The United States of an African

Originally posted December 2017.

As I look through the photos I took of the night party we threw for the village, my mind time travels back to the most fascinating night I have ever experienced.
I had never been exposed to this part of culture, my own culture. This was the night before my grandfather’s burial ceremony come morning. It’s part of the tradition to host such a party. This was a wild, bizarre, and mind opening night. It’s unfortunate that I didn’t even get to experience it’s full capacity. You see I have a very protective father. My sister and I were sent back to our hotel at around 10:30 or so, just as the night had begun. Masses of people from the village and other neighboring villages flooded the streets en route to my grandfather’s compound, as we were leaving to head back to “safety”. The most hardcore individuals entered in. The party animals, the drunkards, the touts, the “ladies” of the night, gang members, young children, old men, youths, gentlemen and ladies. They all congregated to the compound and celebrated till the sun came out.

Musicians battled to see who could play the loudest. There was the young traditional band, the DJ, an extra band that randomly showed up (tbh there were a lot of random uninvited attendees) and a old local legend.

The most head tilting individuals I encountered were the “ladies” of the night. The question of the night, “That one na man or woman?” Translation: Is that a man or a woman?