NOTEBOOK 6

FAREWELL, BADOU!

HE MADE THE ROYAL DRUM ROLL AGAIN.

“It’s our sovereign’s command,” he says, “that we should go and wait for him in the Meeting Square.”

Yes, it’s true, Badou Tall: early that morning, the words I was waiting for rang out all over Niarela.

Ali Kaboye is back. That means I can leave now, with peace in my heart.

The following day, a large crowd has gathered in the Meeting Square. This monarch presides over a reign of terror. He is bloodthirsty. Only a madman would be foolhardy enough to defy him.

After several hours have passed the people are getting impatient: “Where is he?”

Voices can be heard from everywhere, saying, “What, if anything, do we know about the Son of the Earth we are waiting for in this scorching heat?”

“He appears to be our king.”

“That’s not true,” someone says boldly, “our kings have all been dead a long time.”

And then a passionate supporter of the modern Republic with its parades and its voting booths triumphantly reminds everybody that kings are a thing of the past, thank God, those autocrats whose madness lasted for centuries.

He speaks the truth, that fellow.

Noisily, the crowd shows its approval. “You are spot on! They used to do exactly as they pleased, our little Negro kings. You remember Daaw Demba? Mad as a hatter. And brutal he was, too. That was a long time ago, but he definitely wasn’t the kind of fellow who would have allowed his subjects in the Cayor to go and vote once every five years on a sunny Sunday! Let’s be honest, we’ve seen some really fantastic progress thanks to democracy, whether the perennial naysayers like it or not!”

And then a third one really wants to get to the crux of the matter. “Has Daour Diagne ever ordered drum rolls when he wants to address us?”

“You’re quite right, my friend; he usually speaks to us through his beloved television, our President Diagne.”

The centuries are locking horns like angry rams. Niarela is at a loss as to which lessons it needs to learn from its own history, and the people are in distress.

While all this talking is going on, the town crier suddenly appears from the west and yells, “Good people of Niarela, the Commander of the two River Banks is here!”

The crowd splits to let him pass.

He is tall and his garments are stitched with gold and silver thread. An indomitable being, he radiates strength and absolute freedom. He is completely motionless, not facing the dumbstruck crowd head-on, but at an oblique angle. Like a hurricane, he is alone with himself. His eyes are riveted upon everyone, yet seeing no one, and he appears to be dancing while keeping his body perfectly still. After letting his gaze wander back and forth over the crowd for a long time, he turns to the four corners of the horizon, one after the other, holding his hands stretched out toward the sun. Then, having lowered his right knee to the ground, he takes a handful of sand and brings it up to his mouth, standing up at the same time.

His lips are moving slowly, almost imperceptibly.

When he has finished his incantations, he lifts his head, surveying the crowd once more. He walks up to an old woman and leads her into the middle of the circle. Opening his fist, he says to her, “Take this, Mama. I am giving it to you with a pure heart. Bad luck will never enter your house again. None of your family and friends will ever suffer hunger or thirst again.”

That’s how Ali Kaboye appeared to us, one Monday in midmorning. It was a day unlike any other.

We heard someone say, in amazement, “There can be no doubt. God is the Greatest!”

This last story, Badou, is not an eyewitness report. I wasn’t part of the crowd that was waiting for Ali Kaboye. I did not see the town crier broadcasting his message up and down the streets of Niarela. Nor did I hear the sarcastic comments made by nameless voices about Daaw Demba, the cruel Damel of Cayor.

I was flat on my back with a fever when Ali Kaboye returned to take possession of Niarela once more.

Farewell, Badou.

No story is ever entirely finished. And what I also believe is that no human life ever ends at the right time. I entrust you to Ali Kaboye. He will take better care of you than anyone else in the world.