{"id":22389,"date":"2025-10-30T12:02:12","date_gmt":"2025-10-30T09:02:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mybook.am\/?p=22389"},"modified":"2025-10-30T12:02:13","modified_gmt":"2025-10-30T09:02:13","slug":"elle-setait-rendue-au-coeur-de-lafrique-par-amour-mais-le-veritable-voyage-de-retour-ne-commenca-quau-moment-de-son-depart","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mybook.am\/?p=22389","title":{"rendered":"Elle s’\u00e9tait rendue au c\u0153ur de l’Afrique par amour. Mais le v\u00e9ritable voyage de retour ne commen\u00e7a qu’au moment de son d\u00e9part."},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Le sable lui br\u00fblait les pieds, le soleil l’aveuglait et l’air embaumait la fum\u00e9e et le lait. Corinne foulait le sol kenyan, cette m\u00eame terre o\u00f9 son \u00ab oui \u00bb fou \u00e0 son c\u0153ur l’avait men\u00e9e. La veille encore, elle travaillait derri\u00e8re le comptoir d’un magasin suisse, et aujourd’hui, elle portait une cruche d’eau sur la t\u00eate, parmi des femmes en sarongs color\u00e9s. Tout autour d’elle lui semblait \u00e9tranger, et pourtant, douloureusement r\u00e9el. Elle avait choisi l’amour. Et l’amour, comme on dit, ne conna\u00eet pas de fronti\u00e8res.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Au d\u00e9but, elle eut l’impression de r\u00eaver. Des hommes arm\u00e9s de lances, de la terre rouge sous ses pieds, le son des tambours la nuit. Son rire, doux comme le miel. Son regard, aussi assur\u00e9 que le soleil sur la savane. Corinne r\u00e9apprenait tout : comment cuisiner sur des braises, d\u00e9chiffrer le langage des signes, supporter la chaleur et les insectes. \u00c0 la naissance de sa fille, elle eut pour la premi\u00e8re fois le sentiment d’appartenir \u00e0 ce monde, comme si la Suisse n’\u00e9tait plus qu’un lointain r\u00eave et le Kenya, sa nouvelle r\u00e9alit\u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mais la v\u00e9rit\u00e9 est rarement unique. Au d\u00e9but, c’\u00e9taient les petites choses \u2013 les non-dits, les malentendus dans les regards. Puis, un silence pesant o\u00f9 tout s’accumulait : la fatigue, la jalousie, le foss\u00e9 des cultures, les attentes, les respirations. Elle regarda son mari et comprit : entre eux d\u00e9sormais, il n’y avait plus d’amour, mais un gouffre entre deux mondes, trop diff\u00e9rents pour se rejoindre. Et pourtant, comment partir quand le c\u0153ur s’accroche encore ?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Parfois, la nuit, elle s’asseyait pr\u00e8s de la hutte et \u00e9coutait les cris des chacals. \u00ab Est-ce cela ma vie ? \u00bb se demandait-elle. Le vent lui r\u00e9pondit par le silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Votre foyer vous manque ? \u00bb lui demanda un jour une voisine, une vieille femme aux yeux emplis de sagesse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u00ab Qu’est-ce que le foyer ? \u00bb r\u00e9pondit Corinne. La femme se contenta d’acquiescer, comme si elle savait que la r\u00e9ponse ne viendrait pas par les mots, mais par le temps.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Le tournant ne survint ni dans la temp\u00eate, ni dans les larmes. Un jour, elle se r\u00e9veilla simplement et sentit le calme l’envahir. L’amour n’avait pas disparu, mais il \u00e9tait devenu lourd, comme une pierre port\u00e9e par habitude. Alors, elle prit sa fille dans ses bras et se mit en route. Pas d’adieux, pas de mots forts. Seulement le bruit de ses pas dans la poussi\u00e8re matinale et le doux bruissement de l’herbe qui s’\u00e9cartait devant elle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Son voyage de retour fut long, non pas en kilom\u00e8tres, mais en conscience. Dans l’avion, elle regarda par le hublot : les nuages \u200b\u200bd\u00e9filaient sous l’aile, comme des pages tourn\u00e9es par une pr\u00e9sence invisible. Elle comprit : ce n’\u00e9tait pas la Corinne partie qui revenait. En cette nouvelle Corinne, deux femmes s’\u00e9taient unies : la Suissesse et l’\u00e9pouse masa\u00ef. L’une avait appris \u00e0 aimer, l’autre \u00e0 l\u00e2cher prise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Partir, est-ce un \u00e9chec ? Ou peut-\u00eatre est-ce l\u00e0 la plus haute manifestation de force : reconna\u00eetre que l’amour n’a pas besoin de s’accrocher pour \u00eatre vrai ? Parfois, il faut desserrer son emprise, de peur de se perdre avec celui ou celle qu’on aime.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

En Suisse, l’air lui paraissait st\u00e9rile, les rues trop lisses. Mais en elle, r\u00e9gnait un silence diff\u00e9rent \u2013 \u200b\u200bnon pas le vide, mais une r\u00e9alit\u00e9 accept\u00e9e. Elle ne recherchait plus l’id\u00e9al. Elle portait l’Afrique en elle \u2013 non comme une perte, mais comme la preuve que le c\u0153ur est capable de folie, et l’esprit de pardon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Un jour, elle posa une vieille photo sur l’\u00e9tag\u00e8re : lui, elle et leur fille \u2013 sur fond de savane, o\u00f9 la poussi\u00e8re se m\u00eale au cr\u00e9puscule. Et elle sourit. Car elle avait compris : le retour aux sources n’est pas un simple retour, mais un \u00e9veil.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Et l’amour\u2026 il est toujours l\u00e0 o\u00f9 il a commenc\u00e9. Seulement maintenant \u2013 en elle.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Le sable lui br\u00fblait les pieds, le soleil l’aveuglait et l’air embaumait la fum\u00e9e et le lait. Corinne foulait le sol kenyan, cette \n [...]<\/a>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":22390,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-22389","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fotto"],"yoast_head":"\nElle s'\u00e9tait rendue au c\u0153ur de l'Afrique par amour. 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