The Very Small Story of Ali B38

Let me tell you the very small story of Ali B38. I’m in Place de L’independence looking for a cashpoint. I think I know which corner there is one. We stopped there last night on the way to see Corrine. Ben bought melons on the corner, he paid too much, unhappy.
A man passes me – coal, his teeth even, the white tips fighting the mange. Late forties? Fifties? Who can tell – I have not lived his life and made his face. He is clean, shirt and slacks.
He turns and speaks – francaise –
je parle anglaise, I say.
Ah, he says, I know you from the hotel lobby, you know me? It is Ali, you come, where you go? Where you from? The lobby.
Ah bien, I say. Never seen him before – the blag – I know this one. I smile, Londres, I leave today, I go visa, ca va, ca va. He holds out his hand to shake – I do – he does not let go. I walk, he walks, holding my hand with small talk. He says he shows me visa. I smile and go with him.
He is right, he shows me visa, we saunter across Le Place. At the bank door, I say merci bien, au revoir, merci, relieved as he does not follow me through into the lobby.
I withdraw CFA 30,000, enough for today, I need presents, the airport and in reserve. I leave the bank. He is sitting on a bollard outside waiting. Oh well. We shake hands again.
Bon, he says, you married man?
Non, I say and with a small grin, girlfriend, j’habite….I bring my hands together. He reaches into his pocket and takes out a shell on a cord of thin ratty leather.
For her, he says. Merci bien, I say dipping my head, and again, thank you, and I pat his shoulder, bien, merci.
I am married, he says, have childs, my child one year, today, l’anniversaire, we have goat, he draws his hand across his throat, the blood, we give then name, baptisme? Oui we have blood and goat for name.
Bien, I say, magnifique.
I wonder where this is leading and wonder whether to give him money for the shell, I begin calculating in my head, I only have big notes, how much have I got, how much do I need? The 5 Euro note left over from buying Drum in Brussels? Will he leave me be?
For your girlfriend, he says, and digs into his pocket again and gives me a string of black lead-like beads. You know? Obsidian, is good.
Merci, I say. He looks around.
Put in your pocket, he says and pats my leg. For you, he motions to the shell, for your girlfriend, he says folding my hands over the beads, for her, put in your pocket.
This is getting out of hand, I think. He pulls out a handful of pink paper wraps.
Gold from the mines, he says, for your girlfriend. He opens up a wrap, two gold coloured earrings.
Put in your pockets, he says. I do. What do I do now? Give him money? I put my hand in my front pocket, cupping my wallet. What do I do now? We are beginning to attract company. A man holding a tray of perfumes and scent, grinning and nodding. I recognise Kouros and remember as a teenager how desirable it was. Now Ali, we stand grinning at each other. I pat his shoulder again, wondering how we are going to do this.
He says, you help, the goat, we cut blood for the childs, you help with the goat, to buy goat?
Ah oui, I say, of course.
The man with the Kouros grins at me and offers up his tray.
Non merci, no monsieur, I say smiling.
I open my wallet. I think, I have my stock of CFA for today. I pull out my last pounds, a ten pound note. I fold it into his hand patting his shoulder.
British pounds, I say, for the goat. He has the note.
Francs, but francs, he says and shakes his head, I need to buy goat for the blood, baptisme today, I need to buy today, not pounds, francs, I give you my number, stylo, you have stylo.
I say, you have pounds ok, ca va, ok. I pat his shoulder. He shifts.
Francs, he says, I need to buy goat, francs today. I am standing with my wallet open.
Ok ok.
I pull out 10,000 francs. He takes it quick.
The pounds? I say. He holds the francs, down, away. The ten pound note is gone.
I have pounds back, I say, give me the pounds. He keeps smiling. I motion to the francs.
I give you francs, you give me the pounds.
Ah, he says smiling, oui, le francs merci, non pounds, francs for goat.
Oui, I say, the pounds? I hold out my hand. He shakes it.
We begin to laugh together holding hands. We know that I will not get the pounds. We know the deal has been done, We know he has by far the best of it, of this that is, I have given him much.
Ok, I say grinning, ok ca va. We grin.
He insists on giving me his number, I give him a pen even though we are done. Why? For pride? To restore my pride? To keep his? To say you have pride, here is my number.
I am Ali, you see.

ALI B38
526 . 711 40

He gives me back the pen. His number scratched weakly on a scrap of paper in his palm.
Au revoir, bien, bien, Ali, bien.
I turn back and go into the cashpoint. I will need more money now. He is not there when I come out. In my pocket, the shell on a string, the beads, the earrings wrapped in pink paper. I have his number. And I have this very small story from Ali B38.

Dakar, Feb 2007