tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27849448294769281352024-03-19T05:10:33.857-07:00Sonia in SenegalSonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-32828881765989739772023-12-01T13:28:00.001-08:002023-12-01T13:28:57.166-08:00Suxali<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d85c_406f_462d_1439" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaC1EBnE4hYIUISOZVBcyCnu1NRUP54A49tyIe1sb0xA_8HWbiMhGBFEPeHuJTVOcI26FIa_Cr-q9JokN366m8Zi7rKzSw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 504px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Candidates for Bourse Suxali</i></div></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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? </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d0d9_9588_e8f7_c5de" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaCRjur0pcbe76F2wB4lPYupYhzGN3R2kaeiwL5N5T9xXhGhpH6ZJyrW8QYork0AGM60m9msVilh24x0UpoVWZ0B6qw5Xw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 585px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>The newest school, built this year.</i></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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…</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_7cca_3891_5191_17f1" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaCDtx9tjQc6tBkc3aWN5vvpJKJ9P4rvpigEI3j21_1ulsFqDrv_kAXm0Cgn3zQZOymR1OHFClrobAO1HS-Pf11inKzMtA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 577px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Rowan and I visiting one of the schools several years ago</i></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_db29_b113_c8af_ecf7" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaDEzI4aG6YPHsw8LWQdbTJEr6FECuZAG2OrtYzJZr7stA23PoXX8pD_5oplMJEdulYFkWNd1EFZpY9AmvbdO9RbvFTGyA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 342px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Rowan in front of a Dahra Diollof high school</i></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_9d29_f2d8_cbbd_ee20" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaCN6EoWaDcxn1gH_W-1EFT7Qwe2IyYe-Y9TjPRjGcQ91nR1EZMbPptbrVf4DbciyMdc252iccaqYNBxCL7ZRUuS3r9o6A" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 634px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Cheikh, and administrator and some of the candidates sharing their education dreams.</i></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Our friend Cheikh, the president of the village schools association, <span style="font-style: italic;">l’Association pour la rétention des enfants en village et la diminution du mariage précoce</span>, 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.</font><span style="font-size: 11px;"> </span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"> </p><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_4375_f67a_ddd5_5e72" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAu7FSscOj-j7_6vef0WVS8Bgysnkrz3QWM1wo0B3yV596tyexZ2rsiDJy_cmVIiqUGr0QiVq_vtfzOy-w9G8FwUAQxHQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 195px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-31869299661467609002023-12-01T10:54:00.001-08:002023-12-01T11:07:04.513-08:00Preparing for the Big Day<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_da66_361a_65fe_362c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAqWuhLwPHx3Yj-4_ffF7no8mu4gqlpipeRpLnUn4Ewb7_WApczyRakxhWOCBDhS4uSZLIzo2Tp5cpluPZWI2jjSKsaZA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 367px; height: auto; margin: 4px;">'¡</div><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.)</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: center;"><img id="id_eb51_1fbe_7e87_be37" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAKXp3MrLdRqwn2YLkspI8YAdi9J9owHgtjVTpW197jeT9bgG-j069sQGYpuuOyUcVdIxYeUIkJPjPkWFC3cYw24VfV" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 480px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="Helvetica Neue" size="4"><i>Robbie with last year’s winners</i></font></div><font size="4" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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!</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: center;"><img id="id_2645_3654_c22c_1d2f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAbzvR7ves5H9P9ZIaqABsaH03Z_mzNr3m5-l4vmONW7p3EkRDsKGCIHvYywBA4ChhDSwgIA3kbDT0fgZUxlBX5XiAeUw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 447px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="Helvetica Neue" size="4"><i>morning training</i></font></div><font size="4" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_1481_f671_6c3_f1f8" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAfvQrz2-_Rxd5P7y2yHPGuWpByzEFxu7iMAMxbiwdiTjd1ITyOdlF0y6hwgTJTmdogdmHDGPpv1RQIHpRRRsXKpMEU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 406px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_adc4_7c50_d4bd_92ed" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBfNUctX8RJw2-xv-acmDoGfV31Usez7gGxa3S4jx3xVWevh5zCanxUZDVPJdbqH6s64wvkvzVCZ2PBgQtkkq2N7Qbg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 382px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: center;"><img id="id_6305_55e5_c2da_7656" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaA6sZDG8BIa-OEIzsOxgNXXAVOetFhujBl9ZsAKqM2Ip0ptOodiTWeM-q3xqZAH1u6loC1mBE8AlaLqKAodarGdRg1r" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 471px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><font size="4">grading</font></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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! </font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_fef7_5996_4af4_1bee" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBkt_zaPHz0OLBvmDsl7GOeprhVR7GkgGCasypbRsDmw2iCCzQTNyuHLxRmLDfXVApftR2NZmdR30qJm1kHCaKP63ti8w" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 398px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_6b10_5254_174a_106" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBesYHJKQkD5Dg4YfMqUsct-GwkUL9ns780pIrYg13Q20q-lOBBxuo__ifdFCe5tXln2Dl-CXSRxNuCIaRTy-UVjD7nhg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 455px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The next day would be tournament day, <span style="font-style: italic;">souba</span>. The successful grading candidates would be belted. And everyone would have their shot at glory! So much still to look forward to</font><span style="font-size: 11px;">.