They wandered through the streets of Farkhana begging for food and the other thing, something specific, something that was needed to contain the blood spilling from the sisters who’d accompanied them on their adventure. Eventually their rumbling tummies reminded them that you couldn’t play football on an empty stomach and that they ought to head back with what little they had. Going back up the mountain was tiring, but the energy it required brought them warmth. When they got back to the camp, they found it unusually quiet. Look, we got this and this, but we couldn’t get that, what can we say, they either didn’t know what it was or they directed us towards the shops. But the two envoys realised the Gurugu inhabitants were preoccupied with something else, so they stopped a man who approached them on the path.
‘Did something happen while we were away, eh, brother?’
‘More like while you were home. Did you get what the women asked for?’
‘No. We kept being pointed towards the shops. Why?’
‘One of our sisters has fallen ill.’
‘I know, brother, but has something else happened, eh?’
‘There’s been a meeting. Omar Salanga is in our midst.’
The man went on his way, leaving the two envoys to look blankly at one another.
‘Who’s Omar Salanga?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ve heard the name before.’
‘Omar? Is that an anglophone or a francophone name, eh, brother?’
‘It can’t be anglophone, friend, it’s a Muslim name. It must be francophone, or Senegalese.’
‘Or Ghanaian. I’ll go and ask that brother over there,’ said the younger envoy, the one who was twenty-two. ‘Ah, excuse me brother, have you heard of this Omar Salanga? Where’s he from, eh?’
‘It doesn’t matter where he’s from. The important thing is he’s here.’
‘But why is he so important? Who is he?’
‘Ask Aliko.’
‘Aliko? Who’s he, brother?’
‘You don’t know Aliko Dangote?’
‘I’m new to this forest, brother, I still don’t know everyone.’
‘You know the guy who goes around in a blue anorak? That’s Salanga, Omar Salanga. Aliko you usually see in a red checked shirt, with his hands in his trouser pockets, as if he weren’t cold.’
‘If he’s got his hands in his pockets, then surely he’s cold, eh, brother?’
‘I meant the checked shirt. It’s not enough for the temperatures we get up here.’
‘He must drink something to keep him warm then, brother. Or else he’s very tough.’
‘Tougher than the whites, certainly. But maybe you’re right, maybe he drinks too. When did you get here?’
‘Two days ago, brother. But don’t ask me where I came from. It was via lots of places, but I came in through Algeria. They told me I no longer have a country, that’s what they said at the border: you’ve no country any more, now you’re just black.’
‘Well, once you get to know your way around, you’ll soon learn who Aliko is.’
‘Ah, but I want to cross soon, brother, I haven’t come all this way to hang about.’
‘I know you haven’t, brother, but still.’
The two envoys got back to their residence, the cave they’d been assigned to when they first arrived on the mountain. They told the others how they’d fared, the trials and tribulations they’d faced in trying to get something to eat, and how they’d had to dedicate much of their time to seeking something that had proved difficult to get hold of, in fact impossible, something scribbled down on a scrap of paper. Either the people they’d asked hadn’t understood or they, the envoys, hadn’t asked correctly. Or it could have been that the women they’d asked had all been too mature and no longer needed something to curtail the blood of a monthly discharge.
‘We didn’t manage to get it,’ the younger envoy said.
‘And now they need it more than ever.’
‘Why now more than ever?’ said the older envoy.
‘It’s a delicate subject, that’s what they said at the meeting, because the mountain is like a giant house, but with many ears.’
‘So has something serious happened?’
‘Let’s get the food ready first. We’ll talk about it during the match.’
A few onions and two potatoes, plus a lettuce salvaged from a market that had already packed up for the day. Those who’d gone for water returned and the pot was put on to boil. Infusions were prepared, for the mountain was generous in this regard, and then each group did its best to share whatever it had managed to procure. After eating, everyone joined together to spend the rest of the day talking about the future and playing football.
‘When we close our eyes at night and blow out the candle in order to ration it, we’d do well to remember that we are the lucky ones, for we live in a palace with a roof over our heads.’
‘Okay, brother, I promise not to go mad. But what are we going to do about the women now that we’ve failed to get what they needed?’
‘We’ll have to go back down, friend. We’ll take one of them with us if necessary, she can explain the situation to a woman down there.’
‘Ah, but one of them can’t walk, brother, and the other has gone further up the mountain looking for medicinal plant leaves.’
‘She can’t walk? It must be serious. We have to get her out of here.’
‘I know, brother, but if we can’t even manage to get hold of a simple item that’s commonly used by women everywhere, how likely is it that we’ll find someone who’ll welcome us into their home and offer her treatment, eh?’
‘We’ll take her to a hospital.’
‘No hospital round here will treat blacks without papers.’
‘I know, but we’ve got to do something. What’s the matter with her anyway? There seems to be a lot of mystery surrounding this.’
‘Because the mountain is a giant ear, brother. Apparently nobody would say it outright at the meeting, but Aliko’s name was on the tip of everyone’s tongue.’
‘Aliko? Ah, so he’s involved in this. Right, come down to the lookout area with me, friend, if the match kicks off while we’re gone, the captain can put someone else in our place.’
