Baa

Dinner at La Residence yesterday, I think the finest hotel here. The public streetscape leaves much to the imagination; it is without doubt what is behind the deuils, the veils, that there is sensory treasure. Again, where on a normal year the restaurant would be packed, here it is barren of guests. The style is Art Deco, and the effect of the ceiling to the skies, dim lights, wood bar, white walls, and generous rattan chairs tries to bring out the languid Humphrey or Lana in all of us. A fitting frame around the middle-aged man in a suit, nursing a drink as he waits for his companions. I try a part of S & J's mbarouk'e (?). _This_ is my madeleine. Things in powdered form bypass visual cues to their origin and identity. Peanut-ish. Possibly chicory, but the taste-memory lies in the unconscious. Dark-brown, maybe roasted, but not burnt.

On the table is a bottle of water. Bon Magal, it says, referring to the annual pilgrimage to Touba in respect of Shayk Ahmadu Bamba, founder of Mouridism here. His image is found on many walls in town, a man with a scarf around his mouth, after the only photo of him. There also seems to be an ad for a prostitute in town, but these two don't meet on the same wall. The role of the intermediary runs pervasively here, like signares here in St. Louis and magicians outside, and Ahmadu Bamba is perhaps the prime intermediary that binds and unifies the country. No small peanuts.

The atmosphere is conducive to chatting well beyond dessert, our talk a bubbly kind of digestif. The waiter asks twice if we want champagne, as if we came from the land of Saunders and French. We talk about past residents. The pioneer was a Korean woman who came on a sept-place, stayed for 3 months, knew no French, learned a significant amount of Wolof, and worked with the street cleaners at 5am. In the end, cleaned a park and made an exhibit of the trash, to heighten people's appreciation of the work of the street cleaners.

We leave what felt like our cruise boat. The actual cruiseboat is docked, and we had thought that maybe passengers would come in. It is a small boat that looks like it would be home on the Mississippi. For 700 €, passengers can spend five days on it going up the river, probably a pretty nice experience.

We head back, find the centre much the same as we left it 3 hours ago. The music starts again, this time with a kind of call and response 'hour', where people learn tunes. After that, wayward sounds with what really sounds like sheep baaing as backup singers.