The last nomads of the Sahel (1): Riskoi
The first time I saw Riskoi was in a difficult time of my life. Say you lived dangerously and every night the lizards that tore the roof of corrugated feed my nightmares, embodied in replicas that Bin Laden came to MI to request rescue. Naive, I repeated, barricaded behind the mosquito net. The request rescue!!, if once called an ex-girlfriend in a deplorable condition to pick me up I hung acudiese indignant, wondering if you knew as time went overnight parking in the center. Terroristitas to E!!, and then the canalized reptiles would start their damned orgy on the roof of my house again and I suddenly sensed seven bearded men on the backs of Nazguls who were approaching reciting the Koran, a jump back to hide under the bed. Courage is a vice that sometimes practiced only sense in public.
If after an ex-girlfriend called lamentable state to pick me up I hung acudiese indignant
The first time I saw greeted him distracted Riskoi, as without seeing, almost thinking of something else. Quickly take care of me see the futility of my attitude. For him, indifference was no more than an irresistible and unequivocal artifice for him to redouble his efforts.. Riskoi conceived, like the good generals, friendship from surrender and exhaustion. Having no resources to put a floor, preferred to lay siege to begin my excuses and sit and wait quietly outside my door to appear the body of his new best friend.
Before he made an attempt to check my degree of obstinacy and called home. -"Hi I'm the one before" - "I see ya". - "How is the family?”, I informed him that after talking to my mother and my girlfriend in a broken Skype conversation the night before, not very well., in fact, things were somewhat tense, They both thought I was out of my mind and after the recent kidnappings in Niger they urged me to go home. My answer did not seem the least move him. "What about work?, How was the work?"Narrowing his eyes, I began to wonder if he obeyed orders precise interrogation of al-Qaeda to know my feelings when you decide to get the party started. Well!, Contest dryly, closing the door a few inches, And the heat? That had already reached unbearable limits and when I asked about the stones, trees and road dust, the crack was just a thread that slammed the door to Riskoi the entrance to my house and my life in a way that I expected definitively.
I harvested laughter, suitcases half done, recommendations to get out of there as soon as possible
Distracted by the exhausting task in which I was engaged, to achieve something resembling a social life in Zinder, a city from which everyone had fled like a soul from the devil, forgot to Riskoi and started a pilgrimage pilgrimage deserted headquarters of most NGOs. Empty bottles with messages sent encrypted in the form of propositions; Scenes, outings and various social plans. I harvested laughter, suitcases half done, recommendations to get out of there as soon as possible and sometimes just the howling of the wind for an answer. Whenever I came home to my pegándole kicked surliness, I encontraba the Riskoi, smiling and confident behind the tangle of dreadlocks and pendants. “¡Hey mec ça va!, How's the family?, What about work?, It's hot huh, Why do not we take a tea?"I gladly wallowing in my psychosis disciplined ignored invitations that wicked emissary of AQIM, y esprintando as Bolt, I machine-gunned him with crazy excuses before closing the door of the house and taking refuge in the comfortable company of my lizards.
After several blows devoured books from insomnia, extensive entomological classification of insects in the bathroom and an election and the corresponding curfew , immerged outside world two weeks. Across, of course with his ferret patience Riskoi was waiting for me. As I tore a beard newly released from shipwrecked sorry, jumped on me, What's up, and family? Throwing her into the arms of patience, I sighed and I got into a conversation crazy. Riskoi inaccessible to despondency, wondered cousins, uncles, grandparents and all my relatives that inexhaustible judged. The saga of losVaquerizo not particularly prolific and conversation seemed to disappoint languished at times.
Neither Babylon with its gardens, Ancient Rome or New York lovers have found a game that Riskoi chronicler
However, at that moment something lit up inside him when I asked him where his family lived.. ¡Sallaga!, inflamed cried like a fanatic. Immediately he began to slap around me happy. ¡Si Sallaga!, I definitely had to know Sallaga, had to go there with his family, I love IBA Sallaga IM. Neither Babylon with its gardens, Ancient Rome or New York lovers have found a game that Riskoi chronicler as I shelled one by one the amazing attractions of a set of huts half desmadejadas in dry savannah. He even got some enthusiasm insuflarme, clinging to him we started making plans. But Where was Sallaga? A kilómetros the Zinder, Tanout near one horse town in the middle Miserrimo Niger Sahel.
