Around noon, the three men arrived at Watch Dal.

  They found a place steeped in disorder, filled with suspicious-looking figures. The inhabitants had managed to build crude shelters — uncomfortable, but livable. Still, the atmosphere was unsettling.

  Their arrival was far from encouraging.

  A drunk man greeted them rudely.

  “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Abdoulaye replied calmly. “We’ve come to see your boss.”

  “You’d have to be crazy to come here,” the drunk muttered with a grim smile.

  “I could crush you where you stand,” Biram said, making a subtle threatening gesture.

  The intimidation worked.

  “Easy, easy,” the drunk said quickly, lowering his tone. “I’ll take you to Dof Dal. He’s the one in charge.”

  Other villagers watched them with dangerous curiosity as they were led to Dof Dal’s quarters.

  The room was astonishing — empty beer bottles everywhere, cigarette butts covering the floor. The chaos was so overwhelming that staying there for four hours could drive a man insane.

  The drunk rushed forward respectfully.

  “My respects, Chief.”

  “What are you doing here with these three lunatics?” Dof Dal asked, his voice so deep it could frighten a dog.

  “They say they know you. I’ll leave you to it.”

  The drunk disappeared without another word.

  “So now people come to visit me?” Dof Dal said with amused surprise. “That’s new.”

  “I’ll get straight to the point,” Madiaw Thiam said, lifting his head despite his fear. “Your men are sadists.”

  “That’s my training,” Dof Dal replied with a faint smile — clearly proud.

  “That explains the misery they cause in our town,” Abdoulaye shot back angrily. “We are victims of your nonsense. My son was robbed — his shop destroyed. And my friend here—” he pointed at Madiaw, “—his daughter was beaten and raped. Your young men come to our town often. And we can be just as ruthless as your so-called village.”

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  “Watch Dal is not a village of savages,” Dof Dal snapped. “Watch your words. Who do you think you are?”

  “As you wish,” Abdoulaye said, forcing himself to calm down. “Forgive me. I came for peace. I meant no offense.”

  “The ones who went to your town — I didn’t send them,” Dof Dal growled. “I don’t even know you. Who are you?”

  Without hesitation, Abdoulaye reached into his pocket and handed him money.

  “Take this — a gesture of new friendship,” he said smoothly. “You strike me as a man of honor.”

  That seemed to touch Dof Dal deeply — a man used only to force to satisfy his needs.

  “You might be the first person to ever give me money willingly,” Dof Dal said, his tone suddenly softer. “The last people who did that were my parents… if I remember correctly. I barely remember them at all.”

  “Why not visit them?” Biram asked.

  “They’re probably dead,” Dof Dal replied. “And even if they’re alive… it’s impossible.”

  He fell silent, lost in thought. The others exchanged glances.

  After a moment, he continued:

  “All these people you see — I’m their leader. And they will never accept starving or giving up pleasure. They have no choice. In this world, you’re either prey or hunter.”

  “No,” Biram countered. “Look at Deuk Wolof. Who said anything about starving?”

  “You’re giving me an example of a place I’ve never seen,” Dof Dal said. “Realities are different.”

  “We farm. We raise livestock. We work,” Biram insisted.

  “The Dal don’t even know how to say ‘work,’” Dof Dal replied dryly.

  “Then we can send volunteers to teach them,” Abdoulaye offered. “Why not?”

  Dof Dal looked at them carefully.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll gather them and inform them. I won’t force anyone. But I’ll do my best.”