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.