| caption: |
dance breaks off for night in Wanching |
| text: |
But soon the dancing stops and the separate groups go to their own morungs where no doubt they will go on dancing deep into the night. Apong, the gaonbura, is beaming and obviously quite a lot of rice beer has already gone down his throat. He bids me farewell with nods of eternal gratitude when I turn to leave, to the relief of my Wakching friends who are pressing to go. The Ang repeatedly excuses himself for not asking me into his house, but he said it was just being rebuilt and he himself was not living in it. Some people were just then occupied painting the posts. |
