When you’re ruined and bankrupt, the people from the bank come and ask you to give them back all their money, the money that they were kind enough to lend you, and if you don’t pay them back them immediately, they take you to court. Then, you have to wet the beards of the magistrates and judges and stenographers and lawyers in the courts at Abidjan, because if you don’t they find you completely guilty. If they find you guilty, you have to wet the beards of the bailiffs and the police, because if you don’t they seize all your stuff and all your houses.
The bailiffs and the police seized all Yacouba-alias-Tiécoura’s property and he ran away to Ghana so as he didn’t have to watch them take all his things and so they didn’t get their hands on his wives’ jewellery.
Ghana is one of the countries near Côte d’Ivoire where they’re really good at football and where people speak pidgin instead of English.
In Ghana, there was lots of merchandise, and everything was a lot cheaper than it was in Abidjan. By wetting the beards of the customs officers at the border, Yacouba shipped the merchandise into Côte d’Ivoire without paying any taxes and sold all the stuff to the highest bidder with lots of profits. With all the profits, he got rich and bought a big property in Yopougon Port-Bouët where he had lots of wives and turbans and starched bubus and fast getaway cars for to drive people in a hurry. Lots and lots of fast cars.
When Yacouba-alias-Tiécoura found out one of his drivers was skimming the profits, he got in the car himself and went to add up all the receipts, but the driver who was driving was angry and pissed off and had a fatal accident. Yacouba was badly hurt and put in hospital, but Allah made him better because Yacouba performs the five daily prayers every day and was always slitting the throats of sacrifices. Allah made him better because his sacrifices were fitting. (Among Black Nigger African Natives, if you say ‘the sacrifices were fitting’, it means you got lucky.)
Yacouba got two things out of the accident and being in hospital. Firstly, number one, he got a limp and people started calling him the crippled crook. Secondly, number two, he got the idea that Allah never leaves empty a mouth he has created. Faforo!
While Yacouba-alias-Tiécoura was in hospital, one of his friends went to visit him. The friend’s name was Sekou, Sekou Doumbouya. He was the same generation as Yacouba and they were friends from when they got initiated, so they’d been friends a long time. (In Black Nigger African Native villages, all the kids are grouped by age group and everyone always does everything with their own group. They all play together and get initiated together.) Sekou came to visit in a Mercedes Benz. Sekou told Yacouba about his business, which earned him lots and lots of money and he didn’t have to do fuck all. Sekou worked as a marabout. When he got out of the CHU hospital in Yopougon, Yacouba-alias-Tiécoura sold his car and all his other fast cars and set himself up as a marabout money multiplier maker of grigris and inventor of sayings and prayers to help people find out what sacrifices to make so they can defend themselves against evil spells.
It was a good job for him, because lots of ministers and deputies and high-up civil servants and rich people and big-shots all started coming to his house. And when all the bad guys and the cut-throats and the other murderers in Côte d’Ivoire saw what was happening, they started going round to Yacouba’s house with big suitcases full of stolen money asking him to multiply the money they got from all the robbing.
In Abidjan, when the cops see a bad guy with a gun in his hand, they don’t stop and chat, they shoot him quick like a deer or a rabbit and ask questions later. One day, the police shot three bad guys. Two of them died right away, but before the third guy died, he told the police that all their stolen money was with the money multiplier Yacouba-alias-Tiécoura, so the police went straight round to the money multiplier’s house.
Maybe it was because he made fitting sacrifices (according to the Glossary, ‘fitting’ means ‘auspicious or favourable’—Black Nigger African Natives make lots and lots of bloody sacrifices, and when they are fitting that means Allah is favourable), maybe it was his fitting sacrifices or maybe he was just lucky, but when the police came straight round and searched his house and found lots and lots of suitcases full of stolen money Yacouba-alias-Tiécoura wasn’t home.
Yacouba never went back home. He left Abidjan in the middle of the night and aliased his name to Tiécoura and spent all his time hiding in Togobala where everybody who saw him said they hadn’t seen him. Yacouba still believed, and even said out loud, Allah never leaves empty a mouth he has created.
This is the guy who was supposed to go with me to my aunt’s house in Liberia. Walahé! It’s the truth.
