Where is the Roommate Love? Right here.

Understanding the end of this post requires a passing knowledge of Islam and The Black Eyed Peas

This post is going to be dedicated to my roommate, Boubacar Diao Diallo, or Boubs, as he hates to be called.

Emmanuel told me that “There will be two dates on your tombstone, and the only thing that matters is the dash in between them.” Boubacar embodies that ideal; he attacks life in the same way that I attack chocolate cupcakes: positively. Speaking of assaulting edibles, Boubacar also eats twice his weight in food every day, a feat made all the more impressive when one realizes how small the portions are here. Let’s just say that he is as surreptitious as he is friendly.

Since Boubacar told me that one of his goals in learning English is to be able to read my blog, I’m not going to go into too much more detail in describing him. But I will draw him! When Boubacar relaxes all of the muscles in his body, this is what he looks like:


Boubacar and I get along very well, partially because it’s impossible to not get along with him, and partially because I help him with English. In fact, I have already taught him some absolutely vital vocabulary. Examples include: “practice what you preach”, “she cleans up well” and “peanut butter”. At the time, I didn’t realize that he’d worked on a peanut farm for a whole summer, and in hindsight that would have helped get the message across. In any case, we do get lost in translation occasionally. Yesterday, I told Boubacar that it was Mahatma Gandhi’s birthday, and he apparently only heard one syllable because he replied, “Why are you hot?”

Boubacar is also the only Muslim I have ever lived with. The first time he prayed while I was in the room, I sat completely still and busied myself by adjusting my watch. But about two weeks later, I realized just how little he cared about distractions. The other day, Boubacar turned on “Where is the Love” (by the Black Eyed Peas) and then immediately started praying. I could only imagine what was happening in his head. So I did:

“Allaaahu Akbar…Islam means to surrender, but I’m going to surrender to Will.i.am’s greatness first. After all, I gotta keep my faith alive ‘till love is found. That’s why I’m praying! Ashhadu Allah ilaaha illa-Lah…I bear witness that there is none worthy of worship except God. Send some guidance from above! Yes, that makes sense in this context, well said Justin Timberlake! Hayya’ alas Salaah. Where is the love? Surah 12, that’s where it is.”

(For the record, Surah 12 does mention love.)

As you may have noticed by now, Boubacar loves “Where is The Love”. As a matter of fact, it is one his twelve favorite songs. That is because he listens to music from his phone…which has twelve songs. I like eleven of them. Boubacar is positive, focused, and considerate; he shares everything, from lamps to adaptors to chocolate. But there is one drawback to having him as a roommate: the sentence “a diva is a female version of a hustler” now sends me into uncontrollable fits of rage. For God’s sake, if Beyoncé is so good at singing, why can’t she just sing that line? It sounds horrible, and it’s not even true! A diva is a female version of Freddy Mercury.