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N’Doye followed her eyes. Standing in the doorway opposite Yay Bineta was watching them. Intuition told the Badyen that the co-wives were discussing her goddaughter. She moved off.
    After a moment Adja Awa Astou went on:
    â€˜It is Yay Bineta who is your rival. I have never entered the fray. I am incapable of fighting or rivalry. You know that yourself. When you were a young bride you never knew I existed. I have been the awa for nearly twenty years now, and how many years have you been his wife, my second?’
    â€˜Seventeen years, I think.’
    â€˜Do you know how many times we have met?’
    â€˜To tell the truth I don’t,’ admitted Oumi N’Doye.
    â€˜Seven times! During the fifteen or so years you have been the second wife that man, the same man, has left me every three days to spend three nights with you, going from your bedroom to mine. Have you ever thought about it?’
    â€˜No,’ said Oumi N’Doye.
    â€˜And you have never been to see me!’
    â€˜Yet you have come to see me several times. I really don’t know why I have never visited you.’
    â€˜Because you regarded me as your rival.’
    The Badyen interrupted them. ‘You have eaten nothing! Come on, help yourselves. You must act as if you were at home.’ She placed a tray of drinks beside them.
    Adja Awa Astou drank. Before raising the glass to her mouth Oumi N’Doye dipped her little finger into the liquid and scattered a few drops on the floor. Scandalized, Yay Bineta hurried off.
    â€˜The bride! The bride!’
    The rest of the sentence was drowned in the general uproar that followed. A fanfare of car horns reverberated through the air. A thick-set woman with a shoe in her hand rushed towards the door. She was knocked over and fell to the floor. Her tight-fitting dress split, a long, horizontal tear which exposed her behind. She was helped back to her feet by a couple of women and roundly abused the male guests for their lack of manners and consideration for women.
    Yay Bineta, the Badyen, pushed the crowd aside. In keeping with
their usual exhibitionism the President of the ‘Businessmen’s Group’ led El Hadji forward to meet his bride.
    El Hadji Abdou Kader Beye’s head had been covered in a cloth.
    The two co-wives went to the top of the stairs. From this vantage point they followed the enthronement. They too, at the start of their own marriages, had lived that moment, their hearts full of promise and joy. As they watched someone else’s happiness the memory of their own weddings left a nasty taste. Eaten up with a painful bitterness they shared a common sense of abandonment and loneliness. Neither spoke.
    Already El Hadji was on the dance-floor with his bride, inaugurating the festivities that were to last all night. The band played the inevitable Comparsita. After the tango came a rock-‘n’-roll number and the young people invaded the floor.
    Things had got off to a good start.
    Twelve men, each carrying a spit-roasted lamb, made their entrance. In their enthusiasm some guests beat the furniture with any object they could lay their hands on, while others simply applauded.
    Adja Awa Astou hid her chagrin with a show of forced laughter.
    â€˜Oumi,’ she called softly, ‘I am going to slip away.’
    â€˜Stay a little longer.... Don’t leave me alone.’
    â€˜I’ve left the children by themselves at the villa.’
    Adja shook her co-wife’s hand and went down the stairs. She walked along the edge of the dance floor and reached the street, which was lined with parked cars.
    â€˜Take me home.’
    Back at the villa Adja Awa Astou felt unwell. She hid it from her children as they assailed her with questions about the festivities. She had thought jealousy was banished from her heart. When long ago her husband had taken a second wife, she had hidden her unhappiness. The suffering had been less then, for that was the year