Lala and the Beautiful Game

Lala sits under the shade of the bougainvilleas, talking to a little talibé. Lala is listening to him, giving him her full attention. She speaks a few encouraging words. He nods, she pats him on the shoulder and he runs off. 

Maison de la Gare is lucky to have one dedicated, long term volunteer, Lala Sene. Lala played soccer for Senegal's Women's National Team in 2006, 2009, and 2012. Soccer was her life, until 2017 when she received a career ending injury of a double fracture to her right foot.  Wanting to use her skills to help the forced begging talibé street children of her city, Saint Louis, she began to volunteer at Maison de la Gare, coaching the soccer-crazy talibés and organizing a weekly tournament at the centre. 

As Lala's injury healed and the talibé boys of Maison de la Gare captured her heart, she increased the frequency of her volunteering until she could be found at the centre everyday, helping to prepare the daily food or lend a hand wherever it is needed. The Thursday soccer tournaments continue, but frequent  informal pick-up games now also offer regular opportunities for the boys to receive coaching tips and the extra special attention that is so lacking in their lives.

Lala was born in Saint Louis, into a family of sixteen children. She began to play soccer at age six, with the boys in her neighbourhood.  Her father knew of her love of the beautiful game  and could see that she was always the best player on her teams.  He encouraged her to feed her passion and pursue her dream of playing professional soccer. When her father was on his death bed, he asked Lala's coach to watch over her and continue to encourage her, a wish which her coach has continued to honour. 

Lala's parents are both gone now. She lives in her family home with five of her sisters and three of her brothers. They support each other, and they encourage her in her devotion to the talibés, recognizing the importance of this work for her.

Lala is now completely devoted to the talibés. Her greatest worry is that if she falls sick, or even needs to take a few days away from Maison de a Gare, that the children will miss her. She says "If God is good, I will be able to remain at Maison de la Gare and help these children who trust and need me." She adds that the talibés are like her little brothers or her own children. It hurts her heart to be away from them. It touches her deeply when the talibés call her name out to her on the streets of Saint Louis.

It is Lala's greatest wish for the future to be able to continue to commit herself to the talibés boys of Maison de la Gare.

"I feed myself off of my love for the talibés and their love for me. I am one with them."

- Lala Sene

A Time to Shine

Karate began for Maison de la Gare four years ago. The very first classes were offered to talibés who did not know the sport, or the language in which it was taught, or the thirteen year old Canadian boy teaching them. But, it looked fun, and it did not require shoes (which they did not have), and they got to wear clean white uniforms, so dozens of talibés decided to give it a try.

Today karate is respected and adored at Maison de la Gare. For some of the many dozens of talibé karateka karate has become a burning passion. For a few, they say karate has become to them life itself. The young Canadian who brought karate here has now been four times, and he is well known and his arrivals are highly anticipated. And, all the karateka now understand the language of karate, taking their instructions in the Japanese universally known in the karate world. 

The karate students knew a tournament  would be hosted for them at Maison de la Gare. This would be the third in two years, so they had an idea of what was in store. They were preparing at the centre during morning karate classes and also at the dojo during evening classes long before tournament day. A few days before the competition Sensei gave a motivational speech to the competitors, giving them advice on how to focus and comport themselves during the event, as well as to congratulate them on their perseverance, dedication and accomplishments to date.

The morning of the tournament, the kids began putting the mat together. But, unfortunately, as they began piecing the mat together from all four corners, it did not come together in the middle as expected (as could have been expected). As the WKF referees began to arrive, one directed the boys to take the mat apart and begin again from one side only. They were very appreciative of how neatly the mat pieces fit together after using this method. 

Before long the prizes, medals, and the Douvris Cup were displayed as motivation. The five referees were present and ready. Sensei was standing by, and the competitors were dressed, lined up and ready to go. Maison de la Gare was packed with talibés, staff and visitors anxious for the competition to begin.

