Scene 11

«Alors, ça va mon ami? Was the food good? Didn't you drink Gazelle? Do you remember, we saw each other this morning?»
In the darkness Maille discerned a black paw being held out to him – and, mechanically, he shook the stranger's hand.
«Good, at least you are no rascist.»
Maille sighed: how often had he heard that line since his arrival in Dakar and how often had he shaken the hand of a stranger. What began as an almost brotherly gesture turned out 100 per cent of the time to be a prelude to a business conversation: a game that he would, in other circumstances, have not minded playing. But after three unfruitful hours and with a Senegalese Bolognese in his tummy he'd had quite enough.
«You know what day it is next Sunday? May 11! For us it is a very special day. Bob Marley died on that day. You surely know who Bob Marley was?»
«Bob? Of course. Long live Bob.»
«We are already celebrating that today: the last concert, aujourd'hui, ça boume – from midnight onwards at the ‹Café des Arts›.»
«Midnight, for sure, ça boume, I will be there.»
The young giant wearing a pointed cap looked like a dark mountain to Maille, who was unsure why the youngster was crossing the Place de l'Indépendence with him – an act that gave him the feeling that the man's hands were flying aound his face like two tiresome giant insects.
«I am a Rastafarian. I make music. Percussion music. Good music. I am an artist. Are you interested in listening to the music I make?»
The mountainous one handed him a CD, the cover of which had a red-yellow-green flag that Maille vaguely recognised. Feebly he whispered that he had had enough music for the day.
«C'est l'Afrique, tu sais. Don't you like Africa? You certainly liked the brass band.»
Brass band? Maille felt tired. The hotel was quite a distance away and he decided to negotiate with the rasta-mountain to be his guide back to the place – in Dakar, luckily, one could always strike a bargain with a salesman.

At the hotel, Maille stuck a couple of banknotes into the youngster's hand. He wanted no Rasta CD, but the man insisted, business was business, so he took the disc in the end.

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