The group of friends continued on their way in their usual cacophony, trampling the weeds along the path and hopping over the many clumps of old bricks that had been laid long ago for housing projects that never came to fruition. From one spot to another, they sometimes stumbled upon a group of young boys gathered for games, mostly football. And, as typical kids from Keur Massar, they teased, mocked, insulted, boasted, or superbly ignored each other, amicably or not, because nothing was more real than the half-rivalries between neighborhoods that the kids invented for themselves. The atmosphere was, therefore, quite normal, even though two people were meticulously avoiding speaking to each other: Daniel and Pape Moussa.
Neither of them truly held a grudge; their anger had long since evaporated under the scorching heat of the sun, the smell and feel of sweat, the happy relief found in every patch of shade, and the jokes and laughter surrounding them. Yet, there remained that unease one feels toward another, that inability to start a conversation after a fight. So, Daniel spoke to the left when Pape Moussa laughed to the right, and Daniel mocked to the right when Pape Moussa retorted to the left. The other boys seemed to notice nothing, or perhaps pretended not to, and everything was fine in the most foolish of worlds… at least until they reached the paved road.
It was a fairly busy road used to reach downtown Dakar, though it had lost half its traffic to the toll highway. Still, it remained a heavily frequented route, especially by the "DADA" buses. In any case, the boys eventually arrived at this road in a disorganized group, and, inevitably, Daniel and Pape Moussa ended up isolated at the back of the pack.
An awkward silence of at least a minute settled in, with only the sound of engines and the generally lively atmosphere of Keur Massar, even in the heat of the day, audible in their little bubble.
This… this is really awkward…
Daniel wanted to say something to break the tension, but his pride refused to let him utter a word. It was probably the same for Pape Moussa; in short, it was a battle of pride where the first to speak would lose.
It was one of those moments where logic and emotions clash, tangle, and separate.
Daniel didn't regret his anger; he even thought it was justified. If he had to do it again, he was sure he would have gone further than mere insults. But now that everything had calmed down thanks to Saliou's providential intervention, the boy didn't know how to react.
Sometimes, it's easier to deal with animosity.
The words of an old friend came back to him, someone he hadn't seen in a while.
"I wonder how he's doing?" Daniel wondered aloud.
"What?" Pape Moussa replied too quickly, his nearly smooth eyebrow arched in question.
"Uh, no, I wasn't talking to you," Daniel said defensively. "I was just wondering how Gaëtan is doing."
"Oh…"
"Yeah…"
Silence fell again, each lost in memories swirling around a tall young boy, three years their senior, with an eternal smile on his lips.
"It's true it's been a while," Pape Moussa said dreamily. "I wonder what he's up to."
"That's a good question…"
Gaëtan would be 16 now. He came to visit his grandmother Florence in MTOA less and less often; it must have been a year since he last came to announce, with his usual excitement, that he had passed his BFEM. Daniel vaguely wondered what he was doing now; he was probably preparing for his first year of high school.
"He's not a choosen one, right?"
"No," Daniel replied, "he's as normal as it gets."
"Lucky for him, then."
Pape Moussa's slightly bitter tone didn't escape Daniel, but he couldn't blame him. When one awakens to the sembou, a rune appears on the body, marking the individual as a choosen one.
From that moment, their future is all but set, focused primarily on the military and its six diambar corps: the thionganes, tasked with defeating djinns; the ndimbelanes, responsible for intra-barrier protection; the Paddaans, an elite special forces unit reserved for the strongest diambar; the loucars, handling medicine and care; the ngallans, primarily in charge of logistics, communication, and administration; and finally, the tops, a secretive agency directly serving the government while also independent from it.
Of course, among them, two corps were not so easily joined: the tops and the Paddaans. Thus, only four corps were accessible after the choosen ones exam, which consisted of two parts: physical and written.
The physical test is almost optional at this stage.
Daniel wasn't naive; everyone knew it by now. To pursue specialized training as a ngallan or loucar, one had to excel in the written exam. And the success rate was far from reassuring.
The issue was the recruitment quotas, both for the ndimbelanes and the thionganes. It wasn't enough to get a good grade to pass; you had to be among the best.
There was a high chance of ending up with the thionganes, even with excellent grades, which was discouraging. Daniel himself wasn't confident in his own abilities, so it was no surprise that Pape Moussa, with his below-average grades, wouldn't feel at ease with the situation. Daniel could somewhat understand Pape Moussa's frustration, which might explain his recent, more intense-than-usual outbursts of anger.
Still…
"You know it's pointless to act like that," Daniel said, unable to hide a hint of annoyance in his voice. "You're probably headed for the thionganes—at least there's a good chance—so what's the point of hating the uniform you'll end up wearing?"
Pape Moussa snorted disdainfully.
"Are you saying I'm going to fail the exam?"
"Bro, you already know the odds are slim. At this point, you might as well talk about your options."
Pape Moussa opened his mouth briefly, probably searching for a good retort, but could only grumble. Daniel chose to take it as a sign of agreement.
"There you go," Daniel exclaimed with relief. "Now, your other fallback option is the ndimbelanes. Honestly, it feels like choosing between the plague and cholera, but if you want my opinion…"
"Can you explain,"* Pape Moussa cut in with a wild look, "why I'm the only one who has to talk about options?"
Daniel looked at him, trying to hide the proud smile in a failed attempt at humility.
"I clearly have more options than you."
"Pfft, that changes nothing, you know," Pape Moussa said with intensity, as if driving the point home. "Good grades alone won't get you out of this mess."
"I know that very well, what do you think?" Daniel replied defensively. "But unlike you, I'll make it through, no matter my options."
"Oh yeah, such confidence! Even with the thionganes?"
"Even with the thionganes," Daniel confirmed with a smug smile.
"You're delusional, man," Pape Moussa said disdainfully. "You think you're above all those people who died and keep dying?"
"All I know is that I'm me," Daniel replied, his smile widening. "And I know I'll make it. I'll give everything to make it, even with the thionganes."
"Hmmm…"
Moussa let his voice linger like a cloud of doubt over Daniel's sunny daydreams.
"You see yourself higher than you already are."
"Better than seeing myself already dead."
That was Daniel's reasoning, a mindset he'd developed growing up without ever truly failing at anything. He wasn't a genius, but he was hardworking and knew from the start that any situation could be handled with effort—and effort was something he never lacked.
The mindset of a winner, or at least that's what Daniel thought.