[Slokais]

Back in the present, Ousmane was being driven through downtown Saint Paul, the capital of Brissiac. It was obvious their route was pre-planned as they took a detour through the city's wealthiest neighbors, avoiding the highway through the slums. As if not showing poverty meant it didn’t exist. He wondered if the other delegation members were really this blind and dumb or if they were quietly ignoring it. When they reached the Hotel Le Nerian, Saint Paul’s finest hotel and convention center, Ousmane opened the door and opened the truck to grab his bags.
“Non, monsieur, je l'ai” a bellhop said, a young Koldan boy. He looked barely 13.
“C’est bon, c'est bon, I will handle it” Ousmane insisted, as the rest of his entourage was carefully funneled inside, their bags being carried by other bellhops. While the other’s could ignore such a situation, Ousmane wanted to know more.
“What’s your wage, monsieur,” Ousmane asked
The bellhop looked shocked at even being addressed.
“100 marks”
“Here is 200, get some food,” Ousmane said as he pulled the money from his pocket. Ousmane was surprised by the low pay, the minimum wage was at least 350 per day, strictly enforced. As he made his way inside with his own bags, Ousmane wondered if the boy was even in school. He thought back to that holiday and what happened with Antonie.

2008
Parigne de l’est, Brissiac Province, Kolda

When the gate opened, Ousmane was greeted by a series of low-rise concrete buildings surrounded by the walls he had just passed through.
“This is home,” Antonie said
Antonie showed Ousmane around the small neighborhood, its only entrance being a carefully graded gate which was closer.
“My parents are not here, their shifts don’t end tell later,” Antonie said as he opened the door on a third-floor unit.

Antonie’s house consisted of one large room and a connecting bathroom. In one corner, younger siblings and cousins sat around a small radio listening to children’s programs. In another, a makeshift kitchen with a small jerry can and several stacks of packaged rations stamped with the resort’s logo. Across the floor were several bed pads and piles of assorted clothes. When he entered, the kids turned off the radio and ran over to greet him
“Who is this” one kid said
“He has nice clothes, does he work at the Resort?” another said.
“I’m Ousmane, I’m just visiting” Ousmane took a seat in a plastic chair.
“Okay, what did everyone get today” Antonie asked
The kids went around excited in a circle proudly talking about selling their wares or getting tips from tourists. What struck Ousmane in that moment, was that every kid including his new friend didn’t go to school, instead, they worked their days at the resort. While, this would be a dream for his friend's home, pampered with the wealth of high society. Ousmane for the first time in life, questioned. Why were things like this?

After the holiday, things wouldn't get better with family. Eventually, his mother left and his father turned to prostitution and his club of friends. Their home became a meeting place for an increasing collection of characters, holding their meetings in the basement. Despite this, his father pushed him hard in his education, and Ousmane feared anything less than high marks. Although he was academically successful, his emotions disappeared, he had no passion for his chosen path in politics except keeping his father happy and keeping up the lifestyle. Ousmane’s early 20s were a collection of parties with rich and well-connected at night and political/business deals during the day. At 24, Ousmane left the country taking upon a different name, enrolling in Albarine University. All this was an escape from Kolda, but most importantly his father.



Ousmane rejoined the rest of the group inside the hotel, An older Brissiac man in a suit was passing out room keys. Ousmane looked over to Alexandre, another younger KLF-U member.
“Are you seeing this?” he said
“Seeing what, is this about the bellboys? It’s their job”
“They're paying them only 100 marks a day” Ousmane whispered as the older man got closer.
“You have been scheduled for a meeting with the Minister of Immigration at 7:30 pm,” he said to the group. When he made his way to Ousmane he paused before handing over the key.
“Don’t pay my employees, that’s our job. You are lucky I don’t tell the police” he said as he held Ousmane’s shoulder whispering.
“You shouldn’t use kids as cheap labor” Ousmane responded heading towards the elevators.


In the predawn darkness, Julie pulled into one of the many police checkpoints across rural Kolda.
“Hello, identification,” the officer said, waiting for Julie to produce it.
Julie handed him an ID, not her actual one but a fake produced by one of the many scam shops.
“Toll, Madame,” he said as he returned the ID.
“Can you grab the wallet, dear?” she said to Jamel, sitting in the passenger seat.
Once the money, was paid the officer had no further questions and let her proceed down the road. The toll wasn’t real, just a cop trying to get a few bucks out of drivers. It was widely understood that justice at every level required a physical or metaphorical price.


“So I am your, husband or boyfriend or something,” Jamal said
“Relax, a married woman is much less scary than a single woman, especially of my age” Julie set the wallet in her cup holder.
“You know, if we wanted to make this scene more convincing, I should be driving,” Jamal jokes.
From the back seat, Adama sat up pulling his assault rifle from under the seat.
“Be careful with that thing” Jamal said
“Ex-military, relax,” Adama said
“I still don’t understand why you want to find this woman even after finding out about her past,” Jamal said
“Her family is pure evil, I wouldn’t mind taking out a few of them,” Adama said
“Look, she is a foreigner, if we do anything to her we have an international incident,” Julie replied, turning onto another road.
“Plus, she is truly a good person who doesn’t know her family's true extent” Julie added
“How do you know her, Julie” Jamal asked