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Thiémokho!… So he was the cause of all this hullabaloo!
Thiémokho Diata, “the big fierce lion who never sleeps”, the charismatic leader of the opposition, the pet peeve of power, the icon of a whole disillusioned, frustrated youth, angry with the politicians she held responsible of all his evils and misfortunes. Thiémokho whose name alone made some people tremble with fear or rage and others vibrate with enthusiasm or exaltation!

Having felt the pulse of youth and understood their aspirations, Thiémokho had succeeded in touching their heartstrings with a speech that broke completely with the insipid political declarations that she was used to hearing. In record time, he had won the esteem and confidence of young people, the majority of whom had made him a sort of providential messiah. Wherever he went, he was welcomed as a hero by crowds of young people who listened religiously to his harangues, which he always ended with the same sentence, which in the long run became almost a ritual formula: “We want to live free or die!” »
And the young people took up in chorus “Live free or die! »

Thiémokho never ceased to widen the breach he had opened by denouncing at all times the corruption, injustice and draconian practices of power. The latter, worried and greatly shaken by the popularity of this opponent who came out of nowhere had finally decided to eliminate him from the political scene. A number of traps, all as Machiavellian as each other, were set for Thiémokho who succeeded each time in getting out of them, thereby strengthening his aura. Annoyed but in no way discouraged, his critics ended up finding the secret weapon that was to put an end for good to the myth of the invincibility of “Thie”, as his admirers affectionately nicknamed him.

This is how our Robin Hood was arrested for possession and use of Indian hemp. In fact, it was a lamp operator recruited from his own camp who had hidden a few yamba cones in the front trunk of Thiémokho’s car. The rest was child’s play for the chickens who had no trouble finishing the job. This time the blow was unstoppable! Thiémokho was therefore imprisoned and, following a mock trial, thrown into a cell in the sinister prison of “lëndëm kurus”. Then judging that it was more prudent to keep him away from the capital, his executioners sent him to the penal colony of “Barsakh”, near the Dindefelo falls in the south-east of the country. As was to be expected, this despicable plot had set fire to the powder and the revolt had first broken out in the capital before spreading to other regions, as what was happening before my eyes here showed clearly, in Ndar… In the capital, young people from the suburbs said they were ready to give their lives for their beloved leader. They were ready for supreme sacrifice, just like the martyrs of a sacred cause. With incredible courage, they confronted the forces of order, armed to the teeth, with their bare hands! Panicked, traumatized by this surge of violence which no one might predict when or how it was going to stop, those in power had chosen to play the card of blind repression. The order was therefore given to all the security forces, on a war footing, to shoot at anything that moved and to “neutralize” the “troublemakers” so that “force remains within the law” For this they were ready to shed streams of blood. Going up to the battlements, a senior army officer had publicly declared “We will do the job! “. Everyone had understood what these inadmissible remarks from a superior officer meant.

This did not bode well!

I was there in my thoughts, when my attention was once more attracted by the “movie” which continued to unfold at my feet. In the street Khalifa Ababacar full to bursting with young people, the demonstration had grown and seemed on the verge of turning into a riot. A small group of reckless had gone forward, decided it seemed to join the place Faidherbe (or rather what was left of it). These irreducible brandished signs and banners at arm’s length on which I had time to read some virulent leitmotifs: “Down with the dictatorship! “Hands off my democracy!” “Stop corruption!” “The thieves at the post!” » Tired of canoes! »

These incredible slogans, taken up at the top of the lungs by the mass of demonstrators, reminded me very appropriately that I was neither in Gaza nor in the West Bank but in Saint-Louis in Senegal, cradle of the teranga, whose legendary hospitality and the mild climate are unanimously recognized. Now things were clearer in my mind and what I saw and heard was far from cinema! Suddenly, a new and terrifying explosion resounded like a warning shot in the idyllic garden of the “dolce vita” Saint-Louisienne! Panicked, I jumped back and closed the balcony door. I was shaking all over and was drenched in sweat from head to toe. Never in my more than fifty years of life spent in Ndar had I seen such a violent demonstration. Those of the PAI militants whom I had attended during my childhood and of whom there were still vague memories in my memory seemed to me a very pale copy compared to this furia.

“Sophie!…Sophie!…It’s the end of the world!” I said, stammering and almost chattering my teeth. Sitting on our bed, my wife was telling the beads of her rosary without firing a shot.

She held the twins close to her, terrified by the infernal din of explosions which now succeeded each other at a maddening pace, amid the cries of fury from the demonstrators who seemed more determined than ever. The poor little ones who understood nothing of what was going on, trembled like dead leaves and snuggled up as best they might in the skirts of their mother who, on her side, did what she might to keep her cool and reassure them.
“Come on, come on, don’t be afraid my little angels….It’s only the sound of thunder and it will soon stop…”
Then she turned to me, who was also not leading off, and said to me in a firm tone: “Habib, close all the doors and windows and don’t put your nose outside!…”
Instinctively I obeyed Sophie’s orders and sealed off all the exits. After that I went back to sit on the bed, near the children and my wife who continued to handle her beads imperturbably. I mightn’t help admiring her Olympian calm and I felt a little ashamed of not having been able to demonstrate the same mastery as her. Outside, the clamor kept getting louder and the explosions of tear gas canisters followed one another at regular intervals; echoed them with the dull sound of glass bottles stuffed with gasoline bursting as they crashed to the ground, also releasing their murderous flames. ( to be continued…)