The first division was kihon, for the younger group of students who train at the centre in the mornings. Over twenty competitors performed as requested. Or, what they thought was requested (the instructions were in Japanese after all). After each pair performed, a winner was chosen. Then the winners competed again. And again, until only the gold, silver bronze and runner up remained. The process was repeated for kata. Then medals were awarded, and prizes for the winners. Candy sticks were given to all the competitors. But it seemed that all of them felt like winners.

At 1:00pm the tournament was suspended so the invitees and referees could break for lunch and to pray. Some of the competitors returned to their daaras, some went out to the streets to beg, and some remained to hang out at Maison de la Gare. The tournament was scheduled to resume at 4:00pm.  

At 4:30pm the group began to assemble again. By 4:45 the dojo talibés, and the older kids who train in the mornings were dressed, lined up, and ready to compete. A surprise: The President of the WKF Senegalese Karate Federation was attending, a great honour! He was seated at the head table beside Sensei Ignety Ba The referees turned to salut him. Then they bowed to the karateka. The boys nervously bowed back to them. The afternoon battle for the Douvris Cup was ready to begin.

First Kihon, for the morning older kids. This was the first time competing, ever, for these boys, all white belts. They seemed surprised and delighted by the audience's applause.

Then, kata, for the dojo kids. Some white belts, some who has passed for yellow, but not yet been granted their belts (that would happen later during the competition), several orange belts, and a few greens. For the tournament however, they were all equal, wearing blue or red. One competitor, in particular, orange belt, Ahmadou Diallo, performed a particularly spectacular kata. The crowd burst into loud, sustained shouting and applause, astonished at his skill, much to Ahmadou's obvious joy.

Finally, kumite, As the boys were paired off and donned their protective gear, the anticipation in the air was palpable. What is it about competitive fighting that excites people this way? The referee started the first pair. As they began to spar, the crowd grew louder. At first laughing as punches missed or were blocked, then clapping and cheering as hits were made and points called. As the fights progressed, with the winners moving on to fight the winners, the skill displayed increased. The noise from the crowd grew ever louder with each successive pair. Finally, the fight for gold. Veteran competitor Souleymane won the match, his roundhouse kick to the head his special weapon. But, one more fight remained, Ahmadou was fighting for third place. Although he did not realize it, he was fighting for the Grand Championship. If he placed third, he would win the Douvris Cup, having won Gold in kata. As the clock ticked down, Ahmadou received a blow to the face that required a call for the medic. After the all clear, he insisted on continuing. One more point was scored: Ahmadou!

The medals were awarded. Then, it was time for the Douvris Cup winner to be revealed. All the competitors who placed made sure their medals were visible to the judges, thinking to influence the decision. Then,,,"Et le Grand Champion de la Coupe Douvris est Ahmadou Diallo!" The crown went wild for him, he lept up, beaming with happiness and pride as he accepted his prizes and congratulations. 

Then, a ceremony to award the yellow belts earned the previous week. The President of the Federation awarded the first yellow belt, a wonderful honour, and an important recognition and vote of confidence in the Maison de la Gare talibé karate initiative. The founder of the program, Robbie Hughes, tied the belts on each successful grader, in turn. Many of the karateka thanked him, bowed, hugged him, and wanted their pictures taken with the young Canadian, crediting him with their opportunity to practice karate, make it their own. If only these boys could truly know how their strength, passion, and perseverance in the face of unimaginable obstacles, in turn, inspires Robbie.

This glorious day for the talibés, competitors and guests alike, will not be forgotten. As for the medalists, heroes forever!

u

The Sounds of Senegal

It is the middle of the night. Silence. When the sheep bellows, it surely is heard for kilometers around. Still dark, the first call to pray sings out over the city, echoed  infinite times in every direction. Then, with the first crack of dawn song birds begin their morning ritual. Àt first just a few voices, rising gradually to a sustained cacophony. Finaly, the mourning  doves join the choir, and we know it is time to rise.

On the way to the centre, calls of "Sonia" distract me, slowing my progress to my destination. The words "madame", accompanied by the outstretched hand of a shoeless, filthy, tiny waif remind me why I am here, and after a pause to touch his hand and meet his eyes, I hasten my step.

