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been known by throughout the whole of West Africa before Ali was born. Of course, after Ali was born, and became old enough to travel with him sometimes, Musa Musa quickly came to be known as ‘Ali Baba’, and that stuck. Musa Musa’s father, Musa Kondey, that is Ali’s grandfather, who was long dead by the time Ali was born, had been quite rich. He had owned an impressive number of sons, cattle, horses, sheep, goats, wives and daughters. All definitely in that order of value. Since he had not been the head of his clan, he could not have owned the largest numbers of any of those commodities. But he had been a minor prince, which also meant that he would have been much wealthier than those of his contemporaries who had not been princes. Musa Musa had been one of several children from one of his father’s middle wives.
    One day, when he was about twelve years old, he had taken his share of the sheep and goats out to graze, as was expected of him. Early in the afternoon he had eaten his packed lunch and drunk his day’s ration of water. Soon after, he had felt sleepy, and had walked into a thicket that had become something of a favourite spot, and dozed. Just for a short while. Sleeping on the job was something his father punished most severely, if caught. On that particular afternoon, Musa Musa had been startled awake by the barking of his dog. He had looked around and realised that what appeared to be a small lion was running away with a goat. He was too frightened even to come out of his thicket until a while later, when the baby lion was long gone. When he did emerge and counted his animals, sure enough one kid was missing. He burst into tears. After the tears, he asked himself what he was to do. He knew that at the end of the day the animals would be counted. He knew the loss would bediscovered. He also knew his father and his punishment for losing an animal. So what was he to do? The kid was gone. By evening, when he was ready to return the animals home, he had decided. He drove the animals close enough to the kraal so that it would not be difficult for the dog to take them home. Then he disappeared.
    The next time Musa Musa ventured home, he was over forty and greying from his temples. In the meantime, he had become one of the biggest door-to-door traders of the entire sub-region. There was nothing he did not carry to sell: from safety pins, hair pins and zips to giant funerary masks and statues of gods and goddesses — some phoney and newly created, others old and authentic. These last were stolen by his enterprising contacts from royal mausoleums and sacred shrines. Later, much later, when all the countries had become independent and tourism to that part of Africa was very much in fashion, Musa Musa had set up his own group of carvers. These were his youngest brothers and nephews. The latter were the sons of his numerous sisters, and more than anything else, it was his intention to set them up in business that had taken him back to his village. His father was already dead, so there was no chance of anyone expecting him to come up with an explanation for anything … especially a goat lost over thirty years ago!
    It had been established without doubt that it was indeed him, Musa Musa. His mother, now an old woman, had remembered the tragedy of losing him and cried, and then cried some more for the joy of having him back. The next day a great feast of welcoming had been organised so that everyone could celebrate and have a nice time. A lost person does not find his way home every day.
    Depending on where he himself was heading, Musa Musa’s carvers would make any piece of wood yield any desired image. Sanufu antelope dancing headdresses, Akuaba dolls, Igbo, Yoruba and Baluba masks. He had added to his carver’s skills the art of curing wood in such a way that freshly sculptured pieces felt, looked and smelled more real and much more old than the really ancient pieces Ali used to