I met him two years ago in Dakar. The first time my eyes landed on him, he made me think of Serigne Touba.While I knew nothing of Serigne Touba.Probably for resistance and love of justice.
He was very tall, he was poor. Mauritania had taken everything away from him, his family, his land. State racism confiscated his future.He lived in a plastic bag, a bag or was piled up proof that this country is his too. He died with dignity in the total outcome. He lived by resisting, he died by resisting.
Aldouma Cissocko lived as a warrior and died with arms in his hand, he died Mauritania in his hands and in his heart. You can hate us, drive us away, deny us, you can’t stop us from planting the gigantic Mauritania tree in our hearts.
His name was Aldiouma Cissocko, he IS MAURITANIAN, one day the gendarmes went to his house, they decided that he was not Mauritanian, and they put him on a plane, they unloaded him in Senegal like a trash can, and they left.
It is 1989 from that day until his death he fought to have the real place that belongs to him, namely the place of a full citizen. A warrior died with arms in his hand. Tonight Mauritania lies at our feet, dying, unjust, cruel.
Shame on us, shame on this country, which drove out these sons and daughters, shame on this country that let Aldiouma die in misery far from his country which he loved so much.For 30 years he gave this cruel father the chance to redeem himself, the chance to be us, to be a people, a nation, but as always he misses his appointment with history.
You don’t deserve the commitment and love of Aldiouma. Yo Allah yurmomo, Yo Allah Yafomo, Yo Allah itou haké ma e mabe, hoto be may be djiyadoum e adouna be tadoum e lakara. Amin.