The moon was full and for a time, hung low in the sky against pink wispy clouds, just out of reach of tall tree standing tall and lonely against the shorter green backdrop that surrounded it. But the moon is seldom still, and it rose in minutes, as if racing the darkness. And it hung there, hazy as the day had been hazy, watching over the remainder of Tubman’s birthday.
Tubman was elected president of Liberia in 1943, and from what I can tell, his birthday is celebrated a lot like Lincoln’s…in that it is a day off from work and possibly an excuse to barbeque. For our part we were invited to Gutz’s – which of course includes Baileys, Amarula (newly christened), and Mo.
Of course the first part of my day (Monday) dragged on brutally – a kind of cruel timeless extension of my eventless weekend. But by 1:30 I was ready to head over and hang out. And I wasn’t disappointed. There was food – jallof rice that was divine- and drink (BushDiva and I contributed some Amarula) – and of course music. And so we perched in the shade of Gutz’s big trees, caught in the almost constant breeze that seems to inhabit his corner of the compound, and ate and danced ad laughed and laughed and laughed.
Baileys and Amarula seem to have warmed up to us now and so there is a lot more talking and stories and jokes I don’t always get but I’m happy to hear none the less.  And so the day sprawled out before us. No place to be but where we were – nothing to do but we did. And it was a good time (despite mosquitoes feasting on me as if I were delicious jallof rice…but then, I guess for them, I am).

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