I am sometimes amazed at the world. Especially its peoples.
Like the Wodaabe. The Wodaabe are nomads, migrating through the African Sahel from northern Cameroon to Chad, Niger, and northeast Nigeria
How different they are. How different we are.
So astonishing. Frankly, we pale in comparison to their splendor.
Yes, the Wodaabe. Would I Be? Yes. Yes, I would.
Images by Marie Laure de Decker
No matter how much you have
or no matter how little,
your small kindnesses will not go unnoticed. Especially to strangers.
I've been learning about good manners in Mali. {good thing someone got through to me:)}
(This is a continuation of the tale: Cairo: and a tale of a man with {maybe} 2 or 3 wives. If you haven't already, read Part 1 of the tale here, Part 2 here , Part 3 here, and Part 4 here.)
I was in Cairo, and we were driving, of course, when Ahmed said, Egyptian General Sissi is just like my dead brother.
How so? I asked.
General Sissi’s a sweet talker, Ahmed replied. Strong but a sweet talker. Egyptian women love General Sissi. It was the same way with my brother. You should have seen the way his three wives loved him, all at the same time. He had a way with them.
Really? I asked. Like what?
A smile crossed Ahmed's face and his voice changed when he imitated his brother’s baritone. He explained, This is how it went. When wife #1 walked in, my brother would say, “Darling! Come sit here, right here, yes, right next to me -- not a centimeter away or I couldn't bear it!” Ahmed's hand tapped the steering wheel for emphasis.
Ahmed continued, Then five minutes later when wife #2 walked in my brother would practically shout “My beauty! I am such a lucky man! Such a very very lucky man!” and then he'd kiss her hand.
I laughed.
Ahmed went on. Of course when wife #3 walked in, five minutes after that, my brother would say, “Oh my love! That lunch you made…..it was so tasty! I doubt even in heaven lunch is more tasty! Every man is jealous of me!”
Looking at Ahmed's belly, I couldn’t help myself from saying, Well, I think you share your dead brother’s opinion about wife #3, Fouzia. I know how you like her cooking.
Yes, Ahmed said. In fact, I’m heading down to Ismaliya to check on Fouzia this weekend. I need to check on all my dead brother's wives, of course -- it's my duty. So anyway, Fouzia has been calling me every day to tell me what her plans are for Saturday lunch. Did I tell you that she raises chickens? Chickens, chickens, everywhere! Fouzia’s planning on taking one and stuffing it with rice, just for me! Ahmed swallowed hard in anticipation.
I see, I said. Smiling I added, And will you tell Fouzia that you doubt that even in heaven lunch is so tasty?
Ahmed laughed. Well, you know, maybe I learned a thing or two from my dead brother. Then he added, Now if only I were as handsome as General Sissi.
It's always the same. I'm in the Khan el Khalili in Cairo. I pass the jewelry stores with their strands of shiny new gold.
I then walk by the vendors of belly dancer costumes.
And say no thank you to the men selling the copper pots.
And smile at the vendors of spices and dried hibiscus flowers and tell them I'll be back another day.
Because the only stores I go into are those filled with old junk.
Or perhaps it's treasure. Yes, treasure.
I'm looking for the images of those who lived long before. Some known. Others nameless.
I'll buy that one, I say. And that one and that one. I'll buy their memories in the Khan el Khalili.
Never forgotten. No, no, never forgotten.
