It's a hard knock life.

Last Sunday, the music group (as always oh-so-elegantly named The Blue Mango) and I went to a barbecue on the beach, organized by the Bretons of Mayotte. An excuse to get together as much as anything, go swimming, have some fun and have something to eat.

 

And eat we did: mabawas (chicken wings - you know that one by now), chicken and beef kebabs, fried green bananas, breadfruit and green papaya salad. A nice, typical meal.

 

 

As soon as we arrived, we got the instruments out and started playing. Once everybody had eaten, a few energetic dancers got up and pranced about a bit, which was great. We had to play the tunes slightly slower than usual to incorporate the "sand factor" of the dancefloor, which again worked very well because we hadn't seen each other all over the holidays and were therefore a bit rusty.

 

 

The wonderfully peaceful and soothing traditional music and dance wasn't to last, though. A group of bouénis had been slowly setting up their own barbecue in a nearby shelter, and without warning, loud Mahorese music suddenly came blasting out of two large speakers. Never mind not being able to keep playing, we couldn't actually hear ourselves think for a time. We thought about going over and trying to negotiate, or, failing that, pulling the plug out, but instead we had something to eat and went into the water. When we'd finished, chatted a bit, helped with whatever needed doing, the bouénis had stopped their music. We started up again, so did they, but at a lower volume. Harmonious cohabitation, here we come. The place is called Musical Beach, after all.