We moved to the rugs. But not without Bello seizing the opportunity to lean closer and press a gentle kiss to my cheek. “You did great!”
That calmed a part of my raging nerves.
The coolers opened one by one, and the room filled properly with the smells that had only been hinting at themselves before. The smell of dambun nama hit first, which was shredded and spiced, the beef dried to soft floss that held all its seasoning. There was peppered chicken in a wide bowl, each piece dark at the edges and glistening. There was waina arranged on a flat tray, the soft rice cakes pale and round, and beside them sinasir, which was lacier and more delicate, and still faintly warm. There was tuwon shinkafa in a large covered pot, with miyan taushe beside it, and the smell of the roasted groundnuts ris
