Translated by Sawad Hussain<\/strong><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Carefully, he read the handwritten notice in the bank window: PLEASE COUNT YOUR MONEY BEFORE YOU LEAVE. Yes, it was all there: seven thousand. Exactly what the teller had said his balance was.<\/span><\/p>\n He looked at his phone: 10:10 a.m. No worries, I\u2019ve still got more than enough time he told himself. She\u2019ll probably be an hour late anyways. His head swam with questions, while he made sure to put his weathered wallet in his shirt pocket. He fastened his jacket zipper. It wasn\u2019t cold, just a safety measure he had learned living on the streets of Nouakchott.<\/span><\/p>\n He squeezed himself in with five other passengers in a car that barely stopped by the intersection east of March\u00e9 Capitale downtown. His trouser pocket vibrated. The passenger crammed next to him on his right felt it too. With great difficulty, his hand found a way to his phone. He didn\u2019t get to it in time, but it had been her. When he tried to call back, it was the usual, \u201cSorry \u2026 you have run out of credit.\u201d It won\u2019t be that way for long, he reassured himself.<\/span><\/p>\n Upon reaching his destination in the far-flung suburb Toujounine, in the most eastern tip of Nouakchott, he was the only one left in the rickety car. Impatience was clear on the driver\u2019s face.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTurn left here please!\u201d he barely managed to get out.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ve come all this way for one hundred,\u201d the driver exploded. \u201cAnd now you\u2019re asking me to turn? Five times the diesel price has gone up this year, but I get paid the same?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He tried to come across as compassionate, \u201cBut if you do turn left and wait ten minutes for me, I\u2019ll ride back with you to the Madrid intersection, and pay you four hundred. What do you say?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The driver didn\u2019t respond but stopped nonetheless in front of the laundry shop that the passenger pointed out.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYour clothes aren\u2019t ready. Now don\u2019t you complain because you haven\u2019t paid a single ouguiya since \u2026\u201d was the laundryman\u2019s greeting, preoccupied as he was with gathering a pile of dirty clothes.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll give you what you want, but I need my clothes now. I\u2019ve got somewhere to be and I need the right clothes.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The brawny laundryman winked at him. \u201cWell, if that\u2019s the case, then you really don\u2019t have anything suitable. Have a look at those clothes piled up on the table over there. The owners aren\u2019t in a rush. You can pay me 1500 for the <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i>, wear it to where you need to be and then return it tomorrow.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Again, his pocket vibrated. The sound was distorted but he understood, \u201c\u2018Call me back, I\u2019m out of credit.\u2019\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n That reminded him that he too, was out of credit. He went to get some from the man sitting under the umbrella at the front of the shop, and gave him 1000 to charge his phone with 1500. On his way back to the laundry, the grouchy taxi driver had since gotten out and started yelling, \u201cSince you\u2019re not in a hurry, just give me my money. Stay here till Judgment Day for all I care!\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cPlease, just a minute.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Ignoring the driver, he strode to the table and chose a white, beautifully embroidered <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i>, then turned to ask, \u201cIsn\u2019t there a <\/span>sirwal<\/span><\/i> to go with it?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTrousers are over there, but you\u2019ll pay another 500.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s settle that later,\u201d he said, turning over the trousers to choose a pair that suited the <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i>. But the laundryman\u2019s vice-like grip was enough to make him understand. \u201cOkay, like you said, I\u2019ll give you 2000 for the <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> and <\/span>sirwal<\/span><\/i>, and tomorrow when I return them, I\u2019ll pay the rest.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The laundryman\u2019s grip on his hand slackened a bit but he didn\u2019t say a word. He simply took the 2000 and then busied himself with collecting clothes strewn around the shop. As he was stepping out, the laundryman said something he couldn\u2019t hear completely because the taxi\u2019s horn was blaring in one long sound, but knew it had something to do with the police because he heard \u201c<\/span>shurta<\/span><\/i>.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n His phone vibrated once more, but then stopped. He called the number back, getting an earful. He stayed quiet. Calmly he answered, \u201cLook, azizati, the trip from Casablanca to Nouakchott takes two and a half hours. I\u2019ve still got plenty of time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBut I don\u2019t want to see anyone before you in the airport,\u201d said the girl that he had a thing with, the one he had never seen other than in a photo.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cYou won\u2019t see anyone before me \u2026 but how can I be sure it\u2019s you? I\u2019ll be wearing a white <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> and a blue shirt, carrying a board with your name on it.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201c<\/span>My name<\/span><\/i>? Do you hear yourself? My family will be waiting for me and if one of them sees my name on a board in your hand, you\u2019ll spend the night at the police station. You\u2019ll be able to pick me out. Let your heart guide you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n His phone chimed in his ear letting him know that his credit was nearly out. He hurried to finish the call. \u201cWhat counts is that I\u2019ll be there before you come out. Take care of yourself.