Rowan, Vicki and I joined a night rounds team last Thursday. Rowan and I have participated in night rounds many times over many years. And yet, I am shocked each and every time. The experience always seems to need to sit within me for a few days, locked away until I feel ready to process. Now, I am ready to write about it. Letting it out of my mind and onto the page helps.
An article I wrote about Ronde de Nuits a few years ago
We arrived at the Maison de la Gare center at 11pm, an hour earlier than when we have done this work on previous visits. The door was unlocked, we were expected. The night guard was seated where he could keep an eye both on the front gate and the dortoir d’urgence.
There were already two new talibé boys in the dortoir that Abdou had brought in earlier in the evening. A local social agency had found the two sleeping on the streets and had sought out a Maison de la Gare representative and handed the boys over. And there was a third still in the dortoir from the previous week, waiting until MDG could arrange to return him to his home village of Kaolak, many hours journey from Saint Louis. I had met Samba, a nine year old boy, the day before. He had run away from his daara, he has had enough of the abuse and he wants to go home. He has not seen his family in five years. He looks about the size of a six year old child, it is too much. When one has to beg for everything they eat, malnutrition is real. It was good to see him smile as we spoke with him about going home. Happiness was not likely a common feeling for Samba.
The rest of the night rounds team arrived. We split into two groups and set off in opposite directions, in search of talibés en fugue, boys who had chosen to run from their oppressors, preferring the unknown dangers of being alone on the streets to the known dangers of modern slavery they lived with in the daara. it is uncomfortable to imagine what might induce a boy to run when on the streets they are alone, must always hide to avoid capture and punishment. And so it must be even harder to find enough to eat. At night worse dangers lie in wait, in the form of sexual predators and those who would take advantage of the opportunity to sell a child into slavery in nearby Mauritania. I am assured there are even worse fates as well, there are stories that I cannot bring myself to put to the page.
Rowan, Vicki, Mamadou Gueye and I hopped into a taxi and headed toward the Gare Routiere, a place where we have never failed to find talibés en fugue. But we were not on the road long before we pulled over. We spotted a group of small boys curled up in their t-shirts, asleep on a storefront step, illuminated by the street lights. Sometimes the boys feel it is safer to risk being found by their marabout than to risk being found by other, more dangerous predators. There is a measure of safety in the light.
We approached the boys. Mamadou first spoke to a nearby group of men, to ask how long the boys had been there and to learn if they were known. Talibés en fugue. He gently laid a hand on the arm of one sleeping boy, to wake him. He spoke gently in wolof to the boy, inviting him to come to Maison de la Gare to sleep and eat and be safe. Maison de la Gare and the night rounds team are well known as being safe and trustworthy. But did the boy know us? He came. The other boy, too, decided to follow us. We all squished back into the taxi, two scruffy, cold little boys snuggled in the back seat with us. One of the children was so exhausted he fell asleep as soon as his body touched the seat. We delivered the two back to Maison de la Gare. The sleeping boy would not wake up and I carried him in. Vicki led the second boy. We tucked them into the bunkbeds in the dortoir with the other three boys who did not wake when we arrived. The two new boys crawled under blankets on likely the first beds they had ever in their lives slept on, and were soon fast asleep. I can only imagine their mental, emotional, and physical exhaustion. No questions, no curiosity…just sleep.
Back into another taxi, and we were off again toward the Gare Routiere. There are many groups of adults here, selling wares, drinking, cooking, watching. Many of the car and bus drivers, as well as the merchants sleep in the open here, ready to work again the next day. Unfortunately, this situation creates very dangerous conditions for talibés en fugue. A talibé can lie down to sleep, and wake up under a blanket with a man who has laid down to sleep behind him. Many sexual assaults happen in this manner, I am told. There are also many dark alleys and not much light, a good place to hide. But also a good place for trouble. I am happy for my martial arts skills. We stay close together as we search.
Flashlights shone in car windows, under busses, into alleys. In a sheltered area with many sleeping adults and youth, there was a very small bundle. Talibé. Again Mamadou approached the boy. The child knew Maison de la Gare and he came with us. Two more little boys were found. We walked together toward the main road to find a taxi. The first three taxis that stopped were not interested in the fare. Too many people, and talibés! eventually we flagged two taxis and split into two groups. Two talibés travelled with Vicki and I. Rowan, Mamadou and the other talibé went together. Vicki and I arrived back at Maison de la Gare and led the two boys in. The others arrived soon thereafter. Now there were nine talibés in eight dortoir beds. But the second team had not yet arrived. Perhaps they would find no runaways tonight.
The second team soon arrived with four more little talibés. They were all so small! Too young and innocent for such a life. The boys were tucked into bed, with two each in five of the bunks. There were not enough covers. Mosquito nets were used as blankets. Within minutes, all thirteen were asleep. The next day the social workers would arrive and the boys would be sorted.
The talibés would sleep safe and sound in beds for perhaps the first time since leaving home. But sleep proved elusive that night for Rowan, Vicki and I.
'
