Last night, when I dreamt about Tahalmoyt
Of her elegant appearance, nonchalant at dusk
In the middle of the tents
I grabbed hold of Ebazaw and harnessed my saddle to him
Not any just old one; it belonged to Agadez
I donned Alacho, my most beautiful indigo turban
And my two boubou robes
I replaced the bolt of my padlock
I acted like a nobleman who doesn’t hide himself away
I perfumed myself with musk and incense
I belted myself with wool and silk
I passed through a valley where the Tihardanen* played
They made me feel happy
And I arrived at the camp above Timadjlalen