To those who think they are too beautiful when they get out of bed early in the morning, whose flesh is obviously weak compared to their small matrimonial conglomerate and their uncontrollable libidinous appetites: a deceptive reflection in the mirror is not a reason sufficient to run for the Senegalese vote for the presidential office.

So regarding the ultimate voting instructions for the 2024 Presidential election, do you want my opinion? I’ll give it to you anyway: the absolute monogamist, preferably…

A politician who is faithful to his word and to his wife is not commonplace. And I would even say: coming across one is extremely rare! As for the polygamist, all categories combined, it’s mission impossible…

Read the column: To Be or Not to Be Gabonese, My Happiness in being Senegalese

I admit, with complete shame, that these pessimistic considerations about the human race come to me from an incurable trauma: the so uncertain destiny of Gabon after the assessment, sorry, the saga of the, uh, late Omar Bongo Ondimba, five feet tall -and one without his heels, after thirty-two years of undivided reign over his little equatorial emirate, his thirty-three wives and concubines, his fifty-four children…

When it comes to appetites, Size doesn’t matter!

I wonder without finding an answer since the astonishing discovery of the smala of the sublime Gabonese, how he finds time to devote to the affairs of the State, when sitting above a harem and a crowd. It takes, of course, ego, will, nerve and shank, but above all this fantastic lightness of being that is eminently Epicurean.

Proof by a hundred that you must at all costs avoid having more marriages when the destiny of your country is in your hands rather than between your thighs? In the indigenous kingdoms that the toubabs crossed during their first steps on Senegalese soil, they marry at all costs, they multiply the offspring to the point of absolute disarray, to the point that there is no longer the slightest place even for a last burst of pride under the belt.

So much genius and such beautiful energy wasted dispersing itself into marriages and smut, instead of setting up professional armies, building fortress cities capable of resisting the invader, deifying science, sublimating knowledge, instigating research, stimulate initiative, create well-being, not to mention inventing happiness on one’s own lands and beyond.

In summary, having the genius, the ambition and the time to conquer the planet. We Senegalese have been resisting the call of the abyss for so long: Senghor and Colette, Diouf and Elisabeth, Wade and Viviane, Macky and Marième. It is clear: strong women hold and maintain the Palace untilnow… Imagine for a second the incalculable indecent proposals that an austere district head must resist and multiply the diabolical temptations by the exponential dimension of head of state.

Lets calm down.
However, let us consider the worst-case scenario for the next presidential election… As one of my reckless former collaborators who I will not name would say, official driver and fulfilled polygamist, who claims, then at the height of his glory, « four and one backup« : in 2024, we bring to power an assumed polygamist.

Pee break.
The brave candidate declares four. No doubt, the madman has suicidal instincts and seems hyperactive at night… At a glance, this supposes that the « âwo« , meaning the first, is the complete symbol of respectability. Certainly, a discreet and submissive ugly person, of tolerable stock, uptight but irreproachable. Impossible to fire her: it creates disorder and ingratitude in public opinion. The brave mother, between two pilgrimages, is received with deference in religious circles, presented as the appointed godmother of the Prime Minister whom she imposes on her polygamous companion during his brief moments of repentance, and sends subliminal messages to the Prime Minister regarding the orthodoxy of government policy. The head of the Armies can only greet her with deference. Think to yourself: we do not challenge the General of the General, who is more afraid of their numerous children than of their progenitor.

The second, “niârêl” in the indigenous language, without a doubt, is a frustrated feminist, strong-headed with voluptuous curves, and would be more than a scoundrel at the back of the alcove. Distinctive sign: the fangs of her ambitions scratch the floors of her rental homes before the coronation.  She would rather be the one that the President’s office fears to the greatest extent. In her sleeves, she houses general information; In her spare time, the vigilant shrew consults the audience records of the infidel official when she is not monitoring the political fund manager. It is to her that the Minister of the Interior reports, if he wants to stay in his post. The boss of the Finance department, for his part, does not dare to snub his protégés, while the head of Commerce multiplies indecent proposals towards those close to her.

If that was just that…
The third, “niètêl” among the common Senegalese mortals, our supreme head of the Judiciary and the Armies goes crazy because it is the haven of peace made by a woman. We settle down there, rest there, relax there, let ourselves go… Her hugs, her kisses and massages bring out confidences, nay, vomit out confessions, spill state secrets that even under torture, an indestructible patriot would not give up. But here it is… Only griots and General Intelligence agents are in the scent of romance and frequent the too sweet and ingenuous good woman.

She is the perfect source and working base for racketeering officials who are falling in esteem at the Palace.
And, then comes the fourth. The “nientêl” as we say at home. Her history? Pregnant one evening of absolute solitude by the curse of a punctured hood, she arrives six months after the sordid somersault pushing her belly: to deprive the « people » newspapers of an easy scandal, our lecherous Casanova can marry her in on the sly by sending a ragged uncle with his kilo of colas nuts far too streaky to be official. It is she who is the pride of cousins who are too far away and cousins from the countryside who can still boast of having a hidden opening to the Presidency.

To save you from unnecessary stress, I’m sparing you the tribulations of the « relief » people, understand the assigned mistresses, housed at the taxpayer’s expense and who make you bastards even by test tube, long after the President’s dick has thrown away the underpants, as a result of the distressing resignation of his central muscle.

You see clearly that with all this, during an entire five-year term, the affairs of the Republic only have place during the hours of crime, while honest people sleep the sleep of the just.

As far as I am concerned, I am instinctively suspicious of someone whose sabador is hung somewhere at the âwo’s, the diàmpoutt hanging in the niârêl’s, the tiâya folded neatly in the niètêl’s cupboard and the marâkiss on the threshold of the bedroom of the nientêl. As for the outstanding draft decrees, to collect them, it is necessary to go around the houses, before flushing out the applicant at his concubine, the famous “rescue”, so that he deigns to initial them.

But you are free to vote for whoever you want…

By Ibou FALL

  • Translation by Ndey T. SOSSEH