Down the Alley and Through the Gates

 

Our first full day in Saint Louis. A morning stop at the Cyber Cafe to print some budgeting papers Dad spent the night before perfecting, then off to the centre! 

As we walk down the alley that leads to Maison de la Gare, the anticipation builds. The gate swings open, the familiar creaky hinge singing its greeting, and we step through to the oasis of peace, happiness and hope that is Maison de la Gare. 

 

"Sonia!", "de retour", "Robbie???", "Rowan?", "et Papa?" followed by a happy and knowing nod as I indicate Dad has already ducked into the office to get to work with staff on the budget thoughts we have been working on.

Souleymane and Amadou Diao are concerned that Robbie did not come with us. Several of Robbie's karate-talibe-tykes have tapped on my shoulder and demanded I produce Robbie. They asked for him several times, so I think they are hoping I will whip him out of my backpack when they are not looking. However, when I explain that Robbie needs to train for the WKC World Karate Championships coming up in November, they seem somewhat understanding. They don't really get it when I explain he can't miss too much school. But they do appreciate the karate pictures.

 

No one can understand why Rowan is not with us. Kalidou,  Mamadou, and Arouna are missing her, as are many others. I explain she is at university, studying international development. They are impressed, but not surprised. They agree it is important she attend to her studies so she can change things. They seem to have no doubt that she will, indeed, set the wrongs of the world to rights.

We begin a discussion about school. Amadou Diao is a talibe who had returned to his village to attend school. He cannot continue further with his education until someone figures out how to produce identity papers that do not exist. Arouna is facing the same issue. He struggled for years, first in Maison de la Gare classes, then in the public school system. He repeated many years, learning with students younger than himself, all while needing to meet the begging quota of his marabout. Arouna is not permitted to write his exams for his diploma because he also is without papers. He has been trying for years to obtain them so he can continue with the education he fought tooth and nail to earn to this point. He has begged his marabout to release the original birth certificate that might be Arouna's ticket but would relinquish the marabout's control of Arouna, to no avail. He has made 2 trips to his home province of Kolda in search of solutions. Apparently death certificates for his parents are required, but do not exist. And, the photocopy his previous school took of his documents is not acceptable to authorities at this time. Only an original will do. I have been told that lack of documents afflicts at least a million Senegalese, keeping them from their rights to an education (due to an unrealistic rule to obtain a birth certificate within days of birth, and death certificates within a few days also, apparently. Miss the deadline, too bad, so sad). I cannot imagine the frustration of a teenager determined to better himself with education so he can help advance his country, when he comes up against such administrative barriers of his own country's making, causing delays of years, seemingly designed to turn hope to dust. But, amazingly, Arouna does not seem to have lost hope. He perseveres in his plans to better himself and his country. And for now, he bides his time, trusting Issa, the president of Maison de la Gare, will help him find a way forward.

 

I am happy to see Tidjan again. He has been away from home, the Gambia for 8 years. He misses his mother. He is very happy to receive the Koran Arab/ English translation I brought him. He is working hard to learn English and also study the Koran. Many others are equally fascinated as the precious book is passed around. Our group moves on to a discussion of the Koran, religion and how similar our different religions are, when you get to the bottom of it. They love to hear me translate the prayers they say by rote, so they can understand. And, they exclaim and agree how we are all the same, even believing in and loving the same God. It is so basic, so simple. What is wrong with the world that it cannot be this way once childhood is left behind?!

Mamadou gives me a tour of the garden, robust with fruit after the rainy season. This year the grape vines produced a crop of grapes for the first time, doubling their duty of giving shade over the arbour terrasse. 

 

Young talibes are enjoying the library, reminding me of the love of books of my own kids at that age, when they also enjoyed many of their reads upside-down.

 

In the afternoon I hop on a city bus with Souleymane, Kalidou and Issa Ba, to the Maison de la Gare cultivation lands at Bango. Mamadou meets us there. No one remembers the key. Souleymane hauls himself over the gate to let us in and we spend a few hours giving the plants their afternoon soaking. This close to the equator night descends quickly. It is dark for the walk back to the centre from the bus stop.

 I return to the centre too late for classes and distribution of dinner to the talibes. Souleymane is late too, grabbing his karate gi to dash off to the dojo for self defence class tonight (although honestly, it is difficult to imagine Souleymane hurrying for anything). Fortunately, there is still tomorrow...