Suxali

Candidates for Bourse Suxali

My daughter, Rowan has big plans for this year’s trip to Senegal. Last year she planned for and helped establish a new communications position for Maison de la Gare, a local Senegalese to take over some of the communications work we, and in particular my Dad, do from Canada. How would she top that this year? 

Rowan studied international development in university, developing many ideas herself about what NOT to do. During her degree she had extensively researched and written about the talibé system in Senegal, its causes, and levers, and possible solutions. She has also been here fourteen times before, and had visited the bush region of M’Baye Aw in the desert twice. She had a theory. Education should help change social norms and diminish modern forms of slavery - for girls as well as boys, for some interesting reasons.

The newest school, built this year.

The remote villages had few or no schools. Young boys were often sent to the city to be talibés, and they rarely returned, emptying the villages of much male youth. For many families the prospect of learning the Quran in a daara was the only educational opportunity their boys would have. The girls married polygamously and young. Forced marriage at the age of twelve is common in these villages. It had a certain sad logic. No young boys, way more remaining females than males, poverty, no schools for the girls anyways, and the begging daaras are only for boys…

We have been involved for some time with a project of helping build and reinforce schools and financing teachers in several remote village schools. This was the idea and project of a friend of ours from the area, and we supported his dream for his region over the years, and linked the project with Maison de la Gare. Amazing things began to happen after the first school was built. Parents stopped sending their boys to the city to be talibés. Girls started to attend school too. Talibés in the city from the region were identified, rescued and returned home. After many years of this schools project there are now over 560 students, almost half are girls. And, no more talibés from these particular villages that have access to schools! Although classes in the villages end at age fourteen, some intrepid students who want to continue their studies into high school move to town, about three hours drive away, and billet with relatives. Some girls even, despite the unimaginable challenges they face, have extended their studies in this way. Once a passion for learning is lit, it burns.

Rowan and I visiting one of the schools several years ago

Last year when I visited the region with Rowan and also my son Robbie, something new appeared to be happening. When meeting the students from the villages that had travelled to the nearest town, Dahra Diollof to write government year end exams, we were met multiple young girls who were being pressured to marry. The age seemed to be increasing, though. Previously it had been age twelve, and now it they told us age fourteen was becoming more typical. But social norms take time to change. The reasons that caused this problem may no longer be in place. But customs and tradition remain.  Some girls told us they would soon be forced to marry by their parents. They begged for our help because they wanted to continue to study and not marry.

And so, we are establishing a “full ride” scholarship, Bourse Suxali: For Women at the Heart of Development of their Communities. We have set it up through the Canadian charitable foundation, C.F. Johnston.  The first Bourse Suxali offered is for the 2023-2024 academic year. For a girl in her final year of high school. A girl from the M’Baye Aw villages region. On condition she receives her high school diploma. To study post secondary health sciences of some kind (the idea of our friend, physiotherapist Vicki Chase who travelled with us). For up to three years- the time required to earn health credentials. Preference for an unmarried girl. For someone who wants to then return to help her village continue to develop and improve, and provide an example to other girls, and boys also, that education leads to better things not just for oneself, but for the community as a whole.

Rowan in front of a Dahra Diollof high school

During this week’s trip to the villages, Rowan, Vicki and I met the president of a Dahra Diollof high school where five of the eleven girls from the region in their final year are currently studying. And we met with the girls themselves to ask about their hopes and dreams, to deliver the scholarship information and inform them of next steps. Two want to be lawyers, one an architect or geographer, one wants to join the army, and another dreams of health care. We also met one girl in Saint Louis who had run away from her village to pursue her education. She is in her final year and is an eligible candidate for Suxali. She wants to become a nurse. The president of the high school will take responsibility for informing the other five eligible girls from the other schools, as well as those now two and three years away from graduation, so they will be inspired to work harder and also spread the word, should this first scholarship and funding go well and we can offer more.

Cheikh, and administrator and some of the candidates sharing their education dreams.

