A discreet noise came from the back of the courtyard on the side of the blue room.
No, it wasn’t the old goat bleating, nor the donkey coughing. This noise was unfamiliar to me.
With a slight start, I opened my eyes swollen with sleep, maybe it was a jackal, a hyena, a snake.
No, it was not possible in the middle of town. It was probably my little boy’s imagination playing tricks on me.
Djins, maybe.
Razor blades protruded from the deep throat of the djin in front of me, wisps from his blood red eyes.
“Krabozi, kraboza” thundered the magician, swallowing the flames of the thousand fires of the little eyes amazed by these incredible sleights of hand.
But no, that was this morning inside the national stadium, the incredible number of the last magician of Nouakchott.
Encore, Psss…
I snuggle up very hard at the bottom of the cover reducing my private sphere to its bare minimum.
That little noise there was becoming almost familiar. Eyelids heavy, very heavy, I fell asleep so early.
At the first light of dawn, in front of the painting that presented itself to me, everything jostled in my little head.
Is it possible ! It was another round.
Saber drawn, my grandmother was aiming at a big boy… Sheepish and scared!
And yet, he had sown real insecurity throughout the neighborhood by his incessant marauding, his intolerable theft.
Do not move !
Too bad for him, it was not the right evening. He was certainly misinformed, hands off my warrior grandmother.
There are people like that.
Elbane Hamady
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