‘Okay, brother, let’s go.’
Those who knew the most about the camp and its surrounds were based halfway up the mountain. They were the ones who put out the warning whenever danger approached, danger in the form of the Moroccan police. The alarm sounded and everyone fled, hiding as best they could in the mountain’s nooks and crannies, praying to God not to let the rabid Moroccan police find them. I smell blood, I’m going to break your black legs and ankles so you can’t walk, maybe you’ll even end up dead, and nobody will know, nobody!
The two envoys arrived at the lower part of the camp and explained what had brought them there, that something very bad had happened to two women in their cave.
‘Sorry, brothers, but we can’t evacuate anybody right now.’
‘Why not?’
‘The Moroccan police say no one’s to go down the hill, no matter what the circumstances.’
‘But two of our sisters are sick, one of them is very unwell, and we don’t know what to do. And when I say she’s very unwell, please, brother, try to understand me.’
‘Yeah, we know, we’ve received word too. But nobody can leave, and besides, it’s important we resolve this matter here on the mountain, amongst ourselves. My advice to you is not to get involved. Let us deal with Aliko and Omar, we’ll speak to the veterans in the Senegalese group.’
‘Why that group particularly, eh?’
‘No reason. Because they’re impartial. Look, if I mentioned them it’s because they speak French and Bambara, which they talk among themselves, and because they have a certain influence over the Guineans and some other folk they share vernaculars with. Besides, the Canary Islands are right in front of their country, they’re used to being this close to Europe.’
‘And are these the only rea
sons?’
‘Look, brother, down here we judge things differently.’
‘Okay, I understand. Thank you.’
‘No, thank you. Go well.’
II
From Mount Gurugu, your future was mapped out: you could see where you needed to get to, the path you had to take in order to follow in Samuel Eto’o’s footsteps. Samuel Eto’o was so attractive as a role model that many of the men on Gurugu played football in order to keep fit for when Chelsea or Barcelona signed them. They toiled away trying out the dribbles and drills they’d heard Eto’o practised, their president and commander-in-chief. Or if not Eto’o then Messi, or the maestro, Ronaldinho.
There were a number of world-beaters on Gurugu and they played every day, but today there would be a four-nations tournament, so it was especially important they were limbered up and sharp. The four nations were Mali, Senegal, Cameroon and Nigeria. Anyone who came from a country with insufficient numbers to form a full team could be a substitute for whichever of the four nations they chose. In this manner, those from Niger signed up with Mali, Senegal welcomed the Guineans and the Gambians joined Nigeria. Indeed it could easily have been a five-nations tournament if the Burkina Faso contingent had banded together with others from Benin and the Ivory Coast.
Whenever Gambians played against Malians, there was a good deal of banter. It was one of the rare occasions when the inhabitants revealed their flags, if only symbolically.
‘You Gambians marry old ladies. We pity you. Marriage should be about having children.’
‘That may be so, but I won’t take pity from someone who’s never seen the sea.’
‘Bah, poor old English ladies come over, Allah is great, seeking men their own age, but presently when they find them, they discover they’re impotent, too hypnotised by the tide to go and find plant medicines to keep them strong and long-lasting. So the poor English ladies resort to boys young enough to be their own grandchildren, and so the great lie begins.’
‘Hey, what great lie, brother? Love knows no age.’
‘Love doesn’t, but the body does. A cured fish can’t get back in the river and start swimming again.’
‘Is that a Malian saying? It must be, because it mentions a river and not the sea. But I’ll tell you a Gambian saying: the heart is forever young.’
‘But the body gets evermore old. It dries up, and once the dryness has reached a certain level, the body can presently no longer bear fruit,’ one of the Malians said.
‘Hey, do you mention dryness to remind us of the terrible drought devastating your country, despite the fact that His Most Merciful was kind enough to let the Niger River run through it?’
‘Bah, and do you mention rivers to remind us that if you removed the Gambia River from your plaything of a country, there’d be nothing left!’
‘I’d like to sit you down in a London restaurant and finish this argument properly. But as it is, we’ll have to beat you at football instead.’
‘Pweeeeeee,’ went the sound of a whistle. ‘The tournament is suspended.’
‘What?’ several people cried.
‘There was an accident in the night and a woman is very sick.’
‘God have mercy.’
‘The tournament is suspended. Gather the captains, there’s to be a meeting.’
The players dispersed while the captains gathered around the referee. He was a man well-respected by all, for he’d been a referee many years previously, when his country had functioned differently. Something had disturbed the peace on Gurugu and needed to be set right. The captains formed a circle around the referee and waited for him to inform them as to why the tournament had been suspended. Meanwhile, the other inhabitants split up according to their own interests and affinities and started playing football anyway.
‘You, you, you and you, against us four. That’s the goal; Djibril, you be mister referee. And blow for everything, all right? Just because the ball is not really a ball doesn’t mean we shouldn’t play the proper rules, although admittedly it’s almost impossible to play offside on such a small pitch.’
‘So are we playing for offside or not?’
‘We are,’ said Djibril very seriously.
‘But it’s impossible to play offside on such a small pitch.’
