I've lost earth

Ziguinchor, nature within the town, the town within nature, I feel comfortable here. As comfortable as can be a peaceful warrior without money, waiting for tools to be able to work. I walk a lot, as I always do and did, in Paris, Dakar and everywhere I stay. Since my early childhood, when my grandparents had the good taste to leave me alone in the fields of the magnificent Poitou countryside, in the west of France, I realized that music came magically during long walks. Much later, I was amazed to be advised in one preface of a treatise on composition, to walk regularly. Anyway, it’s a very good means to orient oneself in a new place. You can see much more details of course, and much more different angles at that speed, but you can be seen as well in detail, and my uncut hair is not really unnoticeable.
It was all right in Dakar, a big city, polluted and overcrowded, with so many crazy and eccentric people, I wasn’t alone. It was quite the same thing in all cities I have visited so far, except that I was looked and categorized as white, still a stranger there. “When you’re half breed you lose the earth and you win the universe.” said Rohany my old friend half German, half Malaysian. I’m tracking down universal since then.

OK in Dakar, but here in Zig, It’s like I’ve just jump out of a flying saucer (I’ve lost the earth). When I was just arrived, I went 10 days in one remote cousin’s place I didn’t know. African family has no end. Almost everybody in the neighborhood even people I never met, called me by my name after a few days, I was eager to leave for my retired red house. You may think I just have to cut down my hair to find peace. I did actually in 2002 when I came back from my first trip to Africa. But it didn’t change many things at last, so I decided to keep it wild as a flag of my accepted freedom. Freedom has a price as everything, and I have new bills everyday.
I didn’t come here to hide, but show time hasn’t come yet, and I really appreciate loneliness after 8 months of close cohabitation in my father’s house in Dakar. So I walk in nature in daylight and in the streets of Zig in the evening.

I moved at last in the red little house, without any furniture, just a mattress upon a braid, quite Zen, a home for a warrior. I’m waiting for my luggage, and I have to save some money to follow my dream.
I have a good relationship with my direct neighbors, a mature woman of about sixty, and her daughter with whom I feel particularly at ease. She’s not very pretty, but seems smart, good smile. We only exchange a few words in Wolof, the Senegalese more spoken language. My Wolof is terribly poor, I begin to understand more or less the trivial conversations, but above all, I make the effort to talk because I know it is appreciated.

Hello, goodbye, see you tonight, I’m certainly perceived as a curiosity in my new neighborhood but people are very respectful and leave me alone, which give me another reason to like this place.

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