The wood of the Sahel tells a story. The trees that once were the wood have told this story before. The wood of the Sahel holds the essence of the country inside. It holds the heat, the sand and dust, it hold’s the religion of the people.
It is blonde sometimes. It shimmers blonde like a woman’s hair from Scandinavia. But the sun has to has stand in the right position for this. It is curved and smooth, like wood that has been shaped and washed by the sea for many years. There are two sorts of sea, the desert and the ocean. Incisions, many incisions. It has empty eyes that look at you.
You might see geckos, salamaders, birds and people’s faces on it. Not real of course but sculptured by the hands of the wind.
In this moment I am seeing with an artist’s eye. I am not a development agent now. I do not want to talk about desertification, wood trade and renewable energies. I just want to tell the story of the wood in the Sahel that has been there forever. I wish the trees can stay there forever.