One morning, he came to see me and took me aside and secretly told me things in confidence. He told me Liberia was a wonderful country and that over there his job money multiplying was like gold. Over in Liberia they called him a grigriman. A grigriman is a big somebody over there. He told me lots of other stuff about Liberia to convince me to go with him. Faforo!
Wonderful things. He said they had tribal wars in Liberia, and street kids like me could be child-soldiers, which is pidgin and according to my Harrap’s in American they call them small-soldiers. Small-soldiers had every-fucking-thing. They had AK-47s. AK-47s are Kalashnikov guns invented by the Russians so you can shoot and keep shooting and never stop. With the AK-47s the small-soldiers got every-fucking-thing. They had money, they even had American dollars. They had shoes and stripes and radios and helmets and even cars that they call four-by-fours. I shouted Walahé! Walahé! I want to go to Liberia. Right now this minute. I want to be a child-soldier, a small-soldier. Child-soldier and small-soldier is kif-kif, that means it’s the same difference. In bed, when I did pooh-pooh or pee-pee, I shouted out small-soldier, child-soldier, soldier-child!
One morning at first cockcrow, Yacouba came to our hut. It was still dark; grandmother woke me up and gave me rice and peanut sauce. I ate a lot. Grandmother came with us, and when we got to the edge of the village where the rubbish tip is, she put a silver coin in my hand that was probably all the savings she had. Even today I can still feel how warm the silver coin felt in the palm of my hand. Then she cried and went back to the hut. I’d never see her again. That’s how Allah wanted it. And Allah isn’t fair about all the stuff he does here on earth.
Yacouba told me to walk ahead of him. Yacouba had a limp, that’s why they called him the crippled crook. Before we left, he told me that we would never go hungry on our journey, because Allah in his infinite goodness never leaves empty a mouth he has created. With our bags on our heads, we set off on foot before dawn, Tiécoura and me, for the market town where there are trucks that will take you to other capital cities in Guinea, Liberia, Côte d’Ivoire and Mali.
We didn’t get far, not even a whole kilometre, because suddenly an owl gave a terrible cry on our left and flew out of the grass and disappeared into the dark. I jumped I was so scared and I screamed ‘Maman!’ and clung to Tiécoura’s legs. Tiécoura, who was a fearless and blameless man, recited one of the biggest, most powerful suras he knows off by heart. After that, he said that when an owl flies past a traveller from left to right it’s a really bad portent for the journey (a ‘portent’ is something that predicts the future). He sat down and recited three more big important suras from the Qur’an and three really scary native shaman prayers. Automatically, a touraco started singing somewhere on our right (‘touraco’: a large fruit-eating bird, according to the Glossary). Once the touraco had sung on the right, Yacouba got up and said that the touraco singing was a good omen. A good omen meant we were protected by my maman’s spirit. Maman’s spirit is really powerful on account of all the crying and suffering she did here on earth. Maman’s spirit cleared our path of the ill-omened cry of the owl (‘ill-omened’ means that something bad, maybe even death, is coming). Even though I was cursed by my mum, her spirit was protecting me.
On we went, foot to the road (according to the Glossary, ‘foot to the road’ means ‘walking’) and not saying anything be
cause we were feeling all strong and confident.
We didn’t get far, foot to the road, not even five kilometres when suddenly another owl gave a terrible cry in the grass and disappeared into the dark. I was so really, totally scared that I screamed ‘Maman!’ twice. Yacouba-alias-Tiécoura who is a fearless and blameless man when it comes to magic and sorcery and stuff recited two of the most powerful suras that he knows off by heart. Then he told me that when two owls fly up from the left in front of a traveller, it’s a really bad, totally bad augury (an ‘augury’ is something that seems to predict the future). He sat down and said six big important suras from the Qur’an and six big shaman prayers. Automatically, a partridge sang on our right and Yacouba stood up and he smiled and said that the partridge singing meant that we were protected by my maman’s spirit. Maman’s spirit is really good and really powerful on account of all the crying and walking round on her arse she did here on earth. Maman’s spirit cleared the path in front of us of the ill-omened cry of the second owl. Maman was really good, she was protecting me even though I really, really hurt her.
