05-05-2024, 08:25 PM
“Bonjour comrade’s”
That’s the line, Julie had been repeating all day to the various prospective buyers of the trendy new Guediawaye apartment. Julie was a real estate agent selling the new 4 bed 3 bath top-floor apartment in the historic Liberte neighborhood. Real estate wasn’t Julie’s calling, yet for someone from the Amazargha minority it was one of the few jobs available to her. The Amarzargha were descended from Mallacan migrants who came over in the 1920s and 30s. Julie’s ancestors were sheepherders in the Mallacan highlands who were brought over to work in factories in Guediawaye. They intermarried with either Arivee settler creating a unique culture. While Christians in Guediawaye were primarily Catholic, the Amarzargha were mostly Maronites. At 5 pm, Julie packed away the remaining flyers and sweets on her display and locked the door.
Liberte was located in 3rd Arrondsmeant, a quiet and leafy quarter known for its historical architecture and colonial churches. Traditionally home to the Arivee elite, it was now home to a Koldan political class. Politicians and businessmen shopped at the fanciest boutiques yet publicly called to support the workers. They had personal servants while stating they fought for the class struggle. Julie boarded the Guediwaye Metro, a recent vanity project by the Senghor government sponsored by Xiomera. She took the train to Gare de Thaiyore Station, which was now in a completely different neighborhood.
Julie checked into the local office of the Democratic Action Party, the DAP was the largest opposition political party, besides the Brissiac Union, which didn’t operate north of the Banguala River. Independent polling looked good for this election cycle, with some putting the DAP as high as 20% nationwide. Although there was little chance of victory, every gain against the Senghor government and the KLF-U was a victory. In the past political opposition had been crushed or banned, yet for the time being, they had survived. Although some leadership had been arrested in the post-election protests of 2019, the DAP had grown.
Julie set out into the street’s Thaiyore, she had lost her business suit from his realtor job and was now dressed in a traditional shirt and a multi-colored dress. She had opted for it, as it was more traditional something she wanted to appeal to in a community such as this one. The DAP’s new strategy was not only energizing the youth, tired of years of KLF rule but also appealing to older supporters of Gano. Senghor had been rapidly pushing Kolda from socialism to an autocratic capitalist state. Corruption was rampant at all levels with Senghor giving private contacts for infeasture to his political cronies. In Thaiyore, garbage control was no longer controlled by a local authority but rather by Guiedwaye Déchets Unis (GDU). GDU now tasked with managing waste in the whole city was ill-equipped, and often only collected in wealthy neighborhoods. Trash was still dumped at community collection points by a society conditioned to follow regulations yet now it had become a massive pile of trash. In the trees of the street nearby, plastic bags hung onto trees like party banners, kids had even taken plastic bags and bottles are were using them to play games in the street. The first address was on Rue Bis 40, a small blue multi-story concrete building.
“Excuse me, Comrade are you busy” Julie asked the old woman standing at the door.
“Not for now, Madame but that could change real soon if you don’t tell me where you here,” the woman said with an attitude.
“Well, I’m with the Democratic Action Party and was wondering if you were registered to vote?”
“No, thank you, Madame. I fought for Kolda’s independence and wouldn't see it go down the drain” the woman said loudly, she then gestured for Julie to come inside. As soon as she closed the door, she shut in quickly.
“Do you have any idea, how many l’informateur are out?”
“Yes, actually,” Julie said smugly
“Do you want me to listen or not?” the woman said
“The DAP is gathering a broad coalition to challenge the Senghor regime, you were listed as a Gano supporter”
“You can't expect to challenge Senghor, however, yes I will be voting DAP,” the old woman said as she walked into her kitchen.
“Times are changing, the people want a new Kolda,” Julie said sitting down on a barstool across from the sink.
“Sombi?” the old woman asked as he plated up a bowl of sweet rice pudding
“Yes, actually although I may have to head on soon,” Julie said
“There was an infomateur watching you,” the old woman said, opening the shade over the small kitchen side window. She looked out, before gesturing to Julie
“Come closer, Omeke girl,” the old woman said pointing to a man smoking a cigarette on the floor below talking into a mobile phone.
“Was he behind me?”
“He has been around this building for days, several other of you Heutoirs have been around”
Julie ended up staying for around an hour in the old women’s home. Her name was Abasatou and had served in the Women’s Liberation Brigade during the Great Kolda War. The WLB was a leftist and gynarchist military unit that fought primarily in the rural Riviere Region. Abasatou explained that many village communities were often led by matrichary, so to many the WLB was not seen as unusual. However, once the war ended, the WLB was forcibly absorbed into the KLF-U. Those who refused were branded as traitors and arrested or worse. Abasatou had been an earlier adopter of the KLF-U, and she was rewarded with a position as a Minister for Women in the Workforce. Although to Abasatou, quickly disagreed with the KLFs policy and was replaced in the 1990s. Since then she had been living semi-well in Thaiyone, staying on the KLFs good side and keeping her head low.
“It’s going to be your generation who changes things, I can feel it”
“I really hope so, it’s been great talking to you Madame”
“Keeping going, fly like the frigate bird’s in the sky”
Julie grabbed her bag and was halfway out the door when she began to wonder were the line was from.
Almost as if sensing her thought Abasatou said.
