Moussa (on the left) and the family. I arrived at the end of the afternoon. I gave a few kola nuts to my host, Moussa. He directly went to his father, keeled down and gave the nuts to him. I was given water in a calabash, and I drank it. I was showered with questions on my health, my family, my wife and my kids. I was blessed many times and served food at least twice. I felt home after a few minutes. Moussa showed me around the compound before dinner. Now it’s dark out and we’re getting ready to go to sleep.
The compound
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The only light out is the full moon, low on the horizon. Shadows are stretched and all we can hear is our footsteps and the mysterious songs of night birds. Moussa is walking is front of me, and I make sure to stay close behind. The metal of his daba blade shines in contrast to the wooden handle, on his left shoulder.
Moussa has stopped now and started digging. I’m standing beside him. The soil is sandy and rock hard. It’s the dry season already. With a small hole on the ground he stands back straight. “This is how you do it” he says, putting one foot on each side of the whole and crouching. “It falls down there, and you cover it with the dirt.” He really thinks I know nothing…
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