CHAPTER 15NOUGA
About a month after Belinda and Barry moved in, I decided to walk down the beach to the Ambassador Hotel beach bar. The bartender’s name was Joe. He was known as “Set ’em Up Joe” and was an affable local man in his early thirties. He seemed to be always smiling and moved fluidly as though dancing to some internal rhythm. He didn’t just handle the glasses; he twirled them like a juggler before deftly pouring the liquor and placing the glass in front of you. He asked if I was one of the pilots. I said that I was and asked him how he knew.
“Oh, ya got good heart; ya look like ya know book,” he said.
“But really, it’s the sunglasses isn’t it,” I said.
Joe laughed. “Dat’s it, old man. Dat’s it,” he said and danced away. In West Africa it was considered a high compliment to b
