Coco, le chef oublié, 2025
Stéphane Foucaud

Two tribal chiefs succeeded "Chief Coco," who was installed when I was six years old. They died tragically in car accidents, just like "Chief Coco," as if by a curse. "Chief Coco," a heavy consumer of sprouted coconut, had escaped the gendarmes who came to arrest him. His flight into the forest caused a great stir in the media at the time. Driving drunk in his Peugeot 404, he killed three young passengers from his clan when he lost control of the vehicle.

Captain Boulemant, in charge of the case, was reassuring about the return of the fugitive who had deserted his civil and customary responsibilities (laws and rules of Kanak culture). Having the advantage of commanding an all-terrain mounted brigade and accustomed to the surrender of fugitives, Boulemant, who had never abandoned a mission, never imagined that, once retired, he would still be searching for Coco. The case was now closed, the missing man having been declared dead for 20 years. The former gendarme, who had become a regular visitor to the tribe who nicknamed him "Boule," often visited Coco's widow, Méhéri. He forged a sincere friendship with this woman who became his confidante. He continued to report on his research to her, which had now become personal, because a hermit he suspected was Coco was indeed leaving traces in the forest, without anyone being able to find him. They were both discussing their priorities over a good cup of coffee: for "Boule," to bring Chef Coco back before he died, and for Méhéri, to continue showing mercy. Devastated by her husband's departure, she had since forgiven him, facing the painful stares of the mothers who had lost their children.

On Sundays, in the large hut, the children would gather to listen to Boulemant, who was never short of tales of daring exploits in French Guiana and the country. For the younger generation, burdened by unspoken truths, all that remained of Coco's memory was his hut, nestled between the two others built for his successors. We were, in this respect, the laughingstock of the other tribes, as the local council had named our land, the area known as "The Three Huts," even though none of them housed a chief. The Council of Elders served as an interim leadership while awaiting a nominee who wouldn't resign. Everyone feared misfortune. This instability, depriving the tribe of unwavering authority, allowed malevolent figures to take root. Yekso, a young leader with a penchant for frequenting prisons, seized power in this tribal land, now bringing a bad reputation upon it. Car carcasses, stolen with his gang, piled up along the road to the "Three Houses," and cannabis plants stood shamelessly behind the taro patches. The gendarmerie didn't intervene, and for good reason: they needed the authorization of the Council of Elders, which had capitulated, terrified by the gang that had promised them severe reprisals.

Faced with the racketeers who regularly went door-to-door, only Father Boule, more than experienced in boxing and still agile for his age, and Granny Méréhi, who, like a true granddaughter of a sorcerer, knew a few spells, stood their ground. The gang's last attempt to extort money from the two accomplices ended in a memorable scene: the thugs threw themselves naked into the river, scratching themselves raw. Armed with wisps of burning grass whose inhaled fumes contained potent irritating agents, the old woman, wrapped in a protective sarong, held the malevolent incense under their noses, while Father Boule waved a large square of cardboard to direct the smoke towards the aggressors.

Having been burned, fewer of them prowled around the hut that evening, but they still managed to set it ablaze just as the sun began to rise. Cornered by the flames and suffocating, Boule and Méhéri attempted to escape despite the inevitable ambush. Once outside, a shaggy figure, dressed in vegetation and deerskin, stood before them amidst three bodies lying on the ground. The caveman held a notched club. His weapon bore the marks of a counterattack with a machete. Coco had returned from the dead! A "pardon" escaped his beard as he peered at his wife with misty eyes. Then he suddenly disappeared into the vegetation. Méhéri stopped Boule, who was about to give chase. She uttered these few words while contemplating the trail left by the brush pushed aside by her fallen leader: "You have not belonged to us for a long time, the forest and the mountain are the sanctuary of your repentance."