As usual, on Monday June 17, 2024, the Republic of Senegal crossed the Tabaski hurdle without the fundamental pillars of the Nation being called into question, even if the world of intercity transport was in a trance.

Of course, in Gounass, where Sharia law has conquered a few areas of secular territory, people have been fighting each other since the prayer.

It’s not the first time…

Back to our Dakar sheep.

A week earlier, as is customary for Macky Sall, the Head of State buys his sheep under escort. This time, the ceremonial is meticulously programmed by the communication geniuses at Léopold Sédar Senghor Avenue, on a Monday during office hours.

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The President is off work, just like any other authentic salaried employee, who doesn’t hesitate to ditch anxious taxpayers in front of his counter, to dash off to the kitchen to throw in a little snack behind a tie.

Mea culpa: this year, for the first time, as a result of polygamy in the Palace, the presidential sheep will have to be haggled over for two. In the name of transparency in the management of public funds, the purchase price is known to all: one hundred and sixty thousand miserable Cfa francs per head of gored sheep, paid with that shameful colonial currency that authentic Patriots threatened to drive out of the country along with the last French ambassador.

A chagrined mind nevertheless points out to me that protocol costs must be added to the bill: in addition to the inevitable courting, motorbikes, ambulance, security, presidential comms and protocol deployed from the day before.

Priceless, we admit. But like all things in these unforgiving times, it comes at a cost.

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Above all, we must prevent our brand-new Head of State from falling victim to the bullets of a madman already nostalgic for the old regime. Don’t smile stupidly: it was during tabaski that Moustapha Lô attempted to decapitate the Republic by shooting President Senghor. If the gun hadn’t jammed, we don’t know whether the Republic of Senegal would still be with us today.

Back to our presidential sheep.

As you might imagine, the haggling began at that very moment, far from the prying eyes and ears of Senegal’s eighteen million janitors. In the end, the next day, in broad daylight, in front of the benevolent cameras of Rts, Bassirou Diomaye Faye authoritatively grants himself two horned beasts of sufficient dignity not to create marital crises, even if history doesn’t say who gets the ram with the most beautiful horns. No official incident noted: what more do the People want?

As long as the peace of the household is preserved, there are no foolish savings, even if we’re not told whether this insanely reasonable expenditure is a matter of official allowances, political funds or ordinary Palace expenses.

As long as we’re dealing with confidential private matters, we might as well satisfy every curiosity, right?

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For the rest, it’s business as usual… As usual, the national macroeconomic debate, with the fateful deadline just around the corner, revolves around soaring prices: should at least five Cfa francs, and at most ten, be shaved off rice, oil, cabbage, carrots and pilgrims’ sticks, despite the disappearance of coins?

There are those who don’t give a damn, because since the dawn of time, whatever the regime, their intrigues in the corridors of power exonerate them from untimely fluctuations. Oil, potatoes and onions can go through the roof all they want, but that’s the least of their worries: they’ve got a long arm at the end of which is that nimble hand that fetches from public funds the few pennies that the blind spots of the Treasury protect from national indiscretions…

It takes skill, a lucky star and, above all, that very Senegalese capacity for denial, even if it means swallowing one’s own vomit if need be. And then there are those compatriots whose plight is so touching.

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Last year, they were among those for whom the Republic indulged in the most costly of extras: pilgrimage to Mecca in a presidential plane as guests of the King, diplomatic passports, positions as prestigious as they are remunerated at the crest of some puppet board of directors and a huge ram sometimes offered by the Prince or at the expense of the Princess.

We’re not fussy when it comes to the age of reason. It’s an insult to one’s aristocratic inclinations to take vulgar Cfa out of one’s pocket when one is enthroned in worldly heights. Alas, in this gloomy year 2024, these good people, relegated to the insulting status of the new poor, will have to bargain for lambs like peasants, fire a few mistresses who are so many outward signs of success, and forget to dress the offspring of the most submissive concubine, the one who takes pride in welcoming into her home the stunted lamb found after midnight.

On the other side of the fate fence, as you might expect, the nouveau riche are jubilant.

A year ago, in the confines of their jails, some of them were still breaking stale bread and a bowl of « ndambé » that they proudly shared between common law prisoners. Isn’t the messianic « Projet », which in March 2024 will bring them 54% of the electorate, defended with stones and Molotov cocktails, still in gestation, worth this sacrifice?

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Amnesties of all kinds, national amnesia, enlargements of all kinds, since no one is guilty of anything and, as the poet would say, « the dead are not dead ». As a result, the cabalistic slogan « Diomaye môy Sonko » passed through the ballot box like a letter in the post, and the result was not long in coming: the newly rich are flaunting their cheques on social networks in praise of the patriotic fight for national sovereignty.

Ain’t life grand? Enough of the nonsense: after a few forays into the sub-region, it’s time to get serious. Since Senghor and Pompidou, a Senegalese head of state has had to stand on the steps of the Elysée Palace with a smile on his face, if he wants his relations with the IMF, the World Bank and the European Union to stay on track.

The end of playtime is nigh.

Prime Minister Ousmane Sonko’s outburst at the Ucad in front of his guest Jean-Luc Mélenchon, about the ignominy endured under Macky Sall with France’s blessing, will undoubtedly be on the agenda. We’ll also need an explanation of the slogan « La France dégage », as well as the prosecution of Special Envoy Macky Sall accused of « crimes against humanity » by a few illuminati, including Juan Branco. And perhaps a word of compassion would not be out of place when it comes to Kylian Mbappé’s nose – or rather, appendix, nasal peninsula – smashing into the reefs of European soccer.

In these circles, to be in the odour of sanctity, you don’t need to lack flair…

By Ibou FALL 

  • Translation by Ndey T. SOSSEH / Serigne S. DIAGNE