When I was younger, I used to go to see my mother in her village Coulay in Casamance, in the South of Senegal. She was living there with some of her family members, including my uncle Adama and his son. His son was about my age at the time, and was one of those brave guys who left their village to settle in the capital, Dakar. After a few time, my cousin came back to Coulay. The news of his return made a great noise and for some reason: he came back to open a fashion shop on my uncle’s land. It was never seen for such a small village as Coulay, so modenrn, so urban. Everytime I was visiting him, I was amazed by the number of cloths hung from the big trees, and by the variety of colours and materials floatting in the wind.
