Stories from the collective

I imagine it would happen something like this.

The man is seated at the court of a tribal chief; his white skin glaring amidst a sea of black and brown tones.  He’s received permission to be where he is and has been welcomed, warily at first but over the course of the meal laid out for all, tensions finally relaxed; as is generally the case when a good time is to be had.  The talk was energetic as food and drink were consumed in between colorful phrases spoken in a language foreign and unfamiliar to him.