Letter from Beyond the Grave [By Me Mbaye-Jacques DIOP]

Sunday, September 11, 2016, 1:05 PM, the medical team that has been surrounding me for several weeks confirms and attests to my passing.

I am relieved and at peace with myself. I thank Allah, SWT, for having given me

A life so full, and to remember Him on this day of Arafat, the 9th day of Hijja, which precedes the celebration of Ibrahim's sacrifice. I could not have dreamed of a more beautiful send-off, as the date is so symbolic and exceptional for the Muslim community. While awaiting the arrival of my son, Pape Madické, informed by Professor Diop, I revisit these 82 years of struggles, sacrifices, and deprivations, but also and above all, of resilience, victories, and happiness.

It was in this house at the edge of the village of Yenne that my grandfather was born

maternal, and which served as a place of inspiration that I lived the last weeks of my life; surrounded by my children, my colleagues and the medical team to whom I pay a vibrant tribute.

Over the past two years, I have worked alongside many renowned doctors and specialists. From the American Hospital of Paris to the Cashaous Clinic, from the A. Le Dantec Hospital to the Principal Hospital, I have been able to appreciate the expertise and competence of our young compatriots.

True to the Hippocratic Oath, they provided me with state-of-the-art care and

accompanied by the words that soothed my body and mind. May they find here

an expression of my deep gratitude.

I express the wish that their faith and efforts will be sustained and rewarded by

policies that meet the public health challenges facing our country.

My son, who left Dakar, should arrive very soon. He's taking the new highway which now connects Dakar to Rufisque in less than 30 minutes and Yenne in 45 minutes. What progress has been made since independence!

I note with satisfaction that the country is moving forward and that the current generations and

Future generations will live in an environment where the human condition will be less arduous.

The President of the Republic, His Excellency Macky Sall, was the first to call my son to express his own emotion and that of the nation. His words to me were profound. He has always been affectionate, kind, and attentive to me.

The arrival of my son Pape Madické in Yenne accelerates the final preparations for my

Transport to the morgue of the main hospital. I watch him, prostrate before my body.

Prostrate but dignified. With that dignity to which I have always urged him to cling, in some way

Circumstances, out of respect for history and the dual privilege of seniority and masculinity (I apologize to all women for this "linguistic slip" whose basis lies exclusively in our Black Muslim culture). My departure from the mortuary room was not easy. Indeed, I felt great difficulty crossing the library adjoining my room, in which I had taken care to store

thousands of books. I was fascinated by this place and by the history and knowledge it held.

of activism, humanism, freedom, openness, and progress. At that moment, I had

A thought for all those who enlightened and inspired me; all those who participated in my

personal development, within my culture.

I thought of Aristotle, Plato, Seneca, Montaigne, Montesquieu, Rousseau, Voltaire, Hugo,

Tocqueville, Marx, Engels, Blum, Clemenceau, Jaurès, Gide, Sartre, Camus, de Beauvoir, Malraux, de Gaulle, Mitterrand, but also, and of course, Senghor (my master), Cheikh Anta and all the others.

I have always been captivated by revolutions and the struggles of peoples against oppression and for freedom. It was therefore with great passion that I visited the American and French revolutions.

Chinese and Russian, but also the struggles for independence and the affirmation of dignity

human rights led by Gandhi, Ho Chi Minh, Mandela, Nasser, Lumumba, Nkrumah…

My desire to read, to read everything, began in May 1951 and my encounter with the

Maurice Guèye, the mayor of Rufisque at the time, tasked me with setting up the library.

municipal council of the city. This was done with dedication and selflessness. I was right to do so because in those years of intense intellectual and political turmoil, "knowledge was, more than ever, the food of the soul."

The pause at this spot calmed me further. The procession could then set off towards Dakar.

Outside, the news had already spread throughout the country and the world. The emotion

was intense and testimonies followed one after another on the radio and on social networks.

They were sincere and affectionate. They came from Rufisque, Dakar, and the countryside. They

arrived from Paris, New York, Rabat, Shanghai, Abidjan, Rome, but also and

especially from the Arafat station which was hosting the Muslim community that day.

I was deeply moved by such compassion and sorrow. I heard familiar voices: those of my friends, comrades, and relatives, young and old. They were the voices of fellow citizens, known and unknown, of people I had met somewhere in the country, of comrades in the struggle, of journalists, of religious authorities, both Christian and Muslim, of public figures, of entrepreneurs…

They described a journey, a struggle undertaken together, a demanding partnership, a hopeful activism, a sincere friendship, assistance, a moment of conviviality, support; in short, a certain idea of Senegal and Africa in what they have of the fraternal and eternal.

