Straw mat awnings shaded tables with large, flat baskets of red chili, passion fruit, leeks, berries, watercress, cherry tomatoes, litchi nuts, beans and asparagus. Huge burlap sacks stood on the ground, their tops folded back to reveal spices, roots, nuts and herbs. The displays of eggplant, broccoli, oranges, curly lettuce and pineapple were piled so high that the grocers had to climb onto stools to reach the top. Shoppers wended their way through, carrying plastic bags or balancing on bicycles with wire baskets filled with purchases wrapped in newspaper.

Across from the twelve-piece band at a corner of the intersection, Lulu sat in her new stroller under Leslie's watch, her fist occupying her mouth, her curious eyes taking everything in. Leslie’s assistant chased away the flies.

The Chinese crew members pushed the spectators away to create a wider passage. Her mouth moving, Nola cut a series of dance steps diagonally across an intersection and pirouetted toward the battery of cameras. The excited crowd, with its clucking chatter, pushed forward again.

She loved it all. As with last night’s concert, the joy of belonging to these people returned. She was enriched by them the same way they were taking something important out of this surprise event that had broken the routine of their day. They would speak about it with wonder to their relatives and neighbors. They would tell of the rusty curls, disbelieving that people could have hair so different from theirs. She would remember their delighted faces, the simplicity of their anonymous existence, and would want to write more songs to warm their hearts.

Wade dashed about in his blue pressed-crease jeans, a starched denim shirt and cowboy boots that had never been marred by cow dung. At breaks, he slapped the shoulders of whichever two men were closest. “Great job, troops.”

The director instructed the crew to get a shot of an old woman holding a monkey on a leash and negotiating the sale of her pet. The monkey grabbed a cluster of bananas from an adjacent stall, bringing a torrent of shouts from the farmer’s wife. She emphasized her protest by pelting the monkey’s owner with rotten tomatoes. The argument escalated and the crowd cheered.

A troupe of eight young men joined Nola with their staged dance. As they moved in unison, a fly circled her head, but she kept her smile, never twitching a muscle. She concentrated on hitting her invisible marks while not losing a single beat. The cameras were on her, too many people were involved, and she owed it to all to be her best. The fly would be edited out of the film as long as it didn’t land on her nose or get into her mouth. But she longed for another costume-change break. Refreshed, she would bring Lulu to her trailer, play with her, and kiss her sweet face.