\u201d But she didn\u2019t hear his last words.<\/span><\/p>\n For the tenth time, the taxi stopped, but this time at the Madrid intersection. He handed the driver 500 and alighted, waiting for his 100 change, but the driver said haughtily, \u201cBeen waiting for you for more than ten minutes, this hundred is for me.\u201d He slammed the door in response and the taxi rattled away as fast as it could.<\/span><\/p>\n When he crossed the road, he remembered that he had been carrying a <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> and <\/span>sirwal<\/span><\/i>, that he had paid 2000 ouguida for. He turned back, but the car had melted into the traffic; in its place, a large truck shuttling more coal sacks then it could hold.<\/span><\/p>\n Shouting at the top of his lungs, he tried to stop the taxi, but the looks from pedestrians and passengers in cars, and the horns of those in a rush, confounded him. He rushed to a parked taxi and panted, \u201cFollow that car, I left something \u2014 costs more than 50,000.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAnd how much will you pay me?\u201d the driver said coldly.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhatever you want, just catch it!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWell, I can\u2019t guarantee that, but sure, get in. Do you know where it\u2019s headed?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMarch\u00e9 Capitale.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSouq! Souq! Souq!\u201d the driver yelled.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWhat are you doing? I told you the driver went that \u2014\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAre you paying for six passengers?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cFine, but let\u2019s go now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n The traffic was suffocating. Thirty minutes passed before they even reached halfway. The driver turned right, asking, \u201cDo you know his name, or the license plate number?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOf course not. If I did, I would have called my friend at the police station and not be paying you 600 ouguiya.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n After ten minutes the car stopped at the intersection on the east side of Marche Capitale. He searched drivers\u2019 faces stuck in traffic, maybe he\u2019d find the one he was looking for, but his current driver prodded him, \u201cPay me my 600, and take the rest of your day finding a needle in the haystack.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He paid him 1000, and took his change, while scrutinizing the faces along the road. His eyes fell on a car parked in front of an open-air shed where women were dyeing clothes. One of them gave a paper to a man in a hurry who slammed his taxi door. He tried to stop him by yelling but the driver spotted him in his broken side mirror and took off like a shot on a dirt path between the buildings. He tried to get the license plate, but it didn\u2019t have one.<\/span><\/p>\n He asked the storeowner if she knew the man, and before she could respond, he added, \u201cThis <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> and <\/span>sirwal<\/span><\/i> are mine.\u201d He told her the whole story, but from her face it seemed that this woman twisting her <\/span>miswak<\/span><\/i> flossing stick didn\u2019t understand what he was saying. She did say that the prices for dyeing differed based on the type of clothes and the intensity of color.<\/span><\/p>\n In vain, he tried to make her see. Making his way to a heap of clothes, he picked out the neatly folded <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> and <\/span>sirwal<\/span><\/i>. \u201cThese are mine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBut they belong to the driver who just left,\u201d she protested.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cDo you know his name or his phone number?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo, I don\u2019t.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Gritting his teeth, he took his phone out from his pocket to call Ibrahim, his police friend. But the screen was dark \u2014 the battery, dead.<\/span><\/p>\n Deep inside the pit he had fallen into, he decided to return to Toujounine. The watch on the wrist of the passenger wedged between two others said it was five past two. It occurred to him to stop at the Madrid intersection in the middle of town, nearby to some relatives of his that his friend Ibrahim often visited. At least he could charge his phone there.<\/span><\/p>\n Parched beyond reason, he bought a cold juice from the nearby grocer and paid 200 for it. Another 100 went to the phone credit seller.<\/span><\/p>\n When he entered his relatives\u2019 house, their fifty-something mother smiled at him saying, \u201cOur troubles are over! Here\u2019s Ahmed. Thank you, grandfather, for coming through for us and answering our prayers!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Taken aback by what she was saying, he said, \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d before even greeting her.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s Fatima. The pain in her stomach is unbearable. I think it\u2019s her appendix. We\u2019ve got to take her to the hospital.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cBut I don\u2019t have a car.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI know, but you must find us one. Just look at her.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He looked at the young woman doubled over in pain, and remembered what affection there had been between them, before she married her cousin who migrated last year to Spain, only to send a notice of divorce in the post and 10,000 ouguiya after the birth of their child.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cOkay, okay. Just put my phone on the charger till I catch a taxi.