Our friend Cheikh, the president of the village schools association, l’Association pour la rétention  des enfants en village et la diminution du mariage précoce, is certain the existence of Bourse Suxali will incentivize more parents to allow, even encourage their daughters to continue to study into high school and help relieve the pressure of forced early marriage. Rowan planned and is leading the execution of this scholarship. Vicki helped us define and refine it. We have funded the first year of Bourse Suxali, and there is time enough to fund the rest. It is Rowan’s and our great hope that we can fundraise sufficiently to enable a new Bourse Suxali to be offered every academic year to a new graduating student. And we would love to eventually offer a scholarship for boys as well, as they face terrible, albeit different challenges. Education is saving them from the fate of being forced begging talibés, and offering hope. Pas a pas, s’avance. Education changes everything. 

 

Preparing for the Big Day

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For many talibés of Maison de la Gare karate is everything. It is something for them alone, when their world takes everything from them. It is confidence. It is strength, it is respect. It is passion. It is perseverance. It is family. It is hope.

Usually when we visit Maison de la Gare my son, Robbie and I and sometimes some other Canadian karate friends sponsor a karate tournament for the talibé karatekas of MDG. Since Robbie did not accompany me on this trip I was going to postpone until the next time he could be here. But Robbie insisted we go ahead, as it has been 16 months since his last visit and the last tournament, and it is such a wonderful event for these kids. Even better, he insisted on sponsoring the event to be sure it went ahead. (There is no budget at MDG for tournaments, gis, or even the membership fees - charitable grants are scarce these days. Everything depends on donations.)

Robbie with last year’s winners

We informed Sensei Ignéty Ba of Sor Karate in advance of my arrival so he could prepare a list of karatekas who would be invited to compete, and inform them of the impending opportunity. There are two groups of Maison de la Gare karate students. About 30 young ones practice at the MDG centre Thursday and Friday mornings, and 34 older, more experienced ones who are sponsored by donors in Canada and www.Globalgiving.org to be members at the Sor dojo. When I arrived at the centre last week Sensei let me know that in preparing the competition list he realized eleven of the young students at the centre had been practicing karate diligently and passionately for at least a year, in some cases several. He felt that despite being too young to be permitted by their marabouts  (the person who controls them in the daaras they live in and forces them to beg for quotas of money) to join the dojo as members, they deserved WKF licenses and to test for yellow. Of course Robbie and I agreed!

morning training

My first Thursday at the centre we announced to the young ones the eleven names of those who would be invited to test for yellow. Nine of them were present, and very excited about the prospect. The word would be spread to the other two. And all 29 were invited to participate in the tournament the following week. The next day I donned my gi and helped the kids prepare for the competition as well as for the rigorous grading test that awaited them. From past gradings Robbie and I have been invited to attend, I knew the pass rate to be about 60-70%. And we knew the main issue to be mixing up the Japanese names of different forms and stances and strikes and blocks. So I knew exactly what to help them practice. Interestingly, these kids has been passionate white belts for so long, they did not have the usual issues. The knew cold their Oisuki, Gyakusuki, adusuki, sotouki, garambarai, maegeri, their katas, and which was shodan, nidan, godan…and the kihon kumités looked good too. They all knew exactly when to Kia and how and when to salute. I had high hopes for grading day.

That night I also visited the dojo Sor Club to see the older MDG kids. They were also informed of the competition, and were very happy about the prospect for experience and the prizes. The Club Sor Demo team also planned a demonstration at the event. A visiting Karate Master from France was teaching a seminar that night, a great opportunity for the students. The President of the Regional WKF Association also attended the session, to greet the visiting Master. After. class, Sensei Ignety introduced all three of us, and thanked us for our long term engagement and love and support of the sport of karate. He also thanked Robbie indicating the MDG program and the hundreds of children it hasdeveloped in karate would not have been possible  without him. The Federation President similarly proceeded to thank us and discus the importance of karate to all martial artists and in particular to the talibés. I left the dojo that night feeling very humbled and honoured to be part of this amazing karate journey in Senegal. And…very proud of Robbie Hughes.