As I walk up the alley toward the Centre, the bustling sounds of the street recede and laughter and childish voices reach my ears, growing louder as I approach the gate. Out in the city talibés are rarely heard laughing, they have work to do, collecting money for their marabouts, or to feed themselves. It is not a happy chore. But here, at Maison de la Gare, laughter feels more natural, children can be children. If only for a brief respite.

During karate class laughter is not the dominant sound. Instead, Japanese instructions are called and answered. A different kind of work, but this time it is a labour of love. A gift to themselves. Yoi. Ich. Ni. Sun.

At midday, the call to prayer rings out across the city again. The voices of the imams in each mosque separate, but linked, calling out to the faithful. As the call is answered, the bustle of the city diminishes perceptibly, one by one and in small groups, some slip into mosques, others roll out mats if they have them, and yet others kneel down in a quiet corner or on the sidewalk, more or less out of the way of those who do not pause to pray.

As the afternoon advances, a soccer game breaks out at MDG. The laughter is now accompanied by happy shouts, calls for the ball, and triumphant declarations. As the winners are announced, screams of joy, singing, chants of the name of the talibé who scored the winning point. The celebretory noises take a very long time to die down. Such joy only occurs here, at moments such as this. Why not draw it out. These sounds will ring in their hearts for hours to come. Until the versement must be delivered and all joy dies.

As the teachers arrive at the Centre, sounds of play are replaced by classroom words of learning. Scratches of chalk on chalkboards and tablets. Scraping of bench legs on floors. Quiet shuffling as a child shifts over to make room for a latecomer. All are welcome to join at any time. Each new entry is never a disruption. It is a triumph.

Another call to prayer. Another reminder, along with the hopeful faces of the children in class,  that God is here. 

Maison de la Gare's gate clangs shut for the night. The sound is more quiet, somehow sadder, as feet are walking away, back toward the road and a very different reality.

A Whirlwind of Action

 My husband, Robin and my brother, Mike had a plan. Maintenance and repairs would be their project for the week, in addition to teaching some key MDG members how to continue with the maintenance ongoing. There is no money in the budget available for hiring outside repair people, so maintenance self-sufficiency is a new objecticve. 

Mike arrived at the Maison de la Gare Centre just in advance of our departure from Canada. He toured the facility with Issa, the President of MDG, assessing the situation and tools on hand and making a list of priorities and required tools. It is astonishing how many things get broken and damaged at a centre designed to make hundreds of talibés feel safe and free to play and behave like children. Electrical covers get picked off walls, lights smashed by errant soccer balls, wires ripped out of sockets to be used as ties, screen picked through by little fingers, garbage buried in the sand, paint chipped at by tiny finger nails, toilets clogged and destroyed, tiles cracked by kids playing with rocks... the list of ongoing devastation is endless. Mike sent the list home to Robin who headed out to Canadian Tire just a few hours before our flight in order to fill the tool box with the right supplies, then the full tool box was packed at the last minute. As soon as we arrived at MDG the tool box came out and Mike and Robin hit the market with Elhage to assist them in search of the rest of the required materials: A few pick axes, rolls of wire mesh and screen, plumbing supplies, toilet seats, paint and thinner, buckets and brushes, a saw, and a step ladder. 

Robin set Robbie and Alicia up to sand and prepare and then paint the metal railing in the Dortoir d'Urgence. Then he worked on other chores, showing MDG members how to use various tools in the garden, and then began preparing the walls for painting.  Mike set to reparing the broken light fixtures, and in some cases just replacing light bulbs. Then he set to repairing the broken toilets. This afternoon Mike will begin to replace all the torn screens on the upper and classroom windows.

Now with the eight foot step ladder on hand, all kinds of chores are within reach- trimming back the bouganvillea, replacing burned out lights, repairing screen when it is torn, and cutting back the deadwood of the grape vines. Elhage and Mohamed soon joined in the work, using a sheet of screen to begin to filter the stones, bits of garbage and thorns from the sand. Issa joined in, shovelling scoop after scoop of sand through the makeshift filter. The sand is becoming as good as new. We will not need to buy another load of fresh sand afterall. Karate will be much more comfortable at MDG, with fewer worries about the Senegalese equivalent of stepping on a lego brick in bare feet. 

