At roadside stands for beans and rice and pounded yams, patrons held up their bowls. “Come and eat!” they called. “Come and eat!” called the tanti frying up dough. But I’d just wave, say thank you, and keep walking. When I got home, my neighbor was punting peanuts on her shady terrace. Her children were at school, her husband at the cotton factory, and we said hello. They were the Sotindjos. We shared a well, a yard, and an outhouse. When I moved in, I thought we’d be cordial but otherwise keep to ourselves.
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