I know full well that in the face of death, human consciousness only retains what elevates, what

dedicates; but I can measure, on this occasion, the sorrow, sadness, sympathy, and affection of all. The affectionate gazes of the inhabitants of Yenne accompanied the funeral procession which

quickly took the highway in the Diamniadio-Dakar direction.

Indeed, my son decided not to take the main road and to "bypass" Rufisque because he knew that I would return there tomorrow, the day of Tabaski, to rest permanently alongside my mother Adja Thiaba Diop, my wife Adja Adama Sow, and my children Ousmane and

Ndack.

I must admit that the route of this highway had raised many questions and concerns for me. These stemmed from the prospect of Rufisque's neglect, its isolation, and ultimately its confinement, despite its immense contribution to our country's history. These concerns have now been allayed.

I couldn't help but take one last look at the Sococim factory; the company that

He offered me my first job as a laboratory assistant in 1948 and my first salary of 5000 francs per fortnight. I had just obtained the Elementary Primary Studies Certificate (CEPE) and was waiting for the results of the entrance exam to sixth grade.

Sococim, Bata, Icotaf, and Valdafrique are integral parts of the city's history. They have

allowed many of his sons to maintain hope and social dignity. This memory and

This relationship explains, in part, several decades later, my fight for the

"rufisqueness" of Sococim.

This bloody "battle" between Rufisque and Bargny, which ultimately ended in the courts, had as its

Consequently, the allocation of Sococim's contribution to the City's budget; which

Rufisque could not escape this contribution. Indeed, it was part of the efforts

deployed by the municipality to alleviate the suffering of the population in a context

tense social situation, near-bankruptcy of the aforementioned companies (with the exception of Sococim) and

scarcity of resources from artisanal fishing. The City thus became the first

employer and, at the same time, compromised its investment capacity

structural. However, we had no choice.

The procession arrived in Dakar very quickly. Crossing Independence Square (formerly Protêt Square) inevitably brought me back to that memorable day of August 26, 1958, when General de Gaulle was heckled by a vibrant group of young people. The words of René Char then came to mind: "He who comes into the world to disturb nothing deserves neither respect nor patience."

I won't dwell on the struggles that legitimized this historic moment, nor on the Cotonou Congress that preceded it by a few days. Historians and political scientists have already done so amply. Instead, I want to salute and pay tribute to an exceptional generation: Blaise Diagne, Senghor (my mentor), Mamadou Dia Lamine Guèye, Abdoulaye Ly, Rose Basse, Valdiodio Ndiaye, Alioune Badara Mbengue (my mentor and older brother), Assane Seck…

The commitments they upheld and the values they embodied forged the

The convictions of the "placard bearers." To paraphrase President Senghor, "they did not die in vain. They are witnesses to an immortal Africa, they are witnesses to the new world that will be tomorrow." To my fellow placard bearers, I offer a fraternal and grateful greeting. I have been honored by their trust.

Through their example, they will forever be in the pantheon of our country's and Africa's history.

But brotherhood creates duties, and the first of these is sincerity. Therefore, I want to tell them that they have, today, the responsibility to carry on this history and pass on this legacy.

They must make it known, have it taught, and allow each generation to assume its share of freedom and dignity.

The formalities following my arrival at the Main Hospital were quick. I was then able to take my seat. I was especially eager to free up the group of friends and relatives who had insisted on accompanying me.

Tabaski will be celebrated tomorrow, and after all, life must go on. The funeral service is scheduled for the following day at 3 p.m.

On September 12th, the entire country celebrates Eid al-Adha. The President of the Republic

takes advantage of his message to the nation, at the exit of the Grand Mosque of Dakar, to publicly announce my disappearance and his presence at the 3 p.m. ceremony.

For the first time in my life, I find myself alone. In this morgue of the Main Hospital.

The memory comes back to me. "That invisible presence" that Hugo spoke of.

I think back to my years spent not far from these walls. First at the National Assembly, for several decades, and then, much later, at the Council of the Republic. I think back to the battles fought in the chamber, alongside men and women of great worth, to establish the rule of law, reduce inequalities, reaffirm human dignity, promote education, merit, and entrepreneurship, challenge the State on its duties and responsibilities in the face of so much suffering, poverty, but also hope, enshrine decentralization, in short, fulfill my duty as an elected official. To honor the election, and reaffirm its primacy over appointment, through courage, struggle, and virtue. Yes, Rousseau was right: "There is no happiness without courage, nor virtue without struggle."

My years as a member of parliament and mayor have put me at the service of the people of Rufisque and...