I arranged to meet the karateka hopefuls for the grading the following week at the center. We would distribute the donated gis I had brought from Canada, then walk to the dojo together for grading. The following day would be the tournament and the announcement of those who had successfully ascended to yellow. 

On grading day, some very worn out gis were exchanged, other very much too small ones were replaced. A final run-through of how to approach the ring, enter the ring, salute, and exit was reviewed for those who had only ever experience karate on the sand and never on a mat. Then we all set off together to walk from Maison de la Gare to the Sor Club dojo. We made our way through the streets, past vendors, down alleys, all at a brisk pace so as to arrive on time. I felt a bit like the pied piper for the 20 minute walk.

grading

After arriving at the dojo the kids donned their gis and lined up. Ten. Finally the eleventh, a yellow going for orange arrived. This was not his first time here, but for the others it was. Sensei would allow them to all remain in the dojo together, although they would be graded one at a time. This was a kindness, as usually all candidates wait outside and are invited in to grade one by one. For the candidates, nerves were understandably on edge. Expectations were high. Everything felt like it was on the line. The first name was called and I held my breath.

He began, and I let out my breath. He had this. And so did the next. And the next. I settled back and began to relax. But then, a very nervous boy turned the wrong way during taekyoku shodan. So hard to recover from that. He was thrown completely off. My heart broke as he was invited to step aside. There were no more mistakes from the remaining candidates. I was impressed! 

After grading the older karatekas arrived to help prepare the mats to be transported to the MDG center for the tournament. A horse-drawn cart arrived and the mats were loaded on. Night had descended, and the lights in the dojo had failed. But the cart was duly loaded up, and off it went to deliver the load.

The next day would be tournament day, souba. The successful grading candidates would be belted. And everyone would have their shot at glory! So much still to look forward to.

Ronde de Nuit, Encore

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.

Sound asleep in the taxi on the way back to MDG

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 social worker discovering their stories the next day

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.

Jump Right In

Jet-lag is real. But there is not enough time for sleep, so…whatever. I was excited to arrive at the Maison de la Gare centre today, to greet old friends, introduce my friend Vicki, and get a sense of how to organize our objectives for the next two weeks. Walking down the alley across from the soccer stadium and through the gates of Maison de la Gare always feels like coming home. 

Kalidou introduced me to a new group of apprentices studying in the couture program. Several girls from the surrounding community and two talibés will spend a year training and preparing for independence as tailors. Kalidou is helping to train and guide these youths. He also teaches a very popular English class every afternoon at MDG. Kalidou is a wonderful example for the talibés as he was a talibé himself for so many years. He never attended formal school. Nevertheless, he learned French, and to read and write in the MDG classes and taught himself English, becoming fluent over the years by learning from international volunteers. 

Kalidou with MDG founder when a talibé child himself

I met a little talibé in the dortoir. He is 9 years old, and politely introduced himself to me. A local social agency had found him on the streets after he had run away from his daara where he has lived and been forced to beg for the past 5 years. His family is in Dakar, not nearly so far away as for many talibés here. But they may as well live on the moon, as this little boy has not seen his parents since the age of four when he was entrusted to a marabout in Saint Louis and his abuse and exploitation began. When MDG receives or finds runaway talibés or other street children they are granted 72 hours from the authorities to discover the child’s story, investigate the factors that caused the child to run away, including possible (likely) extreme abuse in the daara, and to determine if it is possible to reunite the child with his family. No funds are provided from the government for this service, but MDG will never refuse a child. In fact, twice a week teams from the centre venture out at night, combing the streets in search of runaway talibés to rescue. One night later this week, Rowan, Vicki and I will join a Ronde de Nuit. 

Runaway Talibés we rescued when I was on a previous Ronde de Nuit

While at the centre, discussing with Lala the karate tournament I have planned for next week, a news crew from the television station tfm arrived to interview some staff members about MDG’s work with talibés for World Children’s Day. After interviewing Ndaraw Diop about the micro-finance program and the talibé calamity in Saint Louis they overheard my conversation and asked to interview me too. 

