11-22-25
The Night I Bought the Last Key to the Djinnë Leu  
(Dakar, Friday 13 May 2022 – everything that really happened, and everything they chose to show me when I asked only for beauty)
11/22/25 – final light
I still have the piece of jewelry I bought that night.  
I keep it in a small iron box lined with pages from an old Qur’an.  
Touch it for more than a few seconds and your palm begins to burn with cold fire, then settles into a warmth that feels like someone holding your hand.  
It is the only thing that proves I did not dream the rest.
After the tall figure in the turban of living flame heard my first wish and saw me change it at the last breath, he smiled the way the sea smiles at a child who has just learned to swim.  
I asked, quietly:  
“Let me see only the rooms that leave a person better than they arrived.”
He inclined the turban of flame like a man removing a hat in respect.  
“Rare,” he said. “Come. Seven minutes of mercy.”
This is the list I carried out glowing in my chest, written now before the glow ever dims:
1. The Mirrors of Tomorrow  
   Living mirrors that show the happiest instant you have not yet lived. I saw myself old, laughing on a rooftop surrounded by grandchildren who all had my mother’s eyes. The city kissed the mirror and whispered, “It is certain now. Walk toward it.”
2. The Market of Forgotten Things  
   Everything you ever lost waits here, free of charge. A woman found the laughter she had the day before the war took her brother. She put it on like a bright coat and left humming. The city only said, “You kept it safe for her. Thank you.”
3. The Library of Voices Never Spoken  
   Glass bottles filled with kindnesses almost said. I chose a rose-colored one. Inside: “I am proud of you every single day.” I spoke it aloud and felt my father, long gone, rest easier somewhere beyond the stars.
4. The River That Flows Upward  
   Silver water climbs to become rain elsewhere, but every coin thrown in blesses both the far fields and your own. When I tossed mine, rain fell that same night on my sister’s village and on fields in the Sahel I will never see. Abundance shared, never stolen.
5. The Tree of Changing Faces  
   Faces grow here of people you have yet to meet who will love you perfectly. Wear one for a night and you will cross paths with its owner. Return it before sunrise and years later they will recognize you across a crowded market saying, “I dreamed of you when I was small.”
6. The Hall of Unmade Things  
   Prototypes now given freely. I held the colour with no name until it settled behind my eyes; since that night, sunsets have an extra shade only I can see, and it makes me gentle with strangers.
7. The Door That Opens Only When You Lie  
   It asks for the kindest lie you ever told to spare someone pain. I spoke mine (“I’m not afraid, Mama, the treatment will be easy”). The door opened at once onto my mother, healthy and young, holding out her arms. She already knew the truth and loved me more for it. We spoke until the seven minutes gently closed the door again, both of us crying from joy.
8. The Wind That Carries Names  
   Whisper any name three times and that person feels, wherever they are, suddenly and inexplicably loved. I whispered every name I have ever carried in my heart. The wind grew warm with gratitude as it left.
9. The Well of Second Souls  
   The braver version of you reaches up and places in your hand the courage you thought you lacked. Some who look in feel their backs straighten and walk out taller. The well only ever lifts.
10. The Throne of Smoke  
    Whoever sits for one breath is filled with clear seeing for the rest of their life: they will recognize every person who needs help and know exactly what to do. When the day ends, the throne sighs in relief and says, “Thank you for ruling with mercy.”
11. The Chamber of Granted Wishes  
    (called in Wolof “Nettali bu Yàgg” – the Room That Lasts Forever)  
    At the farthest, quietest edge of the city stands a small round chamber built of dawn-colored salt. There is no door, only an archway that appears when your heart has finished asking for everyone else first.  
    Inside, the air itself is made of listening.  
    You do not speak your wish. You simply remember, clearly and without guilt, the thing you want most, for yourself or for the world.  
    The moment the wish is fully felt, not greedy, only true, the salt walls glow rose-gold and the wish is already done. Already.  
    There is no price, no hidden thirst. The city only asks that you carry the memory of being given something with no hook inside it, and spend your years trying to pass that feeling on.  
    Some wish their mother’s cancer gone. Some wish for peace in places whose names make the news bleed. Some wish for the courage to love themselves.  
    Every single wish is granted, instantly, irrevocably, gently.  
    I stood beneath that arch for what felt like one heartbeat and a thousand years. I did not wish for myself.  
    When I walked out, the chamber folded itself into a grain of dawn-colored salt and slipped into the jewelry in my fist.
When the seven minutes ended, the figure in the turban of flame touched my forehead a second time.  
“You asked for the rooms that heal,” he said softly. “They are fewer, but they are forever.”
I woke under the Trois Baobabs with sand in my mouth and dawn an hour away.  
The jewelry was in my fist, warm as living skin and pulsing gently, like a second heart that had decided only to love.
I have not gone back.  
But every new moon, when the lights begin their slow dance above the dunes at Dialaw, the little iron box shines like a tiny sun on the shelf, too bright to look at directly, and the jewelry grows lighter, as if it is learning how to fly.
One day the box will be empty, because the grain of salt will have become an archway again, and someone I love will step through it and receive whatever they secretly hoped was still possible.
On that morning I will walk south again, barefoot, carrying nothing.
And the city will open every gentle room at once, and all the healed guests who ever left will be waiting there with open hands.
If you ever find yourself at an auction that has no address, and an old Lebou man offers you something wrapped in white cloth tied seven times…  
Pay whatever he asks.  
Walk in without fear.
The Djinnë Leu never runs out of rooms.  
The ones that give are growing, and now one of them walks the earth in the pocket of a man who learned how to receive without fear.
As-salāmu ʿalaykum, neighbours.  
The lights are dancing tonight, and if you listen closely you can hear them laughing, because someone, somewhere, just got exactly what they deserved:
Everything they secretly hoped was still possible.
My own experiences are in here but not all are mine. The ring is a size 5 1/2. This is sterling and platinum and the stones are real. The blue stones are highly sought after but I can’t think of the name. If someone knows, which I do, let me know. You can wear this any way you wish or even get it sized. This is a very rare piece.