Christian Valantin has passed away.

With him disappears one of the last direct witnesses, and one of the discreet architects, of this founding moment when Senegal gave itself to itself as a Republic.

He was my uncle through the deep and lasting friendship that bound him to my uncle Cheikh Hamidou Kane — both from the same generation trained at the National School of Overseas France (ENFOM), alongside my other uncle, Babacar Ba. But he was also my friend, my Parisian neighbor, and above all an avuncular, patient and formative presence, who silently accompanied my own journey.

“Uncle Chris,” as we called him since my childhood, belonged to that rare breed of men whose lives intertwined with history without ever seeking to dominate it. A loyal friend of my family, on both my mother's and father's sides, he succeeded the young author of “Ambiguous Adventure,” which had just been published, as governor of the Thiès region when the latter was called upon to serve the State at the highest level, first as Commissioner General for Planning, then as minister, shortly before the regrettable political rift—still painful to recall—that, unfortunately, separated Léopold Sédar Senghor and Mamadou Dia. He was the son of the sister of André Guillabert, a close friend of Aboubakry Kane, who was also the brother of Cheikh Hamidou Kane's mother. The vicissitudes of political life would, for a time, place the two uncles and nephews in opposing camps, but without ever tarnishing the unwavering friendship and brotherhood that bound them.

Laudator temporis acti - Praise of ancient times - to remind us that there was a time, now almost gone, when the demons of politics could not fracture what family, blood, sense of honor and friendship had sealed in a social pact of high elevation.

In France, my friendship with my uncle Valantin deepened even further after the first political transition in 2000. It was a true school of life for me. In Paris, our homes are only a few minutes' walk apart. I visited him regularly, often bringing a large bowl of fish and rice, our national dish "thiébou djeune," which delighted the "domou Ndar," this native of Saint-Louis, Senegal, who remained deeply attached to his homeland until his dying breath. These simple moments spoke volumes about his profound connection to his native land, its flavors, and its history.

If I take up my pen today, it is not only to express my affection for a loved one, but also to pay tribute to one of the last great witnesses to the birth of the Republic of Senegal. Indeed, Christian Valantin was, trowel in hand, one of its young artisans, under the tutelage of the great builders such as Léopold Sédar Senghor, Mamadou Dia, Lamine Guèye, and so many other illustrious figures of our national history.

Educated at the Lycée Faidherbe in Saint-Louis, a true product of the French university system, he was a man of culture in the most demanding sense of the word. A genuine patriot—in an era where the word is too often emptied of its meaning—he served a country he deeply loved and to which he gave unstintingly. Proud of Senegalese culture, with its precise and refined Wolof, proud of his French culture, open to influences from elsewhere, he embodied a holistic humanism, free from rigidity or self-denial.

But to reduce "Uncle Chris" to an institutional career would be to betray his profound truth. He was above all a kind man, whose political commitment was marked by a constant attention to the rural populations of the Thiès region, to whom he remained loyal, convinced that the progress of a nation is measured first and foremost by the attention paid to its most humble.

Regional governor, chief of staff to the President of the Republic, director of the Agricultural Marketing Board (OCA), budget rapporteur with exceptional experience, respected parliamentarian, diplomat representing Senegal in the major Francophonie institutions: without fanfare or unnecessary noise, Christian Valantin understood the essence of the State. He embodied its mystique, the deep conviction that the State is not a cold abstraction, but a pedagogy and a moral imperative, a promise of cohesion, a collective transcendence.

I visited him a few weeks ago on rue de la Croix-Nivert in the 15th arrondissement of Paris. He was happy about my visit and relieved to return a book that I had lent him and that he had had trouble finding among the piles of books that filled his apartment.

It was "La Plume raboutée" (The Repaired Pen), the first volume of the memoirs of the great Birago Diop, that luminous pioneer of Senegalese literature, so deeply attached to Saint-Louis and to the Lycée Faidherbe which prepared him and opened the doors of the National Veterinary School of Toulouse to him. Having returned the book, we spoke of Senegal for many hours: of a country he knew intimately, that he loved passionately, that he had helped to build, and for which he still suffered as much as he hoped.

Christian Valantin was an open-minded, attentive man, curious about the world and its people. He stood in stark contrast to narrow-minded nationalisms and declamatory, destructive posturing. He was a child of this crossroads, this link between sea and river, where traditional Senegalese culture, French culture, and Arab-Islamic influences have harmoniously blended. I remain convinced that it is this "chemistry of fusion and synthesis" that has shaped who we have been, and remains who we must become again in order to be reborn and fully inhabit the rapidly changing world, the world of tomorrow.

May Christian Valantin's journey inspire our youth: to be firmly rooted in the values of the motherland, while remaining open, without fear or arrogance, to the enriching contributions of other cultures. It is under these conditions that lasting nations are built.

Rest in peace, dear Uncle Christian Valantin.

Your life remains, for all of us, a lesson in fidelity, moderation, and hope.

Hamidou Sall

Writer