Xala by Ousmane Sembène Page A

opened onto another yard which was enclosed by a fence made of millet stalks. Beyond, a newly thatched, rectangular-shaped roof blocked the view. El Hadji was impatient to know what was happening. He felt disagreeably like an outsider.
    A neatly dressed young woman with shining white teeth brought them water to quench their thirst. She kneeled in front of them before setting down the calabash and addressing them. The water was clear and on the surface floated small seep roots. When the young woman left them Modu held the calabash up to El Hadji.
    â€˜This is good, pure water.’
    â€˜I am not thirsty,’ replied El Hadji, who was seated on one of the mats.

    Deferentially Modu drank deeply and leaned back against the wall. He was soon asleep and snoring. This unseemly noise irritated El Hadji. He turned to look out into the distance but was unable to escape the sound. The last part of the journey had made him very tired. He unlaced his shoes and pulled them off. He undid his tie, glancing as he did so at his chauffeur. Leaning against the centre-pole, he reflected. He had little faith in all these charlatans. They were only after his money. He had lost count of how much he had spent. The only one in whom he had any faith at all was the seet-katt . When Modu had spoken to him about Sereen Mada he had been unconvinced. But his employee’s arguments had sounded credible, and he had allowed himself to be led here, to this tiny room. Now all Modu could do was go off to sleep.
    Soon he too fell asleep.
    The muezzin had called the faithful to the Takkusan and Timis prayers, and the Geewe prayer was also over. The shadows grew darker. Objects became indistinct. One by one the stars began to take up their positions in the sky above. There was complete darkness when El Hadji woke with a start.
    â€˜Modu! Modu!’ he called urgently. ‘Have you any matches?’ He heard a rustling of clothes. Modu felt about his person and finally produced a tiny, pointed flame. It grew smaller; spread out at the base, then obstinately leapt’ into life again, climbing, moving, dancing to a point with a bluish crown.
    El Hadji looked at his watch.
    â€˜We have slept a long time, boss.’
    The room went dark again.
    â€˜We need a light,’ grumbled El Hadji, who had found his shoes.
    â€˜ Assalamaleku ! You are awake?’ asked a woman’s voice coming from the first door.
    She was holding a storm-lamp in one hand. All they could see was the fork of her legs escaping from under her cloth. The top of her body merged with the darkness. She placed the lamp next to the entrance, beside the calabash of water. She went on: ‘We did not want to wake you. There is water in the enclosure for you to wash, if you wish. I have brought you something to eat. Please excuse our cooking.’
    A little girl, who had been waiting behind her, placed a wooden
bowl covered with a winnowing fan on the ground. They withdrew, leaving the lamp.
    â€˜We are not going to spend the night here,’ said El Hadji.
    â€˜Boss, you must be patient. Sereen Mada knows we are here.’
    El Hadji regretted having spoken as he had done and lied:
    â€˜I have things to do in Dakar.’
    Swarms of fireflies were flitting around the glass of the lamp.
    Modu went out to the toilet.
    Left alone El Hadji felt crushed by the silence. Modu returned and placed the wooden bowl between them. He lifted the fan: it was a mutton couscous. El Hadji declined to eat any of it.
    â€˜I’m not hungry. But if I’d foreseen this situation I’d have come prepared.’
    â€˜You haven’t had anything to eat all day, boss. Drink some water at least. I assure you it is quite safe.’
    El Hadji was very thirsty. The ice-hamper with his bottles of mineral water had been left behind in the Mercedes. Modu, a child of the earth, ate with appetite. The couscous had been very well prepared and the grains did not stick together.
    The dim