Getting Ready to Board, Remembering Why I Do This

 

As soon as I arrived at the narrow, unmarked alley in the Sor district of Saint Louis, Senegal, leading to the Maison de la Gare Welcome Centre, I heard my name being called and spotted six familiar faces. Small, barefoot, filthy, delightful, smiling street boys. The clamour and dusty chaos of the busy street receded as each child rushed forward for a proper hand clasp greeting.  Several repeated my name, wanting to ensure I knew that they know me. Their welcoming smiles grew bigger when i began to pass out candy and the group of six instantly, miraculously became a demanding horde of twenty. When will I learn? Some of the original six shook their heads at me knowingly. They accompanied me down the alley, leading me by the hand, touching my arm, sneaking more shy smiles, and repeating their own names, anxious to confirm that I also knew them.

Upon entering the sanctuary of Maison de la Gare, all I saw were smiles and all we felt was welcome. "Sonia!" "de retourn!" "Combien de temps cette fois?" "Et la famille?" "Et Robbie cette fois?" "Rowan?". It takes hours to greet everyone properly, re-confirm their understanding of their importance to me and mine to them. To be updated on recent illnesses, abuses and triumphs.

The progress at the centre is encouraging.  The coconut trees have finally taken hold, no longer in danger of succumbing to stray soccer balls or wrestling children. The papayas have survived the season of wind and sandstorms to stand tall and bear fruit. A new nurse has been hired for the medical infirmary. She will help organize the medications we brought to stock the clinic. I learn that a teacher's own attendance has become sporadic again, a recurring and challenging cultural issue. I see that more encouragement is called for. The children attend class, play games, tend the garden, wash clothes, read in the library, follow their interests and friends on Facebook at the computer centre, and karate classes continue. Soulaymane, who I love as family, proudly announces his orange belt and his commencement of sparring competition. Arouna, another I love as my own, updates me on the progress of his hard earned education. He is finally attending high school, but although freed from forced begging, still has to deal with the domination and interference of his marabout. Arouna dreams about university, of teaching and writing, anxious to influence his own change in this place. I dream about finding him a scholarship to help make it happen.

The very first time I made this journey with my father in 2010, I had no idea what to expect. I had always longed to step outside my comfort zone to give back to those without any resources to help themselves. Thanks to my father's invitation to join him on his third trip to volunteer, I was getting to do the chance to do just that. We were flying toward a level of poverty and human rights abuse beyond my experience or comprehension. How could I, a person who leads people to take control of their money in support of life objectives have anything to offer those without a penny in the world or objectives other than survival? 

I quickly fell in love with these children, their beauty, resilience, and humour, all in the face of unimaginably intolerable circumstances. They are known as talibes. There are tens of thousands of them in Senegal, all boys. They are supposed to be studying the Quran, but instead are forced to beg for quotas of money for their marabout's. Often severely abused, neglected by distant families, talibes beg for up to ten hours a day. Human Rights Watch and the United Nations refer to the talibes as modern day slaves. The government and society in general turn a blind eye. Someone else is always to blame: The Government, Parents, the Marabouts, the police who fail to enforce the law. No one but Maison de la Gare seems willing to take responsibility for these innocents. 

The first time I encountered a talibe child the age of my own son and nephews, I had an overwhelming sense that but for the grace of God, or an accident of birth, these could be my own children. And, if I could help them, I knew that I must. What makes me, or any of us in the West, any more deserving of prosperity, health, security, opportunity, and hope than these children who have perpetrated nothing to earn their circumstances but be born in this time and place. 

Since that first visit I have returned a dozen times to continue to work with Maison de la Gare, often with my father, to help build the centre according to founder, Issa Kouyate's vision, and do what I can to help the Senegalese staff help the children to maintain hope and find a way to a better life. Over the years at Maison de la Gare I have taught the children English, French and karate. I have been a project manager and a tour guide. I have tended wounds and de-wormed kids in the daaras and in the health clinic. I have been a gardener, a painter, a labourer, a mentor and a mother and a friend. My family's charitable foundation and my Dad's grant writing patience facilitates the funding of much of the progress here, funded with the help of many sympathetic contributors. All of the investment companies I work with have contributed. My Dad manages the books and maintains the website that helps fuel more donations and a thriving international volunteer program, www.mdgsl.com, as well as the Maison de la Gare www.globalgiving.com web page. We both write regular articles to keep the donations flowing. And, all the while, these children have truly become a second family to us.

Three years ago my then 14 year old daughter, Rowan, accompanied me to Senegal for the first of five times (so far). She connected with the talibes in a manner that only a young person could do. Rowan saw the talibes as equals, with the same unlimited potential that she knows herself to have, She saw them in a way they likely had never seen themselves, never considering potential limitations of kids who could barely read or write or had ever seen a computer. Rowan helped establish email accounts for the talibes of Maison de la Gare. She knew that a connection with the outside world and with herself back in Canada, the possibility of maintaining long term links with transitory international volunteers, regular exposure to different world views, and the acquisition of skills valued by modern society could benefit the talibes immeasurably. These are surely now the most on-line-savvy begging street kids in Africa.

A year ago, my husband, Robin and my son Robbie joined Rowan and I on their first visit to volunteer with Maison de la Gare. Then 13 year old Robbie, like Rowan before him, envisioned possibilities for the talibes that most adults could not have conceived of. Appreciating the advantages his sport of karate has to offer the talibes: discipline, confidence, self defence skills, and the sense of belonging to something special, Robbie convinced us to facilitate a karate program for the talibes of Maison de la Gare. Today, the pride the boys take in their white gi's and belts, donated from Canadian dojos, is evident. During Robbie's second visit with me last December, we were invited to watch some Maison de la Gare talibes earn higher belts. Their confidence was palpable, their pride in achievement was irrepressible. Robbie with his black belt, who is of an age with many of them, is an example and helps to spread the belief that anything is, indeed, possible. Even for talibes.

Perhaps the most impact we have on the children of Maison de la Gare lies simply in our example, and our interest. Maison de la Gare tries to teach them they are worthy of so much more. The simple presence of international volunteers underscores this truth. And, the presence of children competently volunteering demonstrates to the talibes how powerful kids can be.

My family and I ventured to Africa in search of giving. And, I know we did. I know it for the progress I see: the smiles on the faces, the amputations averted thanks to antibiotics, the enrolments in school, the philosophical conversations started about society's role in forced begging, the pride in achievement, the white karate belts transforming to coloured belts, the late night emails received and Facebook chats I am invited to every time I am on-line. But what we receive is far greater. Interacting with these kids not only inspires me that absolutely anything is possible,  it gives me a sense of being completely present and alive. It has transformed my and my children's paradigms. No one does this work in order to receive. But, it is inevitable, as anyone who gives knows.

A year ago I began this blog to chronicle my family's experiences in Senegal. It is updated whenever I volunteer in Africa. As uncomfortable as I am when in the public eye, I decided to write about the talibes and my experience with them, not only to raise awareness about forced begging and direct potential donors to a worthy cause, but as encouragement, to demonstrate that anyone can do this type of work. I do not lead a life full of spare time. My business is rewarding and demanding. Our family's activities seem to suck up every non-work Canadian minute, as I am sure it does for most families.  And, I have no skills relevant to international volunteering, other than some pretty rough French, an open heart and the desire to make a difference for those who cannot do it for themselves. 

Now, as I sit in the airport with my Dad, preparing to board our next flight to Dakar, we are a little more prepared than the first time. But, we are feeling just as much anticipation for this next adventure to begin.