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Sultry, moonless nights see the start of the mulid—the lights are vibrant and the shisha sweet, crowds swaying in trance-like prayer to tambourines and Islamic declarations of god is great, god is truth. Buildings are washed of color, draped over with carnival tapestries and graffiti. Women brush out braids and men swaddle grams of hash in newspaper triangles, knot string with their teeth; the marriage of tradition and religion sees a rebirth in one town square. The mulid has begun.…