For months I have been receiving reports. Like the Loch Ness Monster, there had been unprece-dented sightings between Kolda and Velingara, a distance too vast to legitimize the claims. He had stealthily eluded my earnest pursuance... until now!You see, there is a man with a green push-cart who, like the Ice Cream Man in America, lets you know he's coming by squeezing his clown horn. He travels with his cart throughout the region to weekly markets along the Route Nationale highway selling ice cream cones! That's right. The front of his cart has stacks and stacks of tiny cones like the ones Diary Queen keeps on hand for small children, spoiled pets and hungry employees. And on the top of this cart is one tiny hinged door which houses and equally small container of pink, yellow and green swirled ice cream. It is magical - and until last Saturday, I thought it was also just make-believe.
But it is real. It is also cold. It is nothing more than glorified ice milk, but, Oh, it is glorious. I have no idea how he keeps it cold, transports his cart or where he got his start. But I'm buyin' what he's sellin' and hopin' he is willing to consider franchising!
I had spotted him in Dabo, my road town, on Saturday morning as the weekly market was setting up, but I no more than blinked and I lost him in the shuffle. I was sure he was gone forever, but just as I was heading out to go back to village, he rounded a corner and set up shop under the last tree on the edge of town - DESTINY! I paid him my 50 CFA, strongly considered taking a picture of my petite cone and enjoyed every moment of coldness.
