Around 13.30 the loud, crackling prayer begins, covering the city in a haze. Everybody descends to the streets with each their rug. We're in Africa so the exact time is not so important. I learned that the hard way. One day I was in a meeting a few blocks away and returned to the office at 13.15. I thought I could make it back in time, but that day they decided to start a bit early. I didn't realise until I was in the middle of the messing masses in my small summerdress trying to make my way through as discretely as possible. Talk about an awkward situation.
The last few weeks a group of Muslims have been manifesting the streets since their marabou has been imprisoned. The police found two disciples buried in his backyard, tortured and killed. Still, the followers of that marabou want the Government to set him free. Here each family have a marabou they follow and he is considered God to a lot of Muslims. Therefore, the marabou has the right to decide who should live and who should die. This meaning the marabou has committed no crime in ending the lives of these disciples. Luckily, it is only a small part of the Muslims who are that indoctrinated, and my Muslim friends and colleagues have generally be furious with this behaviour of their fellow Muslims. In Senegal there is space enough for all religions. They say they have a religious fraternity; something the rest of the world could learn from.
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