Hangi

                                                                   Hangi
As I hongihongi (sniff), I smell burning wuru (wood) and flaming metal. The green grass disintegrates into black piles of ashes. The wind blows like never before. Swirling up and down the grey misty smoke drifts into outer space never to be seen again. Joyfully, I take a sniff of heihei (chicken) and purini (pudding) drifts up my nostrils. Jubilantly, I  pranced away thinking about the best food I have ever tasted.