The blogger, with the sleeves rolled up, got on the keyboard, wrote a title, and then remained as blank as the Word’s page before him. A little uneasiness climbed up along his gullet, just to stop before the mouth. He remained vacuous. He loosened the collar with the forefinger, lit a cigarette, smoked it down to the filter and killed it off in the coffee cup. Nothing. For a good ten minutes he was looking absent at a point beyond the screen. Then his sight returned to focus on the only written line, the title. His encephalogram was still flat. His unrest was now becoming a dull anger walking the lateral walls of a skull otherwise filled with void. For nth time he reread the line, “In the Death Row” … What in hell could he be writing about someone sentenced to death? He had never been in jail, and yet he was going to paint the despair stuffed in insane cells; He had not met in his life other than gray employees without romantic prestige and peaceful obscure neighbors, yet he was going to depict deranged characters; He had never thought much about death, even though last month he had flu, yet he purported to describe the blackest hours of a convicted.
His rapacious landlord, with whom he had argued a few hours before, struck him as the presidio’s Director, and the indifferent readers of his blog as the unconcerned guards; The misery threatening the building in which he lived resembled the prison itself, his hopeless neighbors, the other inmates; And in describing the sordid and overwhelming plot evolving within the cell, the writer thought of his miserable life without success, governed by deaf and fatal forces, within the four walls of his small and shadowy apartment just illuminated with the dim light of a fascinating, magic and supernatural hope, percolating through the small window of his computer. He began pounding the keyboard with great speed, and the page was quickly filled with black fonts. Fainting, for a second, it occurred to him that no one would ask for a review of his sentence, his appeal would be exhausted and clemency denied, so he decided to kill that miserable without further ado.
In the death row – Dugutigui
In the “Diula” language in Mali, the term « dugutigui » (chief of the village), literally translated, means: «owner of the village»; «dugu» means village and «tigui», owner. Probably the term is the result of the contraction of «dugu kuntigui» (literally: chief of the village).