And we kept on walking, foot to the road, with no worries because we were really happy and proud.
We didn’t get far, foot to the road, not even ten kilometres: suddenly on the left a third owl gave a terrible cry in the grass and flew off into the dark. I was so really, totally, absolutely scared that I screamed ‘Mum!’ three times. Tiécoura who is a fearless and blameless man when it comes to magic and sorcery recited three of the most extremely powerful suras that he knows off by heart. Then he said that when three owls fly up from the left in front of a traveller it’s a three-times terrible omen for the journey. He sat down and recited nine more big important suras from the Qur’an and nine big shaman prayers. Automatically, a guineafowl sang on our right and Yacouba stood up and smiled and said that the guineafowl singing meant that we were blessed by maman’s spirit. Maman’s spirit is too good and too powerful on account of all the crying and walking round on her arse she did here on earth. My mum’s spirit had cleared the path of the ill-omened cry of the third owl. And we kept on walking, foot to the road, not thinking too much because we were so happy and relieved.
Morning started to rise and we kept on walking. Suddenly all the birds on earth, in the trees, in the sky, started singing because they were all so happy. That made the sun come out, and it jumped up right in front of us, up above the trees. We were happy too. We were looking at the top of the kapok tree of the next village far away when suddenly we saw an eagle fly up on our left. The eagle was really heavy because it had something in its claws. When it got as far as us, the eagle dropped whatever it was carrying on to the path. It was a dead hare. Tiécoura shouted lots of bismillahs and prayed for a long time, a really long time, and said lots of suras and kaffir animist prayers. He was really, really worried and said that the dead hare in the middle of the path was a really bad, totally bad augury.
When we arrived, we didn’t go to the truck station straight away because we got to the village wanting to give up and go back to Togobala on account of how there had been so many bad omens.
But then we saw an old, worn-out grandmother leaning on a long stick and Yacouba gave her a cola nut and she was happy and said we should go and talk to some man who had just arrived in the village. This man was the most powerful marabout, medium and grigriman in the village and the whole district (a ‘medium’ is someone who is reputed to have the ability to communicate with spirits). We walked past three concessions and two huts and came slap bang on the marabout’s place. We waited in the vestibule, seeing as how there were other people ahead of us. When we walked into the hut, surprise! The marabout was Sekou himself, Yacouba’s friend from his initiation who came to see him in the Mercedes when he was in Yopougon hospital in Abidjan. Yacouba and Sekou hugged. Sekou had been forced to leave Yacouba and abandon his Mercedes and all his merchandise on account of some murky business to do with money multiplying (according to the Petit Robert, ‘murky business’ means ‘a deplorable or lamentable affair’). As soon as we sat down in the hut, Sekou, using prestidigitation, made a white chicken appear from his sleeve. Yacouba gasped in amazement. Me, I was terrified. Sekou advised us to do lots of sacrifices, really big sacrifices, so we sacrificed two sheep and two chickens in a graveyard, the chicken he pulled out of his sleeve and another one.
The sacrifices were fitting. Allah and the spirits of the ancestors didn’t have to accept them; they accepted the sacrifices because they wanted to. We were relieved. Sekou also advised us not to leave until Friday. He said that, for travellers who had seen a dead hare in their path, Friday was the only day he would counsel (‘counsel’ means ‘strongly advise’). Because Friday is the holy day of the Muslims, of the dead, and even of grigrimen.
We were optimistic and strong because Allah in his infinite goodness never leaves a mouth he has created without subsistence (‘subsistence’ means ‘food or means of survival’). This was in June 1993.
Before I forget, I should say that when we were talking Yacouba persuaded Sekou to come to Liberia and Sierra Leone with us, because in those countries the people were dying like flies, and when people are dying like flies a marabout who can pull a chicken out of his sleeve can make piles of money and heaps of dollars. He didn’t say no. And actually, we met him a couple of times in the inhospitable jungles of Liberia and Sierra Leone.
That’s all I’ve got to say for today. I’m fed up talking, so I’m going to stop.
Walahé! Faforo! Gnamokodé!