Lala, Ibrahima and others grabbed shovels and pick axes to remove roots and overgrown bushes from the flower beds. Fresh earth and plants will be brought in and planted from MDG's cultivation gardens at Bango. Canadian volunteer, Matt helped rake up and haul out the collected debris, whelebarrow losd after load. Others cut the dead branches off fruit trees and trimmed them back and limbed up the coconuts, creating more room for a shady garden retreat and for fruit to grow.

Did I mention this all happened on our first full day at the centre together?

I discussed with Lala the possibility of moving the regular Thursday soccer tournament offsite this week to allow Robin time to properly repair and paint the outer classroom wall, as it usually factors prominently as a target during soccer games (thus the broken light fixtures and windows, and pocked walls). Lala is a local Senegalese soccer player who volunteers with the talibés as a coach and organizer. Relocating the game will give Robin a few more days to properly patch' and repair the walls prior to painting. Knowing how big the paint job will be he did not return to the island for a break and late lunch with the rest of us, he decided instead to work right through, profiting from each available hour.

As Issa saw just how much can be accomplished in a short period of time when so many people pitch in with the help of just a bit of direction and the right tools, he was inspired to reconsider and lengthen his repair list for Mike, and expand the painting list for Robin. 

Everything should be freshly painted, repaired, planted, and the sand freshly groomed in time for the karate tournament to be held on Friday. The repair crew will make sure of it. Besides, they can rest later, on the flight home

a talibé who prefered to watch all the industry from his  lounge chair

In Honour of International Women's Day

As we left Canada during International Women's Day To travel to Senegal once again, I reflected on some of the strong and remarkable women I have come to know from my time in Africa. 

Some of the first special women I met in Africa are teachers at Maison de la Gare. Bouri and Aida are both mothers of many children, and work as the primary wage earners in support of their families. And, they have also opened their hearts to the talibé boys of Maison de la Gare. When an older talibé who had been trafficked from outside of Senegal experienced challenges due to his lack of evidence of Senegalese nationality, Aida opened not just her heart, but also her home and adopted him. Aida earns a reasonable income. But, her husband is unwell and unable to work, and her house is in serious need of repair, partially ruined and exposed to the elements. She herself is challenged with health issues, but as her family is so critically dependant upon her, she must continue to work. Bouri also has taken the lead responsibility in her household to build her five children a house from the proceeds of her wages. Of course, they are both the ones also responsible for the cleaning, the cooking (a never ending task in Senegal) and ensuring their children receive an education. This is the way of women here.

Mama Touty is an exceptional lady, raising her daughter alone after a divorce, Mama Touty was my sister, Lisa's host mother when Lisa volunteered here so many years ago. She took in volunteers to supplement her income. Mama Touty took care of Lisa as if Lisa were her own child. Mama Touty has continued to watch over our family over the past ten years of visits to Saint Louis, and has become a great friend. 

During my early visits to Saint Louis I met Sokhna, a craftswoman who makes jewelry and other artwork to sell in her market stall. When I first met her she was in serious trouble, with expensive medical bills and no means of paying them. I offered her a helping hand at that time, something she has never forgotten. Now, on each trip I visit with her, following her progress and successes since that earlier difficult time. She has expanded her stall and supports her children in school,  solely responsible for her family's fortunes, of course.

