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March 16, 2007

Idrissa

Idrissa Amadou is a cheerful old Fulani man. He is tall and toothless and he is a regular visitor to my house – I give him coffee to drink and he sucks on a baguette until it dissolves. When Idrissa visits he tells me stories about the Fulani of old and I tell him stories about Iisaa Al Masiihu (Jesus the Messiah).

Not long ago, Idrissa said to me, ‘The things you say about Jesus are interesting, but how do I know what you say is true, when the marabouts are saying something different?’

Classic – the old question of authority rears its horny head. In a school of theology this one would be answered with reference to the origin and authenticity of New Testament manuscripts, the process of canonization and the fulfillment of Messianic expectation. The Roman historian Josephus would probably get a mention somewhere along the line. But somehow I was reluctant to dump all this on Idrissa – he has struggled for some time with an inoperable hernia, and I didn’t want to exacerbate it.

So I told him to pray to Allah before he went to sleep and ask him to reveal himself. I don’t always recommend that (in fact, this was a 2007 first, I think).

That was the morning before the lunar eclipse. When I realized there was going to be an eclipse, I felt sorry for Idrissa: I imagined him asking God to reveal himself and then looking up and seeing that the moon had turned to blood!

I need not have worried. Idrissa slept soundly through the eclipse, and even the accompanying clanging. He came to my yard in the early morning – I was still bleary-eyed – and he said ‘Mi hoyDi ko hulDini’ (I have had a frightening dream).

Here is Idrissa’s dream. I have written it down in Fulfulde as exactly as I can remember it, and then translated it into English.

MiDo sogga na’i am, tawi laawol am fecci, laateke laabi didi. Yeewnumi ndaarumi inan ngol Do ina yaaji, ngol Do ina faaDi. Mi suBeke yaajungol ngol. Laawol ngol ina heewi yimBe, faa mobilaaji ina ndewa toon. Ndeen na’i am puDDi waatude. Terkaaye fukki, waati, hoore magge tappi leydi – pap! Poornyiimi cubiimi laawol pamarol ngol, tawi – ee – ngol ina weli. Bayeeri ina dara gere nano e nyaamo fuu, indi rawni farr farr farr, abada nji’imi bayeeri ina Bendiri noon. Kewtumi nokkure to rewBe ina Yooga toon, Bulli luggiDi belDi, dariimi, ndaarumi. Ni foti koyDumi.

I was driving cattle along a road, and I came to a fork. There were two roads leading off, a wide one and a narrow one. I herded my cows onto the wide one. The road was full of people – even trucks were passing along it. Then my cows started to die. Terkaaye (a grayish cow) lay down on the road died and her head hit the ground – thwump! – like that. So I turned round and I took the narrow road. Wow, that road was sweet. There was millet standing on both sides, and it was whitest white; I have never seen millet plants as ripe as that before. I arrived at a spot where women were drawing water; the wells were deep and sweet. I stood and watched. That was all I dreamed.

I’m no expert in dream-interpretation, but it doesn’t take a Brother Yun to grab a Bible, find Matthew 7:13 and read it. I had never shared this passage with Idrissa before that day. The old man said ‘Allahu Akbar’ and his brow gathered into a dozen furrows. I went inside and put some water on to boil.

Posted by sahelsteve at March 16, 2007 07:23 PM