2
When people say there’s tribal wars in a country, it means that big important warlords have divided the country up. They’ve divided up all the money, all the land, all the people. They divide up everything and the whole world lets them, everyone in the whole world lets them kill innocent men and children and women. And that’s not all! The funniest thing is that the warlords are all using desperate measures to hang on to all the things they’ve got, but the same warlords are doing everything they can to get their hands on more stuff (according to the Larousse, ‘desperate measures’ means ‘all-out physical force’).
In Liberia, there were four big important warlords: Doe, Taylor, Johnson and the Hajji Koroma, as well as a bunch of small warlords. The small warlords were doing their best to be big warlords. And everything in the whole country had been divided up. That’s why they say there was tribal wars in Liberia. And that’s where I was going. And that’s where my aunt lived! Walahé! It’s the truth!
In tribal wars and even in Liberia, the child-soldiers, the small-soldiers, don’t get paid. They just kill people and steal everything worth stealing. In tribal wars and even in Liberia, the soldiers don’t get paid. They massacre the people and keep everything worth keeping. So as they have enough to eat and all the other stuff they need, the child-soldiers and the real soldiers sell off everything they steal really cheap.
That’s why in Liberia you can get everything really cheap. You can get cheap gold, cheap diamonds, cheap TVs, cheap four-by-fours, cheap guns and AK-47s or kalashes. Every, every fucking thing is cheap.
And when everything in a country is cheap, dealers flock to that country (according to Larousse, ‘flock’ means ‘to arrive in great numbers’). Dealers who want to get rich quick all go to Liberia to buy and exchange things. They go with a fistful of rice, a tiny bit of soap, a bottle of petrol, a couple of dollars or even a few CFA francs, because everybody needs them and nobody’s got them. They sell the stuff they bring or trade it for cheap merchandise and bring the cheap merchandise back to Guinea or Côte d’Ivoire and sell it to the highest bidder. That’s how you make big money.
It’s on account of all the big money that you see hundreds of men and women in N’Zérékoré swarming round the gbakas leaving for Liberia. (‘Gbaka’ is a Black Nigger African Native word. You can find it in the Glossary of French Lexical Particularities in Black Africa, and it means a car or a vehicle.)
And whenever a country is doing tribal wars, ev
eryone travels in convoys. (A convoy is when you’ve got lots of gbakas travelling together.) Everyone came to Liberia in convoys. There’s motorbikes up front and at the back of the convoy. On the motorbikes there are men armed to the teeth ready to defend the convoy, because as well as the four big important warlords, there are lots of small important warlords who do road blocks and stick-ups (according to my Larousse, a ‘stick-up’ is when you take by force something which is not legally yours).
So we go to Liberia in a convoy and to make sure we don’t get in a stick-up, we have a motorbike riding up front and that’s how we set off. Faforo!
There he was, this little guy, in pidgin they say a kid (according to my Harrap’s, ‘kid’ means ‘a boy or young man’). Anyway there was this little guy standing right slap bang exactly at a turn in the road and the motorbike that was supposed to be protecting us didn’t manage to stop dead when this little kid signals to stop. The two guys on the motorbike thought it was a road-block so they opened fire and there’s this kid, this child-soldier, lying there, fucked. Dead, totally dead. Walahé! Faforo!
There was a second, a minute, of silence before the storm. And then the whole forest all around us started spitting, the tat-tat-tat tat-tat-tat tat-tat-tat of AK-47s. So when the tattat-tat of the kalashes started up, the birds in the forest could tell something wasn’t right, so they all took off and flew away towards more peaceful skies. The AK-47 tat-tat-tat sprays all over the motorbike and the guys on the motorbike, the driver and the other guy who was all faro on the back with his own kalash. (‘Faro’ isn’t in the Petit Robert, but it’s in the Glossary and it means ‘showing off’.) So now the driver and the guy acting all faro were both dead. Absolutely, one hundred percent dead. But there’s still AK-47s going tat-tat-tat-ing! tat-tat-tating! And you could already see all the destruction all over the road—the burning motorbike and bodies all AK-47ed and all the blood, lots and lots of blood, the blood just never got tired of flowing. Faforo! All this just kept happening and happening, the sinister tat-tat-tat music kept going (‘Sinister’ means ‘serious, scary, terrifying’).
Allah is Not Obliged Page 4