They spin, wobble, shake and leap. Out of the corner of my eye, I see bottles being knocked over, then I see my hands trembling, rejecting the food they were raising to my mouth only a moment ago. We can’t help ourselves, the dance contaminates us, transports us and intoxicates us in a swirl of hair, sweat and feathers. Some scream, others wet themselves. The village is on its knees. The feet pound the arid ground, the storm sets the tempo.