FRIDAY

This is the day God created the Universe. My feet are up on the bed, it's past eight 8, its summer and Senegal is at GMT - 1. After reading some more of Cypirian Ekwensi's Burning Grass I head to meet mother in her room. “So where are we going to today Alhaji,” she asks looking refreshened and more relaxed. My phone rings "Assalamu Alaikum, slept well sheik, I'll be sending the driver to pick you up." We were hungry, just as I was about to leave my mom's room to buy something edible, (the guest house had no restaurant) a middle height, middle aged man appeared in front of me. C'est combien de jour ce rester a Dakar? From his tone and posture I concluded he was the hotel gestionnaire (manager) or his assistant, hmm….this wasn't going to be easy, but la francise was the other reason I was here. After a broken dialogue the following itinery emerges:

28/05 Jeudi Thursday Arrive Dakar

29/05 Vendredi Friday Nous reston a Dakar pour une jour.

30/05 Samedi Saturday ile de Gorree

31/05 Dimanche Sunday Partir la Sally le matin

1/06 Lundi Monday Back to Dakar

2/06 Mardi Tuesday partir to Touba

3/06 Mercredi Wensday Back to Dakar

4/06 Venderdi Thurdays Flight back to Lagos a 2h après minuit.

I make an initial payment for the next two days, and in my broken French tell him we'll be going to Sally with our luggage. A little while after breakfast, while I am out admiring the view from the balcony, Zubairu's car pulls up outside the compound. A tall tar coloured man wearing a dirt coloured Senegalese Khaftan stepped out of the driver’s seat and headed towards the front door of the house. As he stepped onto the ground I noticed it had an orange hue. "The driver has arrived…let’s hurry up.” I said to my mother. Assalamu Alaikum, Alaikum Salam, his name is Sila; he was my cousins driver Zubairu. Most Senegalese belong to either one of three Sufi brotherhoods, Mouride, Qaddiriyyah and Tijjaniyah. It was Friday and the T.V stations were broadcasting sermons by the sheiks mostly in Wolof the most popular language of the Senegal.

It turns out that Zubairu's house wasn't to far away from our residence. The houses in the VDN area were all semi detached duplexes. The door to Zubairu's house opened and right in front of me is Ruqqayatu, my cousin and Zubairu’s wife. Her eyes meet my mother's and both light up in sisterly incandesces, they embrace, and then she ushers us into the living room with the friendliest gravitation. It had two dark brown leather couches and one settee; all were torn from the unmistakable non Chalance of childhood. The living room window was directly opposite to were I sat and to my right a cupboard with plates and utensils and a TV hanged on the wall. The remaining moments were conversion and lunch.

It was almost time for the Friday prayer, sewing a Khaftan was part of the budget so we quickly headed to the market before the start of Friday prayer. We head the market place in a quartier (neighbourhood) Medina some distance south of the VDN area.

Khaftans are often sewed in monochrome coloured material, and the Medina market offered a rainbow of colours. I settled for 5 yards a green material and 10 yards of white costing 25,000 CAF and 50000 CAF respectively. C’est combien? 250000 CAF, “Last price” 24500CAF, the vendor drove a hard bargain. A long walk takes us to see a tailor called Dam, he has sewn for Ruqquayatu before. I ordered for a Khaftan and a Mauritaina gare. The total cost of sewing lest me 75000CAF short. People all around us don’t seem to know we are Nigerian, colour of skin and facial features not being sign of distinction. Everyone is hurry to get ready for Jummua. I was hoping we could go the central mosque of Senegal, but that time was short. Allah had willed otherwise.