After five days of sailing, we arrived in Rockland, still small, but the largest city in Penobscot. We set out for dinner (oh how I crave some spicy food: I need not to see ‘Lobster cooked 20 ways’, ‘Fried fish’, ‘Chowder!’ ever again in my life) and walking up the street chatted with some peeps. We found out there was a gig on that night. On investigation it was Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars: musicians from Sierra Leone’s refugee camps (click on that blue stuff for a geek). There were eight of them, all but one men, almost shy, with sun weathered faces, and with a natural warmth and kindness and pride in the way they carried themselves, and an ease of movement and dance that perhaps implied a hot day: slow and graceful, delicate with short sharp movements woven in. Smooth and efficient. We bought one of the last remaining tickets ‘Standing Room Only’. The venue was a movie theater normally, and we were in that little section at the front where nobody would want to sit. There were signs up warning the people in the front rows: ‘Dancing is encouraged, take a seat further back if you want to sit’. And dancing there was! Maracas, eclectic guitars, wonderful chanting and harmonies, drums and syncopated reggae beats, sometimes mixed up with NYC style rap over the top. Who would want a seat! I turned around to see Max blowing through the place like a typhoon, dancing with little kids (and their mums) and raging up the local lasses, sweat streaming down his face. In one sing along bit, he managed to get in a rhythmic ‘South – Pa – Ci – Fic” with perfect timing and at full volume. It made everybody in the band smile and nod. Hilarious. A great, great night.
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