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Last night, when I dreamt about Tahalmoyt,

Of her elegant appearance, nonchalant at dusk

In the middle of the tents,

I grabbed hold of Ebazaw and harnessed my saddle to him,

Not any just old one; it belonged to Agadez.

I donned Alacho, my most beautiful indigo turban,

And my two boubou robes.

I replaced the bolt of my padlock.

I acted like a nobleman who doesn’t hide himself away

I perfumed myself with musk and incense

I belted myself with wool and silk

I passed through a valley where the Tihardanen* played.

They made me feel happy,

And I arrived at the camp above Timadjlalen.


from Emmaar, released February 11, 2014


tags: world Mali


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