I toweled more and observed stars beginning to twinkle through the atmospheric haze. I was still dripping. In fact sweat was pouring out faster than I could dry. My clothes stuck. As I wrestled them on I envied Isatu in her lappa, a length of cotton cloth easily wrapped and knotted into place by women of the tropics.
Equatorial nights fall fast.
When I emerged, not all so long after starting, it was dark. The Southern Cross hung off to my left. Amadu picked himself off the stump, took the empty pail from my hand and led the way back to the tiny pair of rooms I now called home. The giggling jousters had vanished and the other children, now under the eaves, barely glanced up. Of course no one had noticed or cared about the routine event except me.