I was questioned about the karate program and the importance of sports to developing confidence and a sense of family to kids who have lots theirs. I was astonished to learn the segment featuring Maison de la Gare and my interview was featured on tonight’s 8pm national news.  https://youtu.be/pga0Dw-kBdI?feature=shared

This afternoon we attended the baptism celebration of the new baby of some dear friends. Mohammed received his name today. I was also able to re-connect with my lovely little Goddaughter, Sonia. 

Our friends recently had to move to a new house, just as Mohammed’s mother was ready to give birth, the roof of their rented home had collapsed on the family as they were sleeping! We are continuously offered opportunities to reflect here on how fortunate we are in the relative security of our our living situations in Canada. The definitions of “housing crisis” are quite different in our two worlds.

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Tomorrow we head back to MDG. And we can’t wait to jump right in. 

Senegal Reflections

My daughter, Rowan, my Dad, Rod, and I are on our way again. It is amazing to realize I have thought or written or said this phrase 22 times now since that first trip to Senegal in 2010. I recall the feeling of stepping out of the airplane and into the African sun over 13 years ago. I had longed to see this continent that my sisters and nieces and nephew descended from so many generations ago. Where we all did, so many dozens of centuries before that.

Although walking down the steps of the airplane has become familiar, each trip here uncovers something new, brings new lessons, and still offers a deep sense wonder. At the vastness of the land. At the harsh natural and unnatural justice that seems to reign here. At the generosity and hospitality I experience every time. At the hope that persists, despite everything. At the grace so many seem to attain. 

Occasionally we unwittingly allow the mistake of feeling a sense that we are getting to know this place. But then that budding comfortable sense soon all gets turned upside down. Like when we ventured out after midnight for the first time on our first night run in search of runaway talibés on their own on the streets. Like when a few years after a visit to a daara to help a boy’s foot be saved with antibiotics, I met him again 

and he showed me that foot still intact, that just helped him win a football match. And when a child of my heart was invited and hosted to meet and converse with Pope Francis at The Vatican, because Arouna really is that special and amazing. Like when on another occasion visiting “The Bush” for the first time, hours into the desert to visit a project of school building that changed everything for that region. On another 

occasion receiving testimonies and pleas for help from ten and eleven year old girls who, having discovered education, are resisting early forced marriage. In another remote shepherd’s village receiving astonishing hospitality from those that can least afford to offer it. Seeing people willing to risk everything, even life itself, in pursuit of hope for an education such as so many take for granted back home. And like when a very special young man graduated from university, after having come so close to attempting a desert crossing in search of hope. Watching my 

daughter lead a live video interview between talibés and Commander Chris Hadfield. Helping my son Introduce martial arts and encouraging it to blossom among the talibés, uncovering confidence, pride, and generating new sense of belonging for so many who had none. The terror and triumph of being part of a family’s desperate and successful attempt to save their girls from rural relatives’ attempts to “circumcise” their daughters. Being honoured with a girl child being named after me. Being welcomed and surprised in so many new ways. Every. Single. Time.

What does this visit have in store for us? Impossible to truly predict. But, we will be visiting the remote region of the school building project. There are five schools there now. And hundreds of kids studying, over half are girls, and most of the rest are boys that were spared the fate of being talibés due to the new presence of a school, or have returned from the streets. A donation from a generous friend in Canada helps make this possible. Another friend is travelling with us this time, Vicki. I have no doubt her compassion and medical talents will lead to amazing things. And my dentist donated hundreds of toothbrushes. And my optometrist donated dozens of prescription glasses. And as always, our 

luggage is full of donated karate gi’s. Despite Robbie not being with us this time I will host a karate tournament at Maison de La Gare with Sor-Karate. A day for the talibé karate kids to be the stars. Rowan and I hope to figure out and establish a major scholarship for the rural new schools region, to help keep the hope alive. And so many friends and Godchildren to visit.

