The story of Abu Mo Siegfried KlakKlak Oelala Mufasa
The only fortune seeker of Dutch island Schiermonnikoog, first part
Part one of a five-part series about Abou Mo Sigfried KlakKlak Oelala Moufassa, the Malian fortune seeker who ended up on Dutch island Schiermonnikoog.
It was on the third day of the seventh month of the two thousand and twenty-fourth year of the Lord that Abou Mo Sigfried - this because of a distant German kinship - KlakKlak Oelala Moufassa set foot on Dutch island Schiermonnikoog.
His journey took him from Tombouctou, where he lived with his mother, seventeen sisters and twelve brothers, on the edge of the Niger and where they, like more than eighty percent of the population, worked in the agricultural sector, via the El-Khalil border crossing from Mali to Algeria, where he had to bribe the customs officers with the two family sheep for free passage, something that was very close to his heart, because he had known the sheep since birth, Abou coincidentally had his birthday on the day of crossing the border, January 1, and he has now turned sixteen for the seventh time, that was more convenient according to the village elder, saying that you are sixteen years old on January 1, and everyone knows that a sheep lives between fifteen and twenty years, so Abou is still doing well with his story, and well, he was allowed to pass through the border crossing and although the sheep were at least sixteen years old, they will never make it to twenty because the customs officers immediately bought shawarma from the bleats made, but Abou had at least crossed the border and now it was time to cross the arid area of Algeria on his way to a better life in Europe, because that is what this story is about, Abou is a seeker of happiness, aren’t we all, and so Abou had to persevere and swallow his sorrow about the sheep, his journey was not all doom and gloom anyway, because Algeria has beautiful nature reserves, such as the Ahaggar area, although we shouldn’t romanticize it all too much, because it is and remains a piece of Sahara, so bone dry with nothing but sand and Touareg and then we don’t mean that car, but the nomadic cattle breeders who cut both your throat and that of their cattle in a sigh and a fart, a man has to eat, right? Anyway, Abou was walking there plowing through the desert, because of the heat naked down to his underpants, when a gang of Touareg came riding towards him and stopped him.
‘Hail brother, where does the road lead?’
Now you should know that Abou Mo Sigfried KlakKlak Oelala Moufassa is a true wordsmith and he used to answer simple questions like a true novelist.
‘Well, brothers, sallallahu alaihi wa sallam, peace be upon you, my journey leads to the beautiful Occident, perhaps known to you as Europe, where the sun sets and where from the east, where Phoenicia once was, one saw the sun set over the western continent – and so Europe became the land of the falling sun, the Occident, and I am going there in search of happiness.’
The Sahara fighters looked at Abou with some pity and the driver of the desert terrorists, as pitying as everyone else, but still just a little sharper knife in the cutlery drawer than the rest, responded to Abou by pointing at him as if in slow motion and uttering the legendary words ‘Gosh, man, you have a huge belly button! What kind of crater is that? You could fit a whole platoon of IS fighters in there! Hahaha!’
Now you should know that Tombouctou means “she with the big belly button”, so this did not come completely out of the blue, but it was reason for Abou to come up with another speech that the sand fighters do not like to hear.
‘Certainly, sir, my navel is large and deep and that is because I come from Tombouctou, the land of the library of Ahmed Baba, situated in the heart of the infinite Sahara, where the sun dresses the earth in gold and dust, a city like a mirage, Tombouctou, a name that whispers in the desert wind, sacred ground for the nomads of the sand, resting place for the caravans that crossed the thirsty void between the banks of the Niger and the markets of the Maghreb, where they extracted salt, the white gold, from the dry depths of the Sahara and found their way via Tombouctou to the southern kingdoms, Tombouctou, beacon of Islamic learning, where the mind surpassed the sword in strength, where scholars read, thought, wrote – and taught, in dusty rooms, under arches of clay and wood, where students gathered with their master in the madrassas, where the word of God came to life, Tombouctou, city of the three great mosques – Sankoré, Djinguereber and Sidi Yaya – the beating heart of our intellectual world, Tombouctou, we who have big navels, that’s where I come, to Europe, where I’m going to seek happiness, that’s where I’m going.’
The warlord on duty sighed deeply and made a dismissive gesture.
‘Go, Big Navel, inshallah that you reach the border with Libya with your head still on your torso, it’s dangerous on this route, keep walking, you fool.’
And Abou resumed his journey.
To be continued.
Part two: The dangerous journey through Libya, and how Abou becomes friends with Abdi the Somali, child of the island of Socotra, pirate on the turbulent waves of the Gulf of Aden.
Part three: Flying from Tripoli to Pozzallo, the very tip of Sicily, by kitesurf; finally setting foot on European soil!
Part four: A rough journey through the West, from Italy, Switzerland, France, Germany - after all, a bit like his homeland - to godforsaken Ostend in Belgium, to finally set foot on The Promised Land, where happiness lies on the street: Schiermonnikoog.
Part five, conclusion: And so it happened that Abou Mo Sigfried KlakKlak Oelala Moufassa became the only fortune seeker on Schiermonnikoog.
