He stepped aside to let the drummer and the flute player through. These two men came closer, but they, too, stopped yards from me. The flute player’s tune slowed, lowered, then quieted. I saw why and pressed closer to my father. It stood ten feet tall and was wide as a van. Dark and looming, it was a great mound of black palm tree raffia. Rotted animal furs hung from its midsection. Leather tassels with cowry shells at their ends clicked and clacked as it shimmied then bounced toward me. Black feathers with white stripes protruded from the top, and oily white smoke dribbled from between them.
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