As I got into the bunged-up canary yellow Mercedes taxi, the liquid chants of the Koran wafted over my ears.
“Do you understand?” I asked in Arabic pointing at the radio.
“No, but I love it”. The young Bambara guy was obviously hungry for something from the tiny sound system.
“Lord Jesus”, I breathed quietly within, “You have the peace he longs for. Yeah. I should let him know that. Ok.”
We stopped at the house and paid.
“You’re looking for peace aren’t you?” again pointing to the radio.
“Yes.” he nodded.
“You know the prophet Isa*, yes?” Head bobs. “I follow him. He gave me the peace you are searching for. I pray God gives you the same peace I have.”
Eyes huge, speechless before a wacked-out white foreigner, he stared at me.
We got out.
“But Jesus, would you stay in his taxi and show him the way?”
*In this culture, Jesus is known as “Isa.”