The air is warm and humid, and on the bank of the small river lies a wide, muddy patch, softened by the rain of the last few days. A young, plump Black woman in everyday clothes – a loose-fitting parka, a knee-length fabric skirt, sturdy shoes – is just taking a step too close to the slippery edge. Her foot slips. The moment she loses her balance, her body tenses reflexively. Her arms shoot forward, her upper body lurches across the slippery surface, and she falls face-down into the mud. The impact is soft but loud, a dull splash, followed by a wide spray shooting out in all directions. The mud splashes over her jacket, over her shoulders, even a little onto her face. Her parka is left with a large, dark streak of mud across the front. A few drops land on her forehead, and a fine spatter even hits her glasses, which are askew. For a moment, she simply lies there, taken by surprise, caught halfway between shock and laughter. Then she lifts her head, and a broad, genuine grin breaks through. She laughs at herself, at the embarrassing but somehow funny fall, whilst the mud slowly runs down her clothes. The scene looks like a spontaneous still from a comedy series, a mishap that doesn’t hurt anyone, but brings a smile to everyone’s face.