More than anything, it is the relationships I have built that keep drawing me back. acquaintances have become friends. Friends have become like family. My many Godchildren. My awe at the courage and determination and joy of the most vulnerable of children. And of course, the draw of Maison de la Gare. As imperfect as it sometimes is, it is an amazing grass roots place of refuge and love and hope for kids who seem to have been set side by society. And to do this with family is wonderful. Particularly to observe my own kids’ character develop through this service and love. And it continues to be awe inspiring to do this with my Dad, who made this all possible, and who continues to give so much of himself, with impossible energy and perseverance, to Maison de la Gare and its children. I am honoured my family and I have been welcomed into this place as partners and allies.

Schools in the Desert

As we left the hotel behind us it was still dark. The crow of a rooster announced the new day about to break. The car was waiting. Our guide, Cheikh, was just arriving from morning prayers at the mosquée. We stopped to pick up Issa and Boubacar on the other side of the Pont Faidherbe, and we were on our way.

At Louga we left the highway and turned inland, toward Dahra Djolof. The sun had risen. The sandy breeze flowed through the open windows of the van, and most of the heat of the day was still in reserve.

After about three hours we stopped in Dahra Djolof to pick up our bush guide, Omar. He will ensure we do not lose our way in the desert bush. The first hour of the road was so potholed we mostly drove on the sand. Then we turned off even that road. We eventually arrived at the region of M’Baye Aw. Our first stop was the Médina Alpha school. This was the second of five schools organized and built in the region as a pilot project. The first built permanently, of cement. 

As we left the vehicle, villagers began to make their way curiously toward us from distant huts. Parents, some past students, and some current students were in the group. The class was not in session, as the teachers and many of the students are currently in town, writing final state exams. We asked if the past and present students would allow us to photograph them in front of the school. A parent phoned the village elder who came to observe the situation. After a discussion with Cheikh, he granted his permission. 

After the pictures were taken, more villagers who had initially been reluctant to be photographed insisted we re-take the photo, as all who were present now wanted to be included. 

57 students attend this school, fairly equally divided between boys and girls. The students who had advanced as far as they could (about five or six years of education, before travelling far afield would be required in order to continue) spoke very good French.

One school only is built solidly of cement. Three others are built of straw, and are reinforced or rebuilt by the villagers after each rainy season. One is not yet built. The teacher and students gather under a tree to teach and learn. Interestingly, after a few years of classes at the permanent school, the government accredited the schools and sent a government teacher to the cement school.  Proving, there is no need to wait and hope that authorities will build schools were schools have never been and are not likely to be. If we build it…they will come.

We then continued on to Cheikh’s nearby home village. This was the second visit for Rowan and I. The first for Robbie. We were greeted as if returning home.  Rowan was immediately taken to be introduced to her sheep. The original lamb, received from Aïssa as a gift four years ago, had multiplied into a small flock. Aïssa had kept them safe for her all this time. Villagers assured her Rowan would not return, and she should sell them, or eat them. But Aïssa refused, promising to keep them safe for Rowan even if she was never able to return. Yet, here we are. Aïssa’s faith has been redeemed. The villagers’ faith in her has been reinforced. More than faith, even. I sense awe.

A carpet of old, hardened sheep dropping surrounded the perimeter of the village. I could see how when the rains come the landscape would quickly transform from dry, sandy desert to lush, abundant vegetation. hopefully the rains will begin soon and bring an end to the hungry season. Even the animals are hungry. With the failure of the early short rains, many tree branches have been cut down to feed animals, throughout this region. Many trees look damaged beyond recovery. 

After a wonderful meal, tea, and a peaceful visit in this idyllic, traditional village, we got back in the car for the several hours drive, directed by Omar, through the desert to Dahra Djolof to meet the 65 students and their guardians and teachers.

A large house had been rented for the purpose of housing the 65 students. A teacher, several parents, a religious teacher, a supervisor, and a few cooks from the villages all stayed together to watch over and tend the children as they prepared for and wrote their exams over several weeks.

Upon arrival we were invited to enjoy a second meal that day. This time, thieboudienne. The National Senegalese dish. Then we were introduced to the children. they were divided into three groups to meet us, the boys, the young girls, and the older girls (teens and pre-teens). speeches were made by several people about the importance of education, the success of this school program in remote villages, and hope for the future. 

