So, for more than two hundred and thirty years, the first Governor of Senegal had noted the visceral love that the Saint-Louisians have for their city. It is therefore neither a question of exacerbated regionalism, nor of latent xenophobia, much less of misplaced pride. It is simply a natural but irresistible love that inevitably invades all Saint-Louisians by origin, birth or adoption. Among these passionate St. Louisans of the city, there was a North Star.
His name was Cheikh Madické Diakhate known as Collot.
I have often paid verbal or epistolary tributes to people living or dead, but I have never been inhabited by so much doubt about my real abilities to faithfully deliver to posterity the exceptional qualities of this man of such great dimensions. that Cheikh Madické Diakhate was. He had adopted me as his little brother and his true friend. I was his confidant. I knew he loved and respected his mother like no other. And yet, he said to me one day: ‘My dear little brother, I would like to tell you that if my own mother woke up today and asked me to let you down, I would have very respectfully apologized to her by begging her to leave me with God, but I will never let my little brother Moumar Guèye down!’ And he started to cry…
Collot loved his hometown with a gentle fury, the elegance of an aristocrat and the wisdom of a patriarch. He defended the interests of the city, but always refused to behave like a troubadour or acrobat. He was a great gentleman! He protected the old French town with incontestable arguments in courtesy, calm and serenity. He never behaved like the king of Saint-Louis and the master of Saint-Louisians. He never shouted at anyone and never insulted his neighbor. He modestly wanted to be the guardian of the temple and the selfless servant of the city of Mame Coumba Bang. He had not turned his activism for the city into a business, a livelihood, a tool of blackmail or social promotion. He hated violence, whether physical or verbal. He hated hypocrisy and lies. His only salary was the immense personal satisfaction he derived from his lyrical flights to highlight Saint-Louis and recall the debt of gratitude that all Senegalese and other Africans in the sub-region and the diaspora owe to the old French town. When tempers got heated, Collot never flexed his muscles. Despite his imposing and respectable stature, he rather advocated calm and serenity in all circumstances. A former glory of Senegalese football, he made the heyday of Saint-Louis football under the colors of the Gaiété Club. With his lifelong friend Almamy Matheuw Fall, the other icon who died too soon, he was a founding member of the Convention of Saint-Louisiens.
Although not having completed high academic studies, Collot was nonetheless a great man of culture, which earned him the esteem and friendship of the Minister of Culture, Serigne Modou Bousso Lèye. Collot handled the French language with surprising poetic elegance and irresistible seductive harmony. President Alioune Badara Bèye was truly not mistaken in welcoming him as an honorary member to the Senegal Writers’ Association. Collot was a devout Muslim. He scrupulously respected his prayer times as well as the other four pillars of Islam.
In a recent letter that I addressed to the President of the Republic, to inform him of his illness, I wrote this: ‘… Collot is a man who, like your late brother El Hadj Moustapha Wade , spends most of his time pleading and interceding on behalf of his compatriots in difficulty, but very rarely has he felt capable of appealing to his neighbor for his own cause.’ Indeed, those who have always expected Collot to extend a soliciting hand to them have never done anything for him. A few days before his return to God, he called me to tell me this: ‘Following your letter, President Wade sent me a delegation today. He told me that he has to go to Toronto, but that when he returns, I will hear from him.’ And he began to cry, touched by this act of compassion on the part of the highest authority of the State.
Before this intervention by President Wade, President Ousmane Massek Ndiaye who, a few days earlier, had him hospitalized in Brévié, always provided him with discreet and effective assistance. I am the privileged witness of this.
At the time when his children Lamine, Kader, Mawdo, Astou and Coco as well as his nephew Doudou Ouattara, his friends and admirers still harbored the hope of seeing him proudly walk the streets of the city of Saint-Louis again, against all odds, the Tuesday July 6, 2010, at 2 a.m., the fateful divine decree was signed. ‘Inna lillaa hi wa innaa illey hi raaji oun’ (To God we belong and to God we will return). Cheikh Madické Diakhate, the North Star of the city of Saint-Louis, had just passed away forever. Collot therefore left, surely reluctantly, because I would not be surprised if, between Saint-Louis of Senegal and the celestial Paradise whose doors and flower gardens the angels had just opened to him, Collot chose ‘the old French town center of ‘elegance and good Senegalese taste.’ He loved Saint-Louis with fury!
On the day of his funeral, his family trusted me. Thus, I was responsible for the formalities of transferring the remains of the one who was my more-than-brother, the guardian of the Saint-Louis temple. With the logistical support of President Ousmane Masseck Ndiaye, the help of the High Command of the National Gendarmerie and the director of the Main Hospital, the administrative formalities were easy and clear for me. Collot deserved this great opportunity. A biker led the way to Bargny. Two other motorcyclists, pre-positioned at the entrance to Saint-Louis by the National Gendarmerie, escorted the funeral procession towards the Great Mosque of the North for the funeral prayer. The heavy and sad silence of the city was pierced by the motorcycle siren which seemed to translate the cry of pain and despair of an entire orphaned city which still wonders who, after Collot, will have the elegance, finesse, sincerity and the scale required to defend the interests of the city with courtesy, modesty and intelligence? By the grace of God, I have not lost hope, because the city still has men and women of great stature worthy of holding the torch high. When I think of Dean Madické Wade, of my big brothers Cheikh Baye Diop, Ahmed Bachir Kounta, Ibrahima Dème and Aldiaw Guèye, of Mbaye Boye Fall, Ousmane Niang Maja, Baye Moumar Guèye, Marie Madeleine, Mame Sèye Diop and other members of the Guy Seddalé, I am reassured, because these are respectable people and representatives of the city of Mame Coumba Bang.
So by the will of God the Most Merciful, Collot now rests in the cool dunes of the Saint-Louis coastline in the shade of the casuarina trees cradled by the Azores anticyclone. He rests in the tomb space where the members of his honorable family sleep for eternity. I will cite Bacar Waly Guèye, Fatou Guèye Bacar, Iba Yacine Ndiaye and Astou Guèye Mamoussé. Collot can sleep in peace, because his gigantic work will remain forever engraved in the memory of Saint-Louisians. This is why, like the infinite clamor of the ocean, my prayers and those of the majority of Senegalese people will echo eternally on Thiaka Ndiaye so that the Master of the heavens and the Earth receives him in the gardens of delights.
Text of tribute by Moumar GUEYE published on the death of this great Saint-Louisian
