Ala k’a ba ni fa to.

The spectrum of emotion and experiences in one man’s life seems but a trifle for the poet. I mean, there in one line we find our summers, our winters, our sorrows and our joyful triumphs enumerated and foretold. Then life takes us by the hand and guides us towards our own experiences and emotions, all in due time and with the wisdom only life can foresee.

In what ways are we prepared for heartache, or forced to appreciate a little sunshine (or shade as your desperation requires)? Are we allowed to learn or remember a lesson we never faced ourselves? However that whole thing works out, I’m glad for the lessons and reminders I face. At times they seem to juxtapose themselves in my life for the very purpose of teaching me what is true and what is not so sure, lest I build my foundation on a faulty foundation of future expectations.

Have you ever been in love? Try to remember what an exciting and happy time that is. Unabashed optimism never seemed so rational. All is right in the world and you have to force yourself to anticipate how anything could ever go wrong again.
Thusly enamored and dreaming of a happy future with your love, you receive a phone call. You hope it’s who you hope it is… but the voice of an unfamiliar man is at the other end:

Hello?
Allo? I’m calling in behalf of Abdoulaye.
(at this point you suspect it’s a wrong phone number…
… but then he calls you by name)
Abdoulaye would like you to call him back.
Who?
Call your father Abdoulaye at this number…

You call the number back…

Hello?
Allo,
(now a familiar voice calls you by name)
How are you? Are you well?… We are all healthy, but last month Adam got sick.
(you begin to fear why you might be called to be told such news)
He was sick, we took him to the hospital but no cure could be found.
(your heart sinks but you can’t make him say it. It breaks your heart to make him say it)
What has happened? Has he passed away?
Yes. It aches my heart to tell you.
I’m so sorry. God rest his little soul.
I thought I should call and tell you.
(you struggle to find words. What should you do?)
I’m so sorry. I’ll come visit next chance I get.
Thank you. God bless you.
Abo, I’m so sorry.
(What could possibly be said? What can you do?)
We’ll see you soon.
OK Goodbye.
Goodbye.

It’s a shock more than anything. You are sad, but mostly wish you could do something. You feel helpless. These people who have taken you into their home and made you their family, have lost their baby, their boy Adama, born in your presence and nicknamed after your own father, and now these people you love are hurting. You’re not confident it has sunk in, not sure even if it can.
But I wonder… Are you still in love? What of your happy plans for your own future and love, family and life? How do they look in the light of tragedy? What are you feeling and what are you meant to feel? You still have love in your heart but the reality of life has made itself known.
Later you confess what has happened and your feelings to this person you love. As you confess, you realize how sad you really are and can’t hold back tears. Why hadn’t you cried before? What do you feel, love or sadness? Does one make the other easier, or more true or more well informed?

I do have a lot of questions, but I still hope to learn and anticipate how best to navigate the summers, winters, sorrows and joyful triumphs we might face.

Again (and far too often), in sweet memory of the child Adama Samaké

August 2006 – January 2008
Ala k’a dayoro suma.