The boss says it's fine
I asked a group of young men at a petrol station if they had some space left in their van, which I estimated to be quite improbable, given the fact that there were six of them. They didn’t seem to understand and told me to wait for “the boss”. “The boss”, as they proceeded to call him, turned out to be the head of the refugee orphanage they were returning to after having spent their first time ever at the sea. The boss replied to my request for a lift that it was fine if I didn’t mind riding with a bunch of “very loud Afghans”, jokingly pointing at the guys – which I of course was. The latter ones had been trying to follow our conversation (in German) and didn’t seem to understand much, until the point where I said that I was fine with riding with them – then, they broke out in the loudest cheers, bustled around the car, opening the trunk, storing my luggage and – secretly – taking out the instruments their boss had ordered them to put in the trunk. It wasn’t until we were on the highway that they reveiled to the driving boss that they had brought their instruments back into the car, which he took note of with a mixture of despair and amusement. For the rest of the ride, the car was filled with Afghan chants, jokes, the sound of drums and bells and uncontrollable – very infectuous – laughter, accompanied by the desperate shouts of the boss to make them calm down. It was hilarious! When they let me out on a country lane, I was besieged with wishes and was granted a goodbye song before they finally drove off, the drums still banging and the boss still swearing.