More recently I was fortunate to meet Aicha, the favourite sister of my friend Cheikh. Cheikh is the cobbler We have come to know and love over the years. It is he who, saying he was inspired by Dad's example of helping the talibé through education, saved his own money to build a school in his home village. He thought if there was a school, boys would not be sent to the city to be talibés and girls, also, would have the chance for an education they would otherwise never receive. Last year, Rowan, Dad and I visited Cheikh's village in "the bush" to see the schools we have since assisted him to finance. In his village I was introduced to Aicha. As a village women with no access to modern conveniences, Aicha is accustomed to long days filled with the chores required to support her family. The water well is a 2 km walk away. And, the walk for water falls to the village women and children, of course. The cooking also falls to the women, an all day task.  Aicha was so honoured to meet us that she gifted Rowan with a baby lamb. Upon learning that Rowan would not be permitted to bring it home on the airplane, Aicha offered to keep it safe for her, ensuring no one would eat it. Apparently the lamb has since given birth, making Rowan a wealthy woman, according to Aicha. A few weeks after visiting the village we were devastated to learn that Aicha's eldest son, age 12, had been killed when a 1000 litre water container fell on him while he was collecting water with other village children. He died in hospital after many hours voyage in the same donkey cart that overturned onto him, and an astronomical medical bill. Aicha did not think she could continue to live and bear the pain. But, she eventually rallied for the sake of her other children. Aicha had invited my to visit her again, for perhaps several months, indicating the guest hut she would set aside for me. I hope some day to return, maybe just for a week. My strength does not even come close to what these women require to live this life.

The staff of Maison Rose have welcomed my family since 2010 as if we truly are family to them. Samir worked the front desk, often over the night shift. He would always watch out for me as I headed out for early morning runs around the island. Samir invited us to his home to meet his family on several occasions. He has a lovely wife, Oumou, and five children. Two years ago Samir passed away, most likely of lung cancer. Oumou, his wife, was suddenly left with no income at all, and five children to house and feed. Samir had a good salary, and yet I regularly offered him help with his children's school fees. The middle three children were in private school, top of their classes with a keen love of learning and irrepressible hope for the future, Samir and Oumou's entire existence was focused on supporting the education of their children from the base of their tiny but happy home. When Samir's income vanished, extended family and colleagues offered some support for a time. But, as happens, the assistance soon dried up. Oumou had begun a small business selling household goods and buying large bags of coal to divide and resell, but, the most money she could earn is barely enough to pay the rent. leaving nothing for school fees or food. 

In a situation like this, which is common here, it is normal for the kids to leave school, and the family to disperse. Oumou would be expected to go and earn her way caring for someone else's family while her own children would have to be shipped off to various extended relatives, If they are lucky they would get to continue in school (not likely private school), if unlucky they would become like servants, all their shining hope for education and bright futures in the grave with Samir.

But, Oumou is no ordinary woman. In her own words, her family would be separated over her dead body. We have tried to help Oumou to keep her family together and in school, and so far she has been successful, particularly thanks to a karate friend of mind, another woman with a big heart who feels compelled to support Oumou's superhuman efforts to keep her family together and in school. The children have no idea of the precariousness of their happy and good life. I hope to set up a fundraiser online in order to help Oumou's family find a more permanent solution. Stay tuned...

On my recent visit to East Africa I finally had the opportunity to meet the amazing Naseem Makange. She runs a kindergarten preparatory school in Moshi town, at the base of Kilimanjaro. Her goal is to get kids ready to survive and thrive through the first few years of primary school where class sizes can reach 180 students (that number is not a mistake), even those who cannot afford the fees. Naseem cares for and loves her students as if they were her own. She regularly must deal with government corruption and abuse in order to help her kids succeed. While I was there she was contemplating selling jewellery she inherited from her mother in order to pay the most recent bribe. She surely would rather be retired from such conditions,  but will not abandon "her kids".

Many of the photos in this post include another strong woman who deserves to be honoured, my daughter, Rowan. Although she is not African, Rowan is currently living in Africa, in Uganda. And, through her work with the domestic abuse centre in Kampala, her friendship with and support of all the women I have mentionned, and her caring and compassionate heart, Rowan certainly understands struggle and strength.

It is not possible for me to mention every woman I have met here who has the strength to move mountains and do what is necessary to survive and thrive in challenging conditions. But, I hope I have conveyed the idea. As I have learned through karate, and more recently has been reinforced to me through Kids Kicking Cancer, strength rises to meet adversity. The more challenging the adversity, the more powerful we become. These beautiful African women, my friends, prove this every day.