"I will make an offer he can not refuse" she says Don Vito moving unhurriedly cheeks stuffed cotton as Michael Corleone Apollonia falls among the cornfields of Luca Brasi Siclia and devours mountains spaguettis.- "Strange, truth? “- someone whispers. And not, not Tom Hagen, Consigliere makes me at the time that the soundtrack of Nino Rota threatens to thunder on the African plain. Not, Alberto is the guy who accompanies me on this journey by motorcycle in the Mandara Mountains. Seat in silence, but I can not take the view bowled.
Before we rolled kilometers and kilometers by Mandara in the Far North of Cameroon between fields dotted with red millet plantations, Children bathing in streams naked and grandparents reading the Koran in wooden slats while yawning intermittent flies scare. Today is Saturday, Market day in May Plata.
The bil-bil or millet beer begins to circulate in all sites
The core of the village is made up of just three huts, however at this time, the seven o'clock, seem the Gran Vía at peak, this is the crowd that descends from the different corners of the mountains. The market itself is a disordered structure around a grove, in many cases not even exist stalls, only extended floor mats. The bil-bil or millet beer begins to circulate in all sites, being felt its effects in a trail of fumbling figures. In the air floats a penetrating smell sweet and persistent food. I perceive when approaching, the stew is strange, it seems that someone would have fared hand with spices.
The Mafa ethnic elders scrutinize me impenetrable with perforated face entrenched behind their pots. Next to the grove and beyond, on the esplanade the crowd throng. We come to see what happens, when suddenly I dive in the Italian-American family saga best known in history. There is, lying on the floor, the exact replica of the horse's head Jack Woltz found in his bed, as if after the terror that caused him had spent decades traveling the world to get rid of your gift in this corner of Africa, preferring to surrender to the hyenas rather than the Corleone family. The lifeless eyes seem to look at me, anticipating the horror. Welcome to the carnage.
The lifeless eyes seem to look at me, anticipating the horror. Welcome to the carnage
I look better in each group is doing, jalean a frantic movement invariably a guy who moves briskly ax, dismembering bodies of donkeys and horses, seems that there is still some alive and you can still hear some helpless Bray. At some point they begin the desperate barking of dogs and the bodies pile up exangües are hanging on hooks, May Silver at that time is just a bloodbath.
There is a belief among the people of the Mandara Mountains that if fed dog meat, donkey or horse their bodies are protected from the sea of ??eye and spells several. The legend spreads especially among "the forgerons" figure that functions as a healer in every village and passed down generation after generation inherited form.
The "forgeron" has traditionally been associated in Francophone Africa animist blacksmithing. Dedicated to producing iron crafts. At some point exceeded his role hammer and the anvil, science of turning stone objects indispensable granted the role of spiritual leaders of each tribe and privilege to mold the spirits when they are alive red. At present the material no longer drawn from the depths of the forging Mandara and fed in most cases the weight scrap purchased on highway trucks, but they still have an important weight as healers: evil eyes, They spells or divinations for good harvests are a staple in their repertoire.
I see a couple of old ladies completely Kurdish zurrarse sheepskins by a donkey's head
On Hogwarts Academy now has dropped right in the mountain and swirls around a dog-meat stew. The menu is served directly on a rubber cot and eaten with the hands. Reluctantly declined the invitation. After gorging on all retain their magic potion for weeks invulnerability, after the party continues, tied the bard and decant again bil-bil without fear of heaven comes down on their heads. At these times we are all completely drunk and fighting and haggling proliferate around stalls. I see a couple of old ladies completely Kurdish zurrarse sheepskins by a donkey's head. Many elderly people have climbed to the rocks and stay there, motionless in the lotus posture, I doubt if you meditate or just rest the beer fumes.
At noon the heat is unbearable and May Silver does not stop welcoming visitors, flies flitting black clouds that seem to want to download a storm over every bloody assortment. And the feast continues; braised, fried or grilled, dog meat and horse listed as delicatessens. Issoufou forgeron an elder tells me that if you are lucky enough to eat the leg of a black dog, acquire the power to be invisible to your enemies at night. Gives me an amulet to continue their journey safely.
I take a last look at the horse's head, at that time is already completely covered in bugs
a long way we still have to the next town and at dusk we feast May Silver and alcohol and blood. I take a last look at the horse's head, at that time is already completely covered in bugs. I amodorro with run-run of the bike, between the shreds of the dream scenes of The Godfather Alberto slip while dodging the stones will sow the track way Rumsiki. In those moments when a red sun on the horizon collapses, the silhouette of a lone mutt appears trotting away on the road, spent at his side as fast, hides a jump in the gutter. We head back for a moment to the barking hear, looks at us and hesitates before turning around and continue their way to May Silver Wow, guauuu!