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll also need 2000 from you to take us to the end of the month, I don\u2019t have enough to buy her medicine.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n He didn\u2019t answer, his head spinning with the <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> and the <\/span>sirwal<\/span><\/i>.<\/span><\/p>\n With his jacket atop his head, protecting him from the blazing sun, he tried to weave through those departing the mosque. But one of them yanked the jacket off his head.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAha! Even if you hide your face, I can pick you out of a crowd of a thousand men!\u201d He turned to try to see who was speaking, but the man barely gave him the chance. \u201cDidn\u2019t you tell me that you\u2019d pay at least 2000 today? Do you think the internet is free? Up every night till sunrise with that whore, and you don\u2019t want to pay.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cSay that again. I\u2019ll punch your face in. She\u2019s more honorable than you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIf she\u2019s so honorable she wouldn\u2019t be up with you every night when she doesn\u2019t even know you.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s none of your business.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cGive me what you promised, I\u2019ve got an electricity bill that I\u2019ve got to pay today.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cTake this thousand and the other thousand I\u2019ll give you soon.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cHah! Not a chance. You know you actually owe me four thousand. And I\u2019ve been so patient with you this whole time.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve got some exceptional circumstances. Fatima needs an operation \u2026\u201d he mumbled, slipping away, but the man\u2019s voice reached him, something about calling the police.<\/span><\/p>\n He brought a taxi to his relative\u2019s home and paid the driver 400 to take Fatima and her mother to the hospital. Closing the car door, she called out to him, \u201cAnd what about when I get there?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cAll I\u2019ve got is this,\u201d he said, handing her a 1000 note from his wallet. Only 100 left.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMay Allah bless you,\u201d she said, clasping the note while his ringtone led him back inside the house. He flipped open his outdated phone without looking at the number. \u201cWhere are you?\u201d an intimidating voice growled.<\/span><\/p>\n He took a moment to look at the number and saw it was the laundryman. \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cI want the <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> that you have on you right now, the owner is standing on my head. One whole hour, I\u2019ve been trying to get a hold of you.\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMy phone was off \u2026 but \u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cNo buts. If the <\/span>daraa<\/span><\/i> isn\u2019t back here in an hour, you can only blame yourself.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n Somebody else\u2019s voice, tense, started to speak before the call was cut off. He tried to call back, but the all-too-familiar message rang in his ears, \u201cSorry. You have run out of\u2026\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cUnbelievable. I just put money on this.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMama used it before she left,\u201d a young girl sucking her thumb said.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWho did she call?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cMohammed in Ivory Coast. She said there wasn\u2019t enough money and threw it back there.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n With his jacket on his head, he walked for ten minutes and then waited for another ten in the back of a rundown car alongside three other passengers, waiting for it to fill up before it left for Toujounine.<\/span><\/p>\n A police car stood in front of the laundry shop and a hand gestured to him. Before he could even lift the jacket from his head, a heavy blow came down on his cheek and another paw crashed down on his head. He was thrown in the back of the car.<\/span><\/p>\n A fashionable young woman dragged a classy leather case behind her, after leaving the passport-stamping window. Her father\u2019s embrace enveloped her; her father, who had been waiting for her next to immigration, smoking a premium cigar. Right outside the arrivals exit, a four-wheel drive swallowed her up. She searched the bright faces and furrowed brows of those waiting to receive their loved ones, glancing at the photo on her phone to remember what he looked like, but the car windows were too dark for her to make out much \u2026<\/span><\/p>\n At the police station, the portly investigator sucked greedily on a cigarette as he asked for his name. Dabbing at the blood on his lower lip, he smiled and said, \u201c*Hamidinou.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n *In the folk tales of Mauritania, the unlucky Hamidinou is a popular, everyman character known for laughing in the face of adversity<\/span>.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" In Ahmed Isselmou’s short story, a Mauritanian man struggles to maintain his resilience and perseverance in the face of ongoing misfortunes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":436,"featured_media":28118,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[16,2956],"tags":[2696,2967,2987,1104,2988],"article-category":[],"article-type":[],"coauthors":[2966,2965],"class_list":["post-28010","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-tmr-34-a-day-in-the-life","tag-city-life","tag-folktales","tag-hard-luck-story","tag-mauritania","tag-nouakchott"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n![\"Marche\u0301](\"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2023\/09\/Marche-Capitale-scene-city-of-Nouakchott-Mauritania-photo-Attila-Jandi.jpg\")
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