When in St Louis I usually stay at the Didier Marie School. The school guard, a very nice Serer man whose name is Bernard Tine (say I sent you if you have the chance to visit), receives eveyone with the broadest smile you can ever imagine. Sometimes he shows me around and in our walks, every now and then, he throws a question he's obviously been thinking about for quite a while like the one who drops a bomb: "So, chez vous, a man can marry another man and that's it? Weird." "And you say that you get paid for travelling around the world asking people about their personal lives? Weird." I don't think Bernard could ever say anything in a way that annoyed another human being. I really hope to go back often to watch soccer matches / Venezuelan soap operas on his tv, share his thiéboudienne and see him get a family of his own.

From the window of "my" room, which is two floors over and two rooms left of Bernard's, I see the river. I hear the children play soccer a home-made ball big as a tennis ball and hard like a stone, listen to the boats come and go, wake up when is still very dark with the call to prayer from the fishermen's neighbourhood. I also try to avoid the mosquito population that thrives in the many little ponds and puddles around the school.

Above all, I look through the window and enjoy the priviledge of being there any time of the day and night, despite those little flying devils.