For once, I was in the right place at the right time.
I’d seen posters for this concert, but had no inclination to go. I truly put the brakes on my social life in addition to the pandemic. As I see it, I can’t justify being in debt, since I was underemployed last year, and shelling out money for social events. My only exception is ordering takeout once a week because I can readily control the upfront costs involved with that. (At least that’s how I rationalize it!)
By some miracle, this concert was free.
I’m not sure who underwrote the free tickets, but the woman who’d given the invocation at watercoloring event the week before, had raced around the room, telling us to give her our contact information if we wanted to attend this concert for free. I’d had my business cards because part of my reason for attending the workshop was to network.
Not only did she provide free tickets, but free food as well.
Since Kidjo is from Benin, we had a sampling of Beninese food. Our meal boxes contained a variety of vegetarian food, seasoned deliciously, complete with honey beer to wash it down. I’m not sure what they call honey beer in Benin, but in Swahili it’s called “wanzuki,” a fact a shared with a friend who also attended the event.
Cap Metro provided a free shuttle to and from the event, which they dubbed a party bus. I’ve been on a bonafide party bus back when I lived in Honduras. The only things that made this a party were the liveliness of the riders, the fact that it was free and it saved us all the time and money of parking. (Dare I mention the ever-rising gas prices? I’m paying more for gas than I’ve ever paid in my life.)
The international assortment of musicians performed so well, it was a shame to remain seated. What I didn’t know before hand was that she’d remade a Talking Heads album. Throughout the concert, I kept wondering what the connection was because they’d covered so many of their songs.
I read after the fact that Kidjo had heard Talking Heads music for the first time when she studied abroad and knew instantly that it had African roots. I loved her interpretation of their songs.
After the fact, we waited on the “party bus” for nearly a half hour for the rest of the riders. I could myself losing steam…just like the middle-aged woman I am. Once again, I fantasized about having a four-day work week. If that had been the case, I would have joined the real partygoers to the afterparty at a historically Black restaurant. Yet, I did the responsible thing and went home.