Dayêguê
When the «spoken» speaks the «unspoken»
Dayêguê, all is well. The primordial irony. Precisely, what one says when all is not well.
Dayêguê, all is well. What a father says when he wants to avoid a blunder.
Dayêguê, all is well. Half-sarcasm, half-resignation—or sarcasm born of resignation.
Dayêguê, all is well. We’ll make do with the child… When the «spoken» speaks the «unspoken.»
Each being is a sentence spoken by others and swallowed, ingested deep within.
To digest it is a matter of the body. To be nourished by it is a matter of the mind.
So leave—not to flee, but to escape affectation.
Leave, not flee.
Break free from the confinement of words, slip out of the seal of fate.
Leave, not flee.
From Lomé to Abidjan by way of Bamako? Yes, the straight line is not always the shortest path when life is the only master, when destiny is the only teacher, aphasia the easel, dyslexia the brush, agraphia the pen, gnosis the chisel.
What forces, strengthens. And paradoxically, no forced trait emerges.
What hardens, toughens. And paradoxically, no rigid line appears.
What distorts, shapes. And paradoxically, it is in the ether of pareidolia that forms are drawn.
This is not about heads.
But about the headstrong.
Or how to move through life when you’ve always been told you have no head.
This is not about bodies.
But about being embodied.
Or how to use the only baggage you possess to straighten the twisted roads laid out from your first cry.
How to bend irony backward, return it to its original meaning, fold the “unspoken” of trauma, unfold it as the “spoken” of rapture, bend assignment into signature:
“Dayêguê, I am Sadikou, all is well!”
Gauz
