Who said white girls can't dance??

My neighbor, Diana, just poked her head in the door and handed me a beef khebob. "You're supposed to be dancin'," she said, with a little more emphasis on the last syllable of "dancing." I pointed to my monitor at the Word document containing my Creative Writing assignment. She nodded in understanding and then left to go back to her party. I went in there a few minutes ago to check it out. The lights were out except for one lonely candle on her desk. "Roomie!" I heard from across the room. It was Cassandra and she was dancing. She made her way across the room and yelled Obroni over the music. We have this little on-going joke about the Ghanaian men's pick-up lines. I just giggled and responded to her hip movement with a little hip action of my own. She just laughed out loud and then rejoined her dance partner. I retreated to sit on the desk. Another dancer made her way in front of me. She was immaculately dressed and danced like Michael Jackson wishes he could. It was River dance, only something more natural. Every part of her body moved to the music and made me believe that it really is "in their blood." Her dance partner got a little too close for comfort. She shoved him off in that don't-mess-with-me-I'm-Ghanaian kind of way. Then my conservative little pint sized roomie took the main stage. My jaw dropped to the floor as she moved across the peeling linoleum like a billion dollar pop star. A Ghanaian guy approached me. "Kim, why don't you dance," he asked. He knows my name, I thought. I've met so many of her friends it's hard to remember them all though. Cassandra yelled, "Because she is obroni! They dance like this!" She swung her hips off-rhythm without moving her feet, laughing all the while.

She couldn't be more right.