Pa had brought out our entire stock of beer. Simon, Roger and I had the job of serving. We ran to and fro between the kitchen, the living room and the porch. Our hi-fi pumped out old Makossa hits: our parents’ favorites. A few women neighbors of their generation, also wearing kaba ngondos, had begun shimmying in the empty space at the center of the room. They looked like they were showing off: you can’t dance the Makossa without showing off.” ― Max Lobe, A […]
I am the tree and you are the bird. Fly off as you please, you will always come back to sit on my branches.
A Long Way from Douala by Max Lobe
