Knowing that when (or if) I once have to settle somewhere out of Africa, I will miss one thing deep down in my heart; the informal invitations for functions in nowhere - driving long distances, meeting with good people and having a party in far out.
This weekend took me to Moyo and the day after to Kajo Keji in Southern Sudan, where the Danish Refugee Council had invited for farewell parties for Beatriz in Moyo and Erik in Kajo Keji.
How often do you go to a party where you warm up, gladly driving 150 kilometres on murram road, listening to loud music, stepping out your car, hardly noticing the fact that your hair is all dusty, your skin sweaty, and your clothes stained? 
Make-up melted (if applied), all there is left of the perfume you actually did apply when you left your previous destination is a faint scent mixed with your own strong body odour. And the strangest part of it all - somehow you have never felt this glamourous!
'Cause who cares?!
The music is loud, nerve-wrecking, monotomous linghala style! The dancefloor is the red African soil, the roof the African sky which this weekend was lightened up by the moon and stars.
To the left you have a group of South African deminers with heavy torsos sharing stories from whenever they did Angola, Mozambique or the South African police force (sort of overdo the stories of a Danish development worker) over many beers (puts the Danish Development worker back into the game).
To your right a man is wearing a fur coat (could have been trendy in London), an SPLM commander is trying out incredible movements (while balancing his plate of food), a Sudanese woman wearing a cowboy hat and an SPLA T-shirt is giving women power a boost, while a couple of missionaries are looking for the moment when they can leave unnoticed.
Man, I just love this kind of stuff.
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