No one talked to me at first, though when he saw my uncertainty about eating with my hands the man next to me told the proprietress to bring me a spoon for my meat and rice. I relented in the end though and did as the others were doing. Food in the right hand, of course, beer in the left. There were surprised, warm glances when I cheered Ghana's goal as much as everyone else, and at half time my neighbour asked why I was supporting Ghana.
By the end of extra time and penalties I was still the only white man in there, though no longer the only non-Ivorian. Some arab teenagers had joined us and were more blasé about Suarez's handball, more inclined to blame Gyan for his miss. The biggest man, wearing a yellow red and green string vest, was in a rough mood after the game and it suddenly wasn't a happy place. But I remember him standing in the street at half time when Afrique was winning 1 -0, ignoring the cars, smoking hard from one hand, clutching a mobile, shouting down it "le monde a changé, le monde a changé, le monde a changé!."
