It's to wander through a village on the edge of the Sahel under a full moon.
It's to drink Beninoise beer, eat a freshly killed and grilled guinea fowl and learn two Bariba words: abwado and alafiya (both spelled phonetically here!).
It's to go to Sunday mass and hear Ibo songs accompanied by hand claps, dancing children and an earnest drummer who looks up to heaven in rapture as he pounds out the ancient rhythm.
It's to wonder what we lost when stopped living together in community.