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Near the main mosque is an enormous fig tree; the sort that drops descenders to take root and provide secondary supports; it's impressive and I guess very old. White robed men are making their way past us and Salah explains that he too would like to go if I wouldn't mind hanging around in the market area he would come and find me later. It's no hardship at all.I stop for another coffee and soon find I have an audience of 20 people I guess; it's a bit of a novelty having a white-man in town. I'm the centre of attention and of course, taking photos makes things worse.
There's a lot to see: the chap next to me has leather cased charms on a bracelet around his upper arm. There's a boy on a haystack on a donkey, a lady selling peanuts, a butcher and eventually a camel coming towards me framed by a lovely avenue of trees.After prayers Salah leads me to the home of a family where he wants to pay his "last respects" and then we walk on along a sandy road in the burning sun for about 15 minutes to his family home.
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