GAO , FIRST SIGHT

I cannot tell “Gao”, it is necessary to dragg from place to place ,to apprehend it . A single tarred road crosses the city, all other streets, so wide nevertheless, are with an orange-coloured sand, lined with houses of the same warm tint or sometimes blind in with the grey, color of the clay.
Long walls of the same material hide gardens, because all the houses possesse their garden to keep hens ,to rear some goats, or to meet some friends around the three traditionnal malian tea, under the tree-shade

   The midtown is not different, except that we can see the ministries and the administrations.  Along the market a “bric à brac” of objects rubs elbows with others ones : saw, shoes, piece of salt , calico …

An ebony skin girl, diligently braids the hair of another child, a baby dozed off in the back of his mom, a dressmaker in front of his antique sewing machine gets from a multicolored piece of fabrics a pants richer in color.

In the corner of a street, some goats proudly set upon a mountain of garbage : it puts back to my memory ,some sentences of Alphone Daudet , the writer , when he speaks about monsieur Segin’s goat  : ” and to see itself so high perched she considers at least so big as the world “

~ by ysoj on July 21, 2007.