of ATE

: Seeds i

ed, linked to the glory of the ancestors. Here, the stories had the taste of the real. They spoke of choices, pain, struggles. And Adama better understood the world by listening to them. One evening, after the meal, while Mariam was part of a sick neighbor, Awa and Adama found himself alone in front of the fire. The silence was sweet, charged with this strange energy that we feel when two hearts approach without daring to touch each other. "You never really tell me where you come from," Awa said, throwing a piece of wood into the fire. - Because I'm afraid if I told you ... You do not look at me anymore as you do now. - And how do I look at you? - like a man. Awa remained silent, the eyes lost in the flames. - And if I told you that I already know? Adama turned his head, surprised. - What do you mean? - I'm not stupid, Ibrahim. Your ways, your way of speaking, your silences ... you come from another world. Perhaps even a palace. Adama felt his heart stop a second. - And you did not say anything? - I wanted to see how far you would go. If you were sincere. And you are. He fixed it, touched. - My real name is adama konaté. Son of King Demba de Sogoya. She nodded without astonishment. - And you fled the palace to come here ... Cultivate millet? - I fled to live, not just to survive. There, everything was decided for me. Even the woman