Senegalese people. I am infinitely grateful for the trust they placed in me for so long. I carried out my mission with passion and humility. I was aware of the privilege I had and the responsibility that was mine. History will be my judge.

Monday, September 12, 3 p.m. The funeral service can begin. It's the day of

Tabaski, but the crowd is impressive. The emotion is genuine. The testimonies and speeches are laudatory. I understood then that my life had not been in vain.

These faces are familiar to me. They represent my family, my friends, my allies, the temporal, the spiritual, my companions in arms and in life. They represent Senegal in its singularity, its plurality, and its universality. I listen attentively to the speakers' words. My brother El Hadj Mansour Mbaye, who legitimately officiates as master of ceremonies, my young colleague Papa Alassane Ndir, President of ONEEAS, my brother and companion Assane Masson Diop as one of the "placard bearers", my younger brother Daouda Niang, Mayor of Rufisque, my nephew Seydou Diouf, representing my political family, my son Pape Madické who knows, like no one else, what my life was like, my son Serigne Abdoul Ahat Diakhaté, village chief of Touba and, of course, Mr. President of the Republic, Macky Sall, whose sympathy, constancy and kindness towards me are known to all.

In each of their voices, I sensed pain and profound sadness. I have a story

personal relationship with each of them and with the institution or organization they represent.

I'll come back next year.

They were the voice of this assembled, silent, and moved crowd. Listening to them, and echoing Lincoln, I ultimately think, "What matters is not the years in your life; it's the life in your years."

It was time to "free" them to allow them to fulfill their Tabaski duties.

The journey from Dakar to Rufisque was quick, and the convoy arrived very soon in the "old town." This town, established as a fully functioning municipality by decree on June 12, 1880…, predates Dakar.

This city where I was born on January 15, 1934. The city of Maurice Guèye, Galandou Diouf,

Ousmane Socé Diop, Abdoulaye Sadji, El Hadj Ibrahima Sakho, Alioune Badara Mbengue, Babacar Ndiaye Ndioro…

Driving through Rufisque, I was revisiting my life. This city gave me everything. I was born here, everything

like my mother in 1898. That's where I forged my first adult convictions, my

personality and lifelong friendships. This is where I started school in 1942. This

The Republic's school system, which has helped to overcome ignorance and exclusion. This school system promotes equal opportunities; it must allow everyone to have equal access to intellectual and social success, and it guarantees that everyone's future will not be determined by the economic comfort or poverty of their parents.

This school must remain a space of endless possibilities, a place of meteoric rises, of assuming responsibilities, of regaining confidence, a place of progress and hope. I therefore think of my teachers at the Senegalese school and of Camus's words, after receiving the Nobel Prize in Literature, addressed to his teacher, Mr. Germain: "My first thought, after my mother, was of you. Without you, without that loving hand you extended to the poor little child I was, without your teaching, without your example, none of this would have happened to me."

Today, I had a meeting with the people of Rufisque and with the Senegalese people. Thousands of people are here. Women, young people, the elderly, friends, colleagues, relatives, strangers. All wanted to be present, to accompany me. Near the Merina mosque, a few meters from my home, in the adjacent streets, the crowd is impressive. Thousands of people. The emotion is palpable. After the funeral prayer, my son granted the request of the young people of Rufisque to...

They carried me on their shoulders and transported me on foot to the Thiawlène cemetery, more than a kilometer away. I am proud and fulfilled.

I thus crossed through my native neighborhood, Mérina, and the Thiawlène district accompanied by the songs and zikrs of thousands of people. To all of them, I express my infinite gratitude.

To all those who are "in a position of power," I say, following Napoleon, that "they are almost

"There are always battles that save republics and debates that destroy them."

To the women of Rufisque and elsewhere, I pay tribute for their sacrifice, their loyalty and their struggle.

To young people, to all young people, I say never be afraid. I tell them to be bold, patient, and courageous. This is the courage Jaurès spoke of before the students of the Albi high school: "Courage for all of you, courage at every hour, is to..."

To endure without flinching the trials of every kind, physical and moral, that life throws… courage is to maintain, in the inevitable weariness of life, the habit of work and action… courage is to master one's own faults, to suffer from them, but not to be overwhelmed by them and to continue on one's path… courage is to act and to dedicate oneself to great causes without knowing what reward awaits our effort….”

I am finally at the Thiawlène cemetery, alongside my mother Thiaba DIOP, my wife Adama SOW, my children Ndack and Ousmane, my family and my friends.

Tomorrow, September 13, 2016, a 3rd day ceremony will be held at my home in Merina.

I will speak again.

By Mbaye-Jacques Diop

Rufisque, September 12, 201