excitement while Fancy looked horrified and moved toward the shadows. Laughing, LA wrapped her in a friendly hug and we all fell into conversation. Fifteen or 20 minutes later, we assembled around a table (dragged out especially for our purposes) and dug into the best tasting fish I’ve ever had. A slight crunch on the outside and so sweet and delicately smoky on the inside, the Liberians called for more pepper sauce and cleaned the plate by sucking the fish head’s brain. LA then brought over a small treat of cow meat (no one calls it beef apparently) on skewers. My mission is to learn the proper ration of peanut butter to maggi cube to recreate such a delightful event in my mouth. BushDiva, crazy as ever, joked that she would floss later to see if she could find pieces to savor later on!
We jumped into the truck and headed the 8 or 10 miles down the dark and pocked street around 2am. There we found our doorstep dark – the electricity was gone for the night. So we stumbled around in the dark – BushDiva and I drunk on animal protein and conversation – and fell asleep excited for the