Dibo slaps the face of the drum with his palms, and his head falls back and his jaw drops open as though the sweet sound might rise and fall in his mouth like rain. He slaps the cow skin with slender sticks and bounces with every hit. The rest of the men play djembes that, like the dundun, accompany Dibo's solo performance. Soon the sand-filled courtyard is full of children and adults who hear the drums and expect a party. The pair lead our classes in English, French and Susu, but tonight they speak to Dibo without words.
Sand flies around their legs.
The dance and drumming end on the same beat to hoots and applause. They want to see if we can still hear the thunder. We leap from side to side and roll our hands forward like an Africanized hula dance. Then I face her and we circle and mimic each other's shoulder pops, kicks and pelvis rolls. Our dance and the drumming ends on the same beat, again to applause.