The green you need, 2014

Stéphane Foucaud   New & remarkable Artists

The flying diaspores and swirling seeds no longer settled in the valley. They passed over our heads since the Popwaalés (Whites) had strived to shave the tops of the mountains to extract green gold (nickel). The violent winds, which once crashed onto the green massifs, now dried up our lands and diverted the seeds carried by bird droppings. Indeed, they now avoided the 'ruffling' factory. Beyond the mischievous gusts, old Nyunyu, whose name meant "Full of Water," was reproved by the community: his status as a water diviner was questioned as soon as the river showed signs of drying up outside the fire season.

"Grandpa knows something about those who dig the earth," his grandson Iathaa confided in us. Unfortunately, by dint of attributing the slightest problem to the presence of the settlers, Iathaa's argument became very weak in defending the poor rhabdomancer.

One fine Sunday, Iathaa, Tchako, and I slipped into the tall grass, taking advantage of the adults' excitement about the water shortage. Our instinctive rallying surely came from the fact that we each carried our bibiche (slingshot) at our waist. Although motivated by our attraction to the challenge, our mission also consisted of visiting the deserted mine and inspecting the nearby source of the river. We took great care to place Tchako at the head of the troop, but at a safe distance, because he unfortunately, but systematically, stumbled upon wasps' nests, which served as our alarm. This sad particularity had earned him the nickname "Pi-tati mepu" (Wasp Hunter).

I do not know at what moment the stray dogs from the mining prospecting spotted us, as we were already at our fourth alarm of yellow stings. The dogs tried to circle us, but they received a blast of pebbles before bolting. Fortunately for us, the eroded ground offered a wide range of projectiles to reload our handguns. However, we stopped our progression dead, because other barks upstream announced a cohort much more difficult to contain. Not a single wasp had time to sting anyone during our frantic race to the tribe, where the tone had, moreover, intensified. The adults were now disputing the evolution of each person's economic role and the appearance of a goods barter: a large part of the tribe working at the mine circulated money in the community, which was unbalancing the organizational chart of our micro-society.

Time passed and made the tensions subside. Then Nyunyu returned one day with a coastal healer supposed to master the "nyuaap" (wind appeasement). It changed nothing, the trade winds inexorably engulfed the valley, carrying far away the flowers of our fruit trees. Of course, instead of leaving with an admission of failure, the "master of the winds" preferred to declare our tribe "emboucanée" (tainted with a bad spell). We no longer doubted it when we suddenly realized that it was Tchako who was escorting the "master" on the way back. The wind brought us as an offering a formidable concerto of the stung healer. At each of his painful "Woye! Woye! Woye!", our exasperated chief slapped his hand against his forehead. Tainted, we certainly were...

The very next day, despite his rank as head of the mine's maneuvers, Iathaa's grandfather revealed the truth to us: "The dynamite blasts at the top of the mountain are responsible for the river drying up, the source collapsed in on itself, the water still flows, but underground." For once, the wind would be on our side for the operation "Pèdi éémwa" (river diversion), that is, against the muzzle of the Cerberuses. Every worker who belonged to the clan managed to pilfer a stick of dynamite during the day. At nightfall, Nyunyu knew exactly where to place the explosives to free the source, so that it would find the riverbed again. However, he was less skillful in calculating the adequate charge. To say that the entire raid team jumped from fright would be an understatement. Never was a detonation of such intensity heard on the site that the night fell silent until sunrise!

Our watercourse regained its output. But the miners of the tribe returned without activity. The power of the explosion had caused the flooding of the operation. Between the rumor of our bewitched status and the mine becoming unworkable, we were completely isolated. The stone wall erected against our invisible enemy seemed moreover to permanently savage us. With the green gold currency no longer circulating, social peace returned to the fortress. But new proximities were already showing their face. Tchako traded his magnetism for the buzzing creatures for the ruminants, by bumping one fine day into the rump of a "wöta" (cattle).