Mosque de la Divinité at sunset my last week, Mermoz Bay: Dakar
Salaam malekum, Mr. Sun! Bah mal, I’m wondering if I could ask you a favor or two.
Could you be sure to be kind to my family in Thissa Mass? Come and go gently so their crops grow well. maybe give their harvest days some cloud, you both could use a break.
I want to thank you for your mild and warm glow these past two months. But, if you ever notice me forgetting your power, please come and take the place of the Rocky Mountain sun and give me a swift, burning kick in the ass with your rainy season, unbearable heat. I don’t want to get too comfortable in my cushy life.
And, I know you’re busy keeping West Africa hot most the time, but on a day when I’m thinking about my home in Dakar, probably in the midst of snow banks and snobby and ignorant classmates, can you just shoot one, tiny ray my way? Knowing you still exist will give me the hope I need for the day.
If you’re ever missing my pale skin off which to reflect, I’ll try my best to get back to your kingdom soon.
Now, for your cousin, Madame Lune, could you call her over? Oh, bonsoir, dear! You’re looking aglow this evening. You know how important you are for my Dakar family, deciding when they will celebrate, when they will fast. You’ve lightened many nights without electricity and you took my breath away with your orange garb in Lac Rose.
Now, if you could spare a moment and push some of the gentle tides from Mermoz bay through the St. Louis Seaway, I hope that my cousins in Detroit will know your reality.
When you turn your face away from the Darkarois and look to your children the stars, could you please request a dance from them? Their crossing of the sky gives the youth below you an excuse to wish. You know as I do many people here are in need of a wish.
And, when you have a some spare time, could you escape and visit me? I’m afraid that I will forget to call for Korité if I do not see your fullness next fall. It won’t be the same to see you suspended above the mountains and not the lighthouse in Mamelles, but I know I’ll recognize you and it would be comforting all the same to feel connected again.
To be connected to your country (and yours, too, Monsieur Soleil).
You’ve been kind and harsh and outstanding these four months. Please do what you can for me now that I must leave, and I’ll keep you in my heart wherever I end up.
All my love, (je ne vous oublierai jamais!)
Molly Aicha Mbaye Maher
So beautiful it made me cry!