‘Why did you ask then, eh?’ said Djibril.
‘What? So is there offside or not?’
‘Pwee,’ shouted Djibril, for he had no whistle. ‘The first half is under way!’
He refused to state whether offside would be taken into account or not. On the one hand, it was obviously excessive to insist on observing every last law of the game, but on the other, in an unstable environment overseen only by themselves, it was important that rules be respected, even in a kickabout. In any case, offside was largely irrelevant, the important thing was to keep on moving, to run around until night fell and you could no longer see the ball. You couldn’t see the ball, but you could see the lights in the villages below, and although those villages were not in Europe, they had lights, meaning prosperous lives clustered together. Pweee, foul, yellow card. You see this leaf? See what colour it is? That’s for you, brother. Next time, you’re off. Someone sat down to rest. He’d run around enough to keep himself warm for a while and so he swapped places with Djibril, who’d been sitting on a rock, refereeing with his arms folded across his chest. Football, even football played with a ball the size of an orange, was the principal energy source for Gurugu’s Sub-Saharans, with due respect to the sun and apologies to the trees whose branches were burned on grey afternoons.
On Mount Gurugu you ran around to keep warm, but on sunnier days you headed for the mountain spring. There were no bathroom facilities on Gurugu and so personal hygiene was a sensitive subject. When the weather was good, you went to the spring, stripped down as best you could and bathed, and if someone had managed to beg a bottle of shower gel in Beni Ansar or buy a bar of soap with hoarded money, you bathed all the more conscientiously. Either way, you used a tin can to pour water over your head and it was up to you whether you stripped totally naked or not.
Among the mountain inhabitants there were a number of Christians and they’d read the Bible and knew about the woman Adam had found lying beside him when he’d come round after passing out. Should Adam not have made a run for it once he’d recovered from his momentary loss of consciousness? Because Adam, in all his innocence and fear of God, was unaware of the existence of women and so he would have understandably been terrified to waken, rub his eyes and discover a long-haired monster with pointy bits at the breast and a clitoris trained upon him. Or did Eve not have long hair? It’s hard to imagine the first woman to walk the earth did so bald!
She would have approached Adam, intimidated him with her breasts and tried to touch him. Or maybe she found the first man’s manhood amusing and thought it a toy, grabbed hold of it and shook it like a rattle. Naturally, Adam would have run away horrified, screaming with fear. He would have thought the woman an apparition, an evil spirit come from the nether regions to test him and lead him to perdition, for the Bible clearly states that ‘God created the great sea-monsters, and every living creature that moveth’. Adam would have known the earth was full of monsters and assumed this long-haired woman was one of them, indeed she would have been one to him.
Next comes the issue of language, for just as it’s hard to believe Eve was bald, it’s difficult to imagine Adam and Eve came into the world speaking tongues. Remember the tatata of the little girl who proved not to be a little girl after all? Remember how she was banished from that young man’s premises? Well something similar would have happened with Eve, only it would have been more dramatic, for there was the added factor that Adam was naked. Stark naked, without a stitch on him, because in the era the Good Lord had chosen for him, temperatures allowed for that sort of thing.
On Mount Gurugu, men stood under the jet of water that came out from between the rocks and scrubbed themselves down, all the more c
onscientiously if there was shower gel or soap, although such items weren’t shared around amongst all the inhabitants because there were hundreds of them and it wouldn’t have gone far. They scrubbed themselves down and they got back under the jet, or scooped their tin cans into the water and tipped them over their heads, and they rinsed the last soap off their bodies and let themselves dry off under God’s own sun, because nobody could charge them for that. Once dry, they put their clothes back on, the same clothes as before, the same clothes they’d been wearing for two months or more, the same clothes they’d slept in every night on top of their piece of cardboard, or directly on the bare earth if they weren’t lucky enough to have anything to disguise their poverty. The same clothes they’d walked thousands of miles in to get to Gurugu. They put them back on, perhaps wringing out the neck to check for any hidden last drops, for sometimes the sun lasted long enough for them to take off all their clothes and wash them, with soap if there was any. They did this terrified of an unexpected visit by the Moroccan forestry police, imploring the sky to let the king of stars shine bright and return their clothes to a state of dryness before the police discovered their naked black bodies, for it’s important to remember that the Moroccan forestry police corps was set up specifically to preside over the black people on Gurugu, as soon as black people realised Gurugu was a strategic place to get some sleep. But if none of this occurred, if the sun didn’t shine, if generous souls hadn’t donated shower gel and prudent black hands hadn’t hoarded coins to buy soap, then they stripped down, they washed quickly and they put the same pants back on, the same T-shirt back on, the same shirt back on, the same socks back on, the same trousers back on and the same whatever they were using as a coat back on. As should be fairly obvious, Gurugu wasn’t the sort of place where you might enjoy the simple pleasure of a change of clothes. No. You put the same clothes back on and you put up with the hum of having lived in them for several months in impoverished solitude, but with your desire still intact, without that yet having drained out of you. Pity your cave companions, or fellow bunkers in a tarpaulin tent, if they happened to have a sharp nose.
The Gurugu Pledge Page 6
