I mentioned this to Herve whereupon he wasted little time taking me to a tailor. Between the tailor, Herve and I there was an obvious and probably insurmountable language barrier. Furthermore, I suspected he probably wasn't able to actually produce what I wanted. Herve must have realised this also as we left shortly thereafter and he asked again what I wanted.
With a change of tact I said, "James Bond's clothes". His eyes lit up.
He made a phonecall and we were walking again, this time coming to an internet cafe. I was perplexed. Herve and the proprietor talked briefly before pulling out four grainy black and white photos; one each of Sean Connery, Roger Moore, Pierce Brosnan and Daniel Craig, all in Bond suits. I grabbed the picture of Craig and then we departed, this time Herve took me to his house. My being perplexed still hadn't subsided.
We followed the rat race through some claustrophobia inducing alleys, bustling with people, stalls spilling out of side rooms and completed with unhygienic smells. Herve passed through a door on the right which opened into a dusty courtyard. Cats and a couple of roosters played in the shadier corners. The buildings enclosing it looked half finished. One was missing a fourth wall altogether (like only the best Boston Legal episodes).
 |
| One of Herve's cats, I suspect that this one could entertain itself forever. |
A few women met us in the courtyard, Herve introduced them as his daughter, wife and mother in law. None of them spoke English so the interaction was very reliant on smiling, nodding and finger crossing. His wife measured me up in a fashion that I would best describe as endorsing a lot of hope and eschewing the carpentry maxim of, "measure twice, cut once".
Herve said she'd be going into Dakar city to get a suit, as to whether this meant tailored, stolen or retrieved from a coffin, I wasn't sure and wasn't willing to traverse the language difficulty to find out. Dutifully, I handed his wife 30,000 francs and crossed my fingers once more. The way I saw it, these 30,000 francs would buy me one of three stories and lessons.
a) Don't be so trusting of people, don't pay in advance and you'll keep your money
b) Be sure of the quality of the product before you part with cash
c) A bit of faith and ~$50 will win you a form fitting super suit in Senegal
Herve said he would meet me at La Brazzerade at 6PM to bring me back to his house to pick up the suit after his wife came back from Dakar. With that in mind, I spent the afternoon divided between the internet cafe across from the cul-de-sac from La Brazzerade (a story in itself) and the bar at the hotel. At 6PM I relocated myself and my beer to the front of the hotel. For an hour and a half I watched two local women (prostitutes) kick, scratch and scream over a client. This was all in a completely foreign language, but it required very little translation. Even here, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
I relocated back to the bar at 7:30PM, a little disappointed that I had allowed myself to be swindled quite so easily. Copping it mostly on the chin, I settled in, filling my evening in with drinking, observing shameless Frenchmen and some writing. Otherwise engrossed by my own company, I was a little startled some time later in the night by Herve when he came and sat down at my table. Lighting a cigarette, he said that my suit was ready and he was here to take me back to his house for it. Finishing my beer in a time that would make most students blush, I put my things away and followed him into a now abandoned but just as smelly and claustrophobic maze of alleys.
On arrival, his wife was in the courtyard beaming. The cats, roosters and other women were nowhere to be seen, a young boy instead seemingly in their place. I gave his wife a toblerone bar, left over duty free from Johannesburg. Her beaming smile broadened. Herve retrieved the suit from a hanger on the clothesline in a corner of the courtyard. From ten feet, it looked a faultless replica. From two feet, it just looked faultless.
I tried it on, the fit was perfect. Herve's wife said something in French about being dressed fit to meet the president. This was probably a small exaggeration but I was certainly fit to attend a charity ball in NYC the following week...
No comments:
Post a Comment