He guessed from his French accent that he was from Senegal. Every day, he saw new faces in the neighborhood. He blessed him and continued on his way. In the middle of the next block, he greeted the man known as Quaco. He was from Nigeria and his birth name was Johnathan Dankur. “As-Salaam Alaikum Quaco. And what are you today? A beggar?”

Quaco was wearing jeans with holes at the knees and a raggedy denim shirt. He was using a knit cap as a kashkul, a beggar’s gourd.

“Wa alaikum salam,” Quaco replied. “No, I am not a beggar. The money people give me is for Allah.”

“Do you plan to give money to the Mosque?”

Quaco smiled slyly, “Is it not Allah’s wish to sustain me so I can continue to pray at the Mosque? That is the same as giving to the Mosque.”

The Imam chuckled, amused by his self-serving ‘alms for Allah’ explanation. He gave Quaco a dollar in observance of zakat. A week ago he had seen Quaco handing out flyers; before that, he was reading palms and telling fortunes. Quaco’s moving from job to job was in the tradition of the Hausa from Nigeria. Quaco was a shrewd businessman but also a scoundrel.

“Is there any news of Jean-Paul?” Quaco asked, as he pocketed the dollar.

The Imam sighed. “I have heard nothing. I’m on my way to comfort Isia at the market.”

“Give her my blessing,” Quaco said.

The holy man admired Quaco’s concern. It was hard to believe he and Jean-Paul were once bitter rivals. Jean-Paul Lumier was a street peddler from Senegal who sold Kente cloth and knock off apparel at the corner.