I was introduced as a partner who helped make all this possible. Then I was invited to speak. I am getting better at last minute, unexpected speeches in French that deflect praise toward the true deserving recipients: the Senegalese who founded and conceived of Maison de la Gare (Issa Kouyaté), the Senegalese founder of the m’Baye Aw schools project (Cheikh Diallo), and all the staff and leaders of MDG who never cease their efforts on behalf of the talibés of Senegal.

Then we got to meet the kids and take pictures with them. It is incredible to believe that these bright, articulate, eager students had never had the opportunity to attend school until the 5 schools were built and funded privately. 12 of the boys here to write exams are returned talibé who used to be forced daily to beg on the streets for quotas of money. but, several years prior, these ones were returned because now there was a school to attend. Now they have documents and are writing exams. Boys are no longer sent from these villages to becomes talibés. A marabout has even returned to teach the Quran traditionally, Village- based, while the children live at home, cared-for by their families.

Meeting the girls was just as inspiring. Apparently, they work the hardest, are the most dedicated to their studies. Never having had the opportunity for an education of any kind, they seem thirsty for more. They recognize the opportunity education offers. Before the schools, an early marriage was the expected path. In many cases, forced, such marriages can be a form of modern slavery just as is the forced begging talibé system.

Rowan and I met and spoke with some of the young girls who had given testimony about their fears of forced early marriage, and their desire to continue with their educations. I will write no more, for fear of putting them at risk. All I can say, is the experience was profound. Their words and fears and hopes will always remain with me.

We returned back to the hotel near sundown. A full and important day does not even begin to describe it. 

Clearly, the school project has been a success. Accessible, village- based schools are so clearly a tool for not only education, but importantly, to ending the modern slavery of the forced begging talibé system, and through the education of girls and the return to villages of boys, these schools could also be key to reducing and eventually ending the modern slavery scourge of forced early polygamous marriage.

There is still much to do: Opportunities are needed to continue education into high school, and opportunities for youth so they can remain in the villages once educated. Norms about early forced marriage may also be slow to change among parents.

Issa Kouyaté and Boubacar Gano of Maison de la Gare

The Maison de la Gare team appreciates and seems excited about seeking ways to take next steps, and about the possibilities for expanding this remote schools project to other areas in Senegal that are huge feeder areas for talibé boys being sent to cities. 

The future is looking hopeful, for so many reasons. for the boys and also the girls.

Grading, Grief, and Gratitude

During our first karate class last week at the center we were astonished at the level of skill, determination and passion of some of the younger karate students at the Center.  A few of these young boys had been faithfully attending classes for several years, even. We asked sensei about the possibility of some of them being invited to grade. It is difficult for these younger boys to get to the dojo at night. And to obtain the WKF licenses required for them to grade. 

Sensei had been considering this very question previously. It was decided that the 10 most advanced white belts would be given the opportunity to grade, provided their WKF registrations were done and licences maintained. Also, we had brought only six donated yellow belts with us, so more would need to be obtained. The next day the morning class was bigger. Five more boys were invited to grade. 

The owner of Douvris Martial Arts Barrhaven back in Canada offered to sponsor the grading and annual membership of ten children. The extra belts were purchased, and grading preparations began. As these were not dojo karateka, they had only ever practiced karate outdoors on the sand. The grading would take place in the dojo the following week.

practicing kions

The children arrived early each morning for the special grading preparation classes. The first class lasted nearly three hours, with each child in turn being shown how to bow, present themselves on the mat, begin, bow again, then exit the mat respectfully. Then Robbie and I helped to drill them on each block, strike, and kick on which they would be tested - calling out each in Japanese just as would happen on grading day. Over the next days Robbie, Bouaro and I helped them fine tune their four katas, taekokyu shodan, nidan, yondan, and Godan, and their kions. 

11of the candidates had a reasonable amount of practice, and most of them seemed ready. All were very excited for the long hoped-for opportunity to grade. A yellow belt is the proof that a martial artist can learn, grow, and advance beyond what they imagined could be possible. It is proof that a blackbelt could someday be possible. It is also proof that a forced-begging talibé need not remain subjugated and alone. Already he is not alone, he has his karate family. It is proof someday he will also be free.

