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5 Tales of Betrayal “Attaya: Three Rounds of Tea” The first cup is sweet, even aromatic at times, with a mint leaf added to the brew. Bintu and I smile at each other. Usually the men like to prepare attaya, and to serve it via a young boy to all the members of the family and the guests, letting the slow process of preparing the three rounds of tea pace the visit of neighbors and friends.But today it’s only the two of us.Bintu has come to my “house,” a single room on the second floor of a narrow building. I let Bintu prepare the tea, pouring the liquid from glass to teapot to glass, to make a white froth at the top. “The first cup is sweet, like he was, at first,” she says, smiling. “He was a friend of my cousin. They would come together to visit.We liked each other and joked together. Soon he started to come on his own. We would sit in a corner of the yard, in the dark, whispering a few words in each other’s ears. The air of his breath would tease me; his long nose would touch my cheeks as he softly spoke to me.So many desires stirred by those hands holding onto mine, squeezing pleasure out of my fingers and letting it ripple through my whole body! I would fantasize about him for days, in the noise of the room I share with my three sisters. “We went on like this for half a year. The visits were not too frequent. He lived on the other side of Dakar and could not come often to see me. On one of those visits he asked me to go dancing. I told my sisters, and we all planned for the outing. When he came and saw the four of us together he got upset. He took me aside and told me he just wanted to go with me:what was this busi- ness of always having those sisters with me? Could we ever go out alone? He left, and we did not go dancing. I was so disappointed and sad. I talked with my sisters: ‘How can I go out alone with him?’ We decided that Aisatu and I would pretend to go dancing with some of her high school friends, and while she would go to visit Binette in her parents’ house, I would go dancing with Pap. I told Pap on his next visit. He was very happy. He said that finally I was showing some regard for him; now he knew I cared for him.How could I ever become his wife if I did not show some independence from my family?” * * * The second glass of attaya is stronger, sweeter, and yet more bitter then the first, as the leaves of black tea keep boiling in the water. Bintu passed me the glass. True to form I gulped the liquid down, burning my tongue. I always wondered why,while it took so long to make the tea,people took as little time as possible to drink it. No sips, no prolongation of pleasure by rolling the warm glass in the hands, sniffing its contents, sipping the liquid at long intervals to feel how the variation of temperature brings a variation of taste. “A long process of preparation and then a gulp. That is the way it was with him,” she said. “A long process, slow and steady, built of trust, and then the rupture. Wanting to taste all at once, hot, burning, too hot, too burning.” The second round of attaya, stronger and still sweet. Bintu poured a second wave of words into my ears.“He took me to Thiossane1 and even bought me a Coke. I was so happy. We danced all night, leaving the floor only twice for a drink.We danced the funanà to the latest songs of CaboVerde Show,my favorite group.I held him so close that my head turned sideways,rested in the concave of his shoulder. My eyes were closed to feel the stirring at the pelvis, his lead and pace, flowing like a gentle wave, then rising stronger, swirling around to create a centrifugal force that would pull me even closer to him. My breath became slower and deeper, as my life shrunk to the confines of my body,no longer projected into the past or the future,no longer connected to the many...

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