I meet the Khalif

Thursday, April 17, 2008

We saw the Khalif today—what an intense experience! …For the second day, there has been no ADSL to connect to the internet throughout the area. Apparently the problem is with the phone system Sonatel—not a good reflection on the infrastructure. While going into town to check the connection at the cybercafé I had the good luck to find one of the commune’s garbage trucks and to speak with its crew. I found out that the commune operates four trucks, one of them apparently a packer. The small donkey carts bring much of the waste to the trucks. They then go to a dump. Mustafa found out from them where the dump is and we will go there another time… But first we had to get to Touba because, as I found, seeing the Khalif is not just making an appointment… I had thought to wear the grand bou-bou that I had purchased from Soda’s nephew yesterday. But Mamemor said that I might look too much like one of the hippies that hang out around the Grand Mosque smoking pot, and often wearing Baye Fall bou-bous. His general thought was that if I was there as an American businessman, I should look like one. Thus attired, we headed for Touba…

Touba is much as I expected—sprawling with many newer improvements, as much of the growth of the city has occurred in recent years. The City Hall looked new and modern. There is plenty of capital sent here from abroad, both from ex-patriot Mourides and foreign governments, especially the Chinese. There are a noticeably higher proportion of Mercedes cars in Touba… We only had time to drive around the Grand Mosque before heading to the Khalif’s compound.

Once at the Khalif’s compound it was apparent that I wasn’t the only one wanting to see the Khalif… The Khalif is like the Pope to the Mourides, and so, like Saint Peter’s Square in Rome, you will find crowds of the faithful there to see the Khalif, staged in various rooms, with the place permeated by the constant sing-shouting of Islamic praying. One of the main rooms was full of women and children. There was a courtyard with classes of schoolchildren. At one point we were staged in a room full of men of some apparent significance sitting around on the floor. As we wound our way here and there, various people would come to bring us another step closer. Mamemor’s friend the albino seemed to have quite a bit of pull, and he had others working the system to advance me. The maneuvering became much more intense once we got in the room where the Khalif was sitting. I moved seat-by-seat closer to the end of the room where he sat. The closer I got, the more intense was the jostling. The room was not large, maybe 20 feet by 40 feet, if that. The seats were along one side. As a Westerner I think it was expected that I sat in the seats. I was waved to one of the seats closest to those pushing and shoving to see the Khalif. I had to be careful; one man stumbling back clipped me in the throat with his hand. I started to worry about banging my still-vulnerable jaw. A noisy anxious babble was constant. I couldn’t see the Khalif from where I was sitting… This was actually a quiet day; the weekends are much worse… Soon we got the wave from somebody up by the Khalif. As I now know there are plenty of plain-clothes soldiers, government informants and watchful, if not envious, eyes around always. A little more jostling and I was put in the one chair next to the Khalif. He gave some recognition that I was there but still had to heed those others in front of him clawing for blessing and recognition. Every so often he would give a blessing, writing something with his finger in the palms placed up before him, and (as I found out later) spraying a little spittle which the believers immediately wiped on their forehead. This went on for awhile and then Mamemor got his attention. The Khalif is elderly, wearing a blue knit hat. We had a pleasant exchange with the Khalif about what I could do for Senegal and what he could do to help. I remember at one point it got very quiet—the whole place. I’m not sure why; the discussion wasn’t especially significant at that point. It was sort of eerie. The commotion renewed shortly… The Khalif will review my information and indicated that we would talk again soon, with less distraction…

At the conclusion of our talk, I asked for the Khalif’s blessing. He gave the very slightest smile of surprise, but readily wrote on my palm with his finger; Mamemor quickly translated: “May you find God in Touba. There is only one God, not two.” I felt the faint spray of the spittle and wiped it on my forehead…

It looks like I am at the hotel here in Mbacke again tonight. The toilet in the other room didn’t work, so I have another room. The toilet works fine. We had lunch at Mamemor’s mom’s. Café Touba at Soda’s and I will go back to mom’s for dinner soon… I am somewhat homesick; halfway through my trip. I think it best to hang out here for tomorrow. Maybe head back to Dakar via Petit Cote Saturday to get ready for the business week next…