Before the grading, we received unthinkable news from home. Two of our fellow martial artists from our dojo in Ottawa has been brutally murdered. A young girl age 15, Jasmine. And her mother, Anne-Marie. Jasmine’s older sister is in hospital with serious wounds.  Jasmine and Anne-Marie had just successfully  completed their own gradings, for blackbelt. We had trained together in preparation for months, and I graded with them for my third dan on June 18. Robbie had been training them, helping to prepare them for the past two months. 

https://ottawacitizen.com/news/local-news/tremendous-loss-fatal-stabbing-attack-on-alta-vista-family-leaves-communities-reeling?utm_medium=Social&utm_source=Facebook&fbclid=IwAR1eCYJeyMHeLbcNdi__pk_7hWu7TK25GAvBOotgC01m5jsoumUdtTslqhw#Echobox=1656635854

Both Anne-Marie and Jasmine were so interested in Maison de la Gare and the karate students here. They asked Robbie so many questions and cared so much about these talibé boys. On June 18, Grading Day, they excitedly introduced Robbie to Jasmine’s sister and grandmother and requested a photo together with Robbie to commemorate the very special day of becoming blackbelts. 

But they were struck down. They are not with us any longer. It is unthinkable. It is too much. It was too much for Robbie. Without his Ottawa karate family, without the experience of uncontemplated, unexpected sudden loss, it is too much. The parallels of preparing the karate students to grade is too much. The parallels of their gratitude and admiration is too much.

When I arrived at the center alone for the final preparation class, Sensei asked me about the killings in Ottawa. He had read about it. Too much. When he learned of our connection, Robbie’s in particular, he felt and shared the pain. Genuinely and deeply. The children asked after Robbie, did not know where he was at such an important time for them. But I could not bring myself to speak of it. Too much. Uchi-uki, soto-uki, oi-zuki, gyaku-zuki, maegeri, … it helped.

That night the grading was to occur at the dojo. Robbie refused to miss it. He would be there to honour the effort of the children. He brought his bo and Gi, expecting to pull it together to teach.  Later, the final bo seminar was scheduled, along with a demonstration of Robbie’s creative weapons kata. When we arrived, Sensei consoled Robbie, offered his love and support. 

Then the grading began. 12 children were present and ready. The other three would have another opportunity the following week. Gradings here are serious matters. And for these ones, the first time in the dojo, on the mat. Despite their preparation, the nerves of the day got the better of a few, with combinations I know they knew being scrambled, a kata forgotten. Only two were dismissed early. It seemed ten would pass.

After the grading, Sensei told Robbie it would not be right to allow him to lead the final bo seminar. Or to demonstrate what so many had all week anticipated. He to explained to the children and the few older students arriving early for class what had happened to Jasmine and Anne-Marie, and how they had been close with Robbie. All instantly fully understood. All felt our pain. The empathy and genuine heartbreak expressed was overwhelming, humbling. It was too much.

Sensei spent about an hour with us and the students discussing Jasmine and Anne-Marie. Discussing unexpected tragedy of innocents. Discussing how important a karate family is at a time like this, when they are all far from home. Discussing how given Robbie and I were so far removed from our Canada karate family, they they were now that for us. Many were in tears. All felt our pain. All gathered close, to touch us, to offer love, to indicate they felt the loss. And prayers for the peace of Jasmine and Ann-Marie’s souls were offered. The loss and grief was acknowledged, embraced, and integrated. It was too much.

Later, we learned that as 40 or so students arrived for the final bo class, some from miles away to embrace the opportunity, and learned of the loss of Jasmine and Anne-Marie, they also acknowledged, embraced, and integrated the loss.  It broke them too. Sensei explained they were all too devastated to even carry on with a regular karate class. They prayed then class was cancelled. This is our Senegalese karate family. It is too much. 

Jasmine and Anne-Marie, may peace be upon your souls.