“That’s from a poem we used to say, way back in the delta”
“Does it have a name?” Julie asked almost out the door
“It needs no name only for you to listen”
That’s the line, Julie had been repeating all day to the various prospective buyers of the trendy new Guediawaye apartment. Julie was a real estate agent selling the new 4 bed 3 bath top-floor apartment in the historic Liberte neighborhood. Real estate wasn’t Julie’s calling, yet for someone from the Amazargha minority it was one of the few jobs available to her. The Amarzargha were descended from Mallacan migrants who came over in the 1920s and 30s. Julie’s ancestors were sheepherders in the Mallacan highlands who were brought over to work in factories in Guediawaye. They intermarried with either Arivee settler creating a unique culture. While Christians in Guediawaye were primarily Catholic, the Amarzargha were mostly Maronites. At 5 pm, Julie packed away the remaining flyers and sweets on her display and locked the door.
Liberte was located in 3rd Arrondsmeant, a quiet and leafy quarter known for its historical architecture and colonial churches. Traditionally home to the Arivee elite, it was now home to a Koldan political class. Politicians and businessmen shopped at the fanciest boutiques yet publicly called to support the workers. They had personal servants while stating they fought for the class struggle. Julie boarded the Guediwaye Metro, a recent vanity project by the Senghor government sponsored by Xiomera. She took the train to Gare de Thaiyore Station, which was now in a completely different neighborhood.
Julie checked into the local office of the Democratic Action Party, the DAP was the largest opposition political party, besides the Brissiac Union, which didn’t operate north of the Banguala River. Independent polling looked good for this election cycle, with some putting the DAP as high as 20% nationwide. Although there was little chance of victory, every gain against the Senghor government and the KLF-U was a victory. In the past political opposition had been crushed or banned, yet for the time being, they had survived. Although some leadership had been arrested in the post-election protests of 2019, the DAP had grown.
Julie set out into the street’s Thaiyore, she had lost her business suit from his realtor job and was now dressed in a traditional shirt and a multi-colored dress. She had opted for it, as it was more traditional something she wanted to appeal to in a community such as this one. The DAP’s new strategy was not only energizing the youth, tired of years of KLF rule but also appealing to older supporters of Gano. Senghor had been rapidly pushing Kolda from socialism to an autocratic capitalist state. Corruption was rampant at all levels with Senghor giving private contacts for infeasture to his political cronies. In Thaiyore, garbage control was no longer controlled by a local authority but rather by Guiedwaye Déchets Unis (GDU). GDU now tasked with managing waste in the whole city was ill-equipped, and often only collected in wealthy neighborhoods. Trash was still dumped at community collection points by a society conditioned to follow regulations yet now it had become a massive pile of trash. In the trees of the street nearby, plastic bags hung onto trees like party banners, kids had even taken plastic bags and bottles are were using them to play games in the street. The first address was on Rue Bis 40, a small blue multi-story concrete building.
“Excuse me, Comrade are you busy” Julie asked the old woman standing at the door.
“Not for now, Madame but that could change real soon if you don’t tell me where you here,” the woman said with an attitude.
“Well, I’m with the Democratic Action Party and was wondering if you were registered to vote?”
“No, thank you, Madame. I fought for Kolda’s independence and wouldn't see it go down the drain” the woman said loudly, she then gestured for Julie to come inside. As soon as she closed the door, she shut in quickly.
“Do you have any idea, how many l’informateur are out?”
“Yes, actually,” Julie said smugly
“Do you want me to listen or not?” the woman said
“The DAP is gathering a broad coalition to challenge the Senghor regime, you were listed as a Gano supporter”
“You can't expect to challenge Senghor, however, yes I will be voting DAP,” the old woman said as she walked into her kitchen.
“Times are changing, the people want a new Kolda,” Julie said sitting down on a barstool across from the sink.
“Sombi?” the old woman asked as he plated up a bowl of sweet rice pudding
“Yes, actually although I may have to head on soon,” Julie said
“There was an infomateur watching you,” the old woman said, opening the shade over the small kitchen side window. She looked out, before gesturing to Julie
“Come closer, Omeke girl,” the old woman said pointing to a man smoking a cigarette on the floor below talking into a mobile phone.
“Was he behind me?”
“He has been around this building for days, several other of you Heutoirs have been around”
Julie ended up staying for around an hour in the old women’s home. Her name was Abasatou and had served in the Women’s Liberation Brigade during the Great Kolda War. The WLB was a leftist and gynarchist military unit that fought primarily in the rural Riviere Region. Abasatou explained that many village communities were often led by matrichary, so to many the WLB was not seen as unusual. However, once the war ended, the WLB was forcibly absorbed into the KLF-U. Those who refused were branded as traitors and arrested or worse. Abasatou had been an earlier adopter of the KLF-U, and she was rewarded with a position as a Minister for Women in the Workforce. Although to Abasatou, quickly disagreed with the KLFs policy and was replaced in the 1990s. Since then she had been living semi-well in Thaiyone, staying on the KLFs good side and keeping her head low.
“It’s going to be your generation who changes things, I can feel it”
“I really hope so, it’s been great talking to you Madame”
“Keeping going, fly like the frigate bird’s in the sky”
Julie grabbed her bag and was halfway out the door when she began to wonder were the line was from.
Almost as if sensing her thought Abasatou said.
“That’s from a poem we used to say, way back in the delta”
“Does it have a name?” Julie asked almost out the door
“It needs no name only for you to listen”
<t>The Federation of Slokais Islands- fighting for freedom and democracy</t>