Haut les mains, je me sens cerné ! (Par Alioune Abitalib DIOP)
Not by a hostile crowd, but by the slow and inevitable embrace of time.
On returning from the funeral in Ndiaganiao, to accompany a brother, an illustrious lawyer and great humanist, to his final resting place, this thought came to me: was I free?
The answer, clear and straightforward, arose within me: no. I return without my friend, my man of culture, my big brother, deeply Muslim and rooted in Serer memory and values, Pape Demba, great “Pat”, Master Pape Demba Kholé SENE.
And it is time, in its rigor, that has led me to this realization. On closer inspection, time appears to be the best judge; in its unfolding, illusions and false beliefs fade away in favor of truth.
It ends up, regularly, giving certainty, or not, to a truth, a belief or a myth that was sometimes thought to be illusory.
It is a kind of sieve, at the bottom of a sump, through which truths crystallize and falsehoods are distilled.
It is the instrument through which beings reveal themselves: it weighs love, it illuminates relationships, it gives the true measure of those around us. It is often mentioned, rightly so, that truth always transcends time; I now understand that it is measured, tested, and fulfilled within it.
Hands up, echoing the title, is, personally, an ultimate act of submission to the master of time and the universe. I will not name him, for everyone recognizes him in their faith. It is from him that we come and to him that we will return in a period of time called a "term," which he will have determined.
In reality, I realize, with the passage of time and its associated sorrows and pains, that gaping wounds appear throughout our lives. They sometimes give the illusion of healing, but in truth, they remain open for eternity.
These wounds resurface each time we lose a loved one, relentlessly plunging us back into continuous suffering. They are certainly part of what we might call destiny, but they also serve as living proof, highlighting humanity's vulnerability and inadequacy in the face of eternity.
It awakens buried inner pains from the past, sometimes predating birth, from the present, and certainly from the future. Sorrows, wounds, and emotions passed down through generations, traversing space and time and revealing our fleeting nature in the face of the immortal.
These sorrows are perpetuated like the silent memories that Serer traditions recognize in the continuity of lineages and invisible presences. Not in contradiction with faith, but as a way of inhabiting memory, of recognizing that man is never alone in his history.
All of this demonstrates our insignificance in the face of immensity and reminds us of the clockwork mechanism that regulates and orders our lives. "Nothing will befall us except what Allah has decreed for us," states the Quran.
This truth, far from crushing us, invites us to lucidity. This realization should push us further towards greater kindness, a moral quality that applies both to the dead and to the living.
And faced with this ultimate reality of death, all that remains for us is to transform ourselves forever in the love of our neighbor in the name of all humanity.
"Hands up" then becomes a gesture of acceptance and awareness. Not a defeat, but a recognition: that of our place in an order that transcends us.
This text is a prayer, a lament and, at the same time, an outstretched hand to all those dear to us who have left us.
May they receive divine mercy forever.
Alioune Abitalib DIOP
@: aabitalib@hotmail.fr
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