Because Riskoi, Among the most eccentric and capricious traits of his personality was that of being a Peul, Peul Bororo also. I, Submerged in my ignorance and absurd fears, I had not yet understood that under that appearance of a Snoopy Dog rapper, the millennial race of one of the most interesting ethnic groups in Africa was hidden.. The Bororo take forever subsisting in the same way, the only one that knows, following their herds throughout the Sahel. With the sky as a hat and freedom stinging their heels, they have survived the continuous attempts by governments and NGOs to sedentarize them. For them there are only rules that mark their cows and groove left on the low, smoky grass of the savannah. Still did not know that the Bororo had many more features, would discover over the next few months and make it the most exciting and peculiar people so far have met. Pero volvamos a Riskoi, sitting in a rocking chair on the patio and a grapefruit chewing up phlegm while pinpoints me the secrets of your family.
That the tauregs met with them on full moon nights to improvise concerts by the campfires??
Was slowly coming into my life, as I ventured through the streets of Zinder and left the heart in each corner that was a turban. Like a Rastafarian Scheherazade came to visit after dark and lure challenged me as pebbles were building a path to my madness. Did I know that at the Gereworld party the women chose the most handsome men in a great dance in the middle of the savannah and offered them a splendid honeymoon among the baobabs?, What does any of his relatives had arrived driving a herd of 30 camels to the depths of the Great Sahara?, That the tauregs met with them on full moon nights to improvise concerts by the campfires?? Now I realize that it was easy for him to perceive the fascinated brightness of my pupils. The tide turned quickly and suddenly it was me who harassed and persecuted Riskoi with my curiosity.- "Soon will the Sallaga, I repeated over and over again, soon we will ". And Sallaga for me was as a pipe dream, an Arcadia happy, populated by outlaws and invaded my thoughts adventures. ¡Sallaga! howled my lizards when they were trying in vain to embitter the existence. Disappointed scratched his neck before fleeing to their hiding astonished at the state of reverie in which I was.
The aim was clear, the problem is that Snyder had to leave and surroundings were considered by the Embassy as red zone, as if when turning the last shack in the city endless sirens began to howl and the ground curled up in a sea of barbed wire distributing shocks on the soles of the feet as if there were no tomorrow. I decided to risk my life and even the dismissal, but a plan was needed. I faked an illness that would keep me KO all weekend and as I told on another occasion I dressed Tuareg vap leaving only the nose and eyes visible. Riskoi treated me with the condescension with which pampers a psychotic. For him there was Aqmi course and I was quite buzzed, but after all it was not the greatest extravagance he had endured a target and gave the art of disguise with enthusiasm. One Friday, I became an elusive shadow with a turban in Zinder's dawn, queuing up to fill a van with directions and answering questions head of Tuareg and Fulani, blank puzzled before that persisted in pretending dumb and African disguise their appearance but sing for miles.
Between the cracks of my turban I peered into life in cinemascope
During the two and a half hours to dawn came quickly walked dusty roads and spent two army checkpoints that my passport curiously observed. Arriving at Tanout at seven in the morning the ground was already bubbling like a geyser. Between the cracks of my turban I peered into life in cinemascope, the few mud houses to the market town clung to the ground struggling to endure a merciless sun. Among them was buzzing a hive of entertainment. I do not complain that I could travel in my life, still hope to travel much more. I'm a fan of how different search, strangeness, freak fuzzy concept, ambiguous and often absurd of "authentic". Sometimes you find that you track Aboca shadows, impossible in the past persecution, in every place where I land I seek a reality that vanished fifty years earlier. However I am convinced that no place can ever provoke the same impression that I suffered in those first hours of Tanout spurred by paranoia and fear.
Comments (5)
The last nomads of the Sahel
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[…] The last nomads of the Sahel […]
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Ricardo Coarasa
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How good, Enrique, how good. Really Bright. For all we traveled behind a past that, often, vanishes with the urgency of a shadow always a pleasure to read you. Abz
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Isabel
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As always exciting…. and very literary
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Lydia
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I read avidly. An extraordinary story. I really liked the «Sherezade rastafari». It was a constant challenge to start the journey!
It's exciting to go in search of the past.
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Enrique Vaquerizo
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Many thanks to all, soon the second part I hope you like it more than the first.
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