</span></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-41636960676425872752023-11-29T17:08:00.001-08:002023-11-29T17:08:44.049-08:00Ronde de Nuit, Encore<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_53f7_f315_6cd1_42e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaC-PDQeQKn_mwWY5qwukZHHfRMODlps_k2UM5XA60Iy3xU9ghIHPedA87j6o8G4ygLxkjnWsUlz_yQWGOIi7Szr2Sb1TQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 415px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br></p><p style="text-align: center; margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><a href="http://www.mdgsl.com/actualites/engmar2018ronde.html" id="id_89eb_cbfa_31d2_f95d" target="_self">An article I wrote about Ronde de Nuits a few years ago</a></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><br></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_8ab4_4381_b485_a0d6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBda2o24Dz-omVXon82jzXE474XNdKq1DMXnCqpSxl4Tb54Uu968LDCKpPnBFiHIs4CNlBgETvjuclpnvuZGfi8gFuZ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 406px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The rest of the night rounds team arrived. We split into two groups and set off in opposite directions, in search of <span style="font-style: italic;">talibés en fugue, </span>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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_de54_1872_f71b_ab42" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBPo1TKW0q8rQvvFlp9rr1zQgHFrf4XDyvPzS-Dasx9wGlYePdZwWloFh1AcSXpn03bJIiHvL9-f-mZam9dgD0Vcn_BWA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 439px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font size="4">Sound asleep in the taxi on the way back to MDG</font></div><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_4a52_7080_9a9c_b962" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaD5s2WyiIobYgaiu1PD8tTzy4eEJ8SbARKNu_2wUXyIkEWXDcHIrCCzN2aELwe9jNaa4rjN0FS2MFAo1H-5_CnrTtvrzQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 431px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">The social worker discovering their stories the next day</div><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-54217732339672279922023-11-20T18:54:00.001-08:002023-11-20T18:54:47.340-08:00Jump Right In<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_325c_1776_b387_6711" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBg-NOhk6Tlw2e1FfzWPELr_UomMr_nIz5Tig7Wr3Rs8K9buIOIAhawER1XOY_bqtScoRI2nvd2M_3tZ13SYUwkZItRmQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 666px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_f26b_3169_c877_e314" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAFatbFM5GCUTtYbMtuzgYaOIiPbN79aGjFrAKUNeRdfNDz8yNScQf00ALcyTBW9-CdNNhcqkM90pQHhOmCBzhO-wGw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 480px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Kalidou with MDG founder when a talibé child himself</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br></i></div></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_8b8_ec72_2179_5b48" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAu7hTuj005kW3x5eiB-2d9R-FtX_4GaiLrl2wXya_Hg2KIqSNP7CI7ABT8Hf6r1EGKYQVcNtPhhVVXDse1FOqWl1VaCA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 528px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Runaway Talibés we rescued when I was on a previous Ronde de Nuit</i></div></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">While at the centre, discussing with Lala the karate tournament I have planned for next week, a news crew from the television station <span style="font-style: italic;">tfm</span> 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. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_dad4_b0_c410_dd2c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaA4WUQcoKQKtSZhsz7YBm6MQs3ZV5nTaAE1sERfIlFF9wB0bbtluPYTj0Ef-Yd1IjLVjRlS5u-HjSZU30tK3s4Y1Lzpww" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 561px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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 </font><a href="https://youtu.be/pga0Dw-kBdI?feature=shared" id="id_a513_8dd0_897a_867a">8pm national news.</a> <a href="https://youtu.be/pga0Dw-kBdI?feature=shared">https://youtu.be/pga0Dw-kBdI?feature=shared</a></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><a href="https://youtu.be/pga0Dw-kBdI?feature=shared"><br></a></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_b989_af9f_b82a_f600" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaDJjJY8n9GmIWFEOdjH66ook4CdPa4_YWuR5OfV2QG37Bld5Us78XaxCrk06BICUV3GgiexZ3pA04SuyIOkUeb3J4fR3w" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 504px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_6392_31cc_560c_3842" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBSgmf3XVYV3FnlBM6WvCwJzmcdj8Cg6X4Qa7wdJEFOlB4ZsGB1I_xu464ro8ma4-uXIFkSZcMejDAHFdnRfJtfC0uuWA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 325px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_7a1a_92a0_d711_364f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAzAXBVXHWea1XyDaU-7Qcje9kl63UeKFPZ0xDsSbvsQZzhb40pIQjlLPdk9vjWt5Ekd2sRMmqQ1mr7y7XgM5jQgB7hSQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 358px; height: auto; margin: 4px;">'</div><br><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Tomorrow we head back to MDG. And we can’t wait to jump right in</font><span style="font-size: 11px;">. </span></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-11459580337419429072023-11-19T02:38:00.001-08:002023-11-19T02:38:20.076-08:00Senegal Reflections<div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e140_85c3_99ed_9545" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaD4awVKHwJRuvaQpjZ2nwd1OTtCfdIwVNCVy16Gt2U7Dm92jIl5QisHx_tzZpfzpMdD5iXEKhULKnlXW9ciLZRsM98U" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 512px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><br><span style="font-size: large; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">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. </span><br>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_b701_838_28d8_60d0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaAF2IZd-XBKBKxQQKc34ub9kqP_XLSioy-JQWPQevbdZceR1mRtcFkcCJ8av7IKtz1V5GSGaXI-4qFlg_065FjFj2MiWA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 431px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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 </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="text-align: center; margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><img id="id_70ef_9ab5_ab57_6243" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBTG9VkMDAbWxgAme4w1XSQbYasUCUCmdK3w5xnEwfvRGFCiBM56jPOxN8EiESFcAZvqYyenSCS8MXF3xvm03EqPDN7" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 350px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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 </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="text-align: center; margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><img id="id_494c_77c0_10ec_ba68" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaApM4VqlaTxnzZ8WhOWzTIWvSrmhoGNGI7dC_-3efxW7F6LtEoXlAMUOFgbhQh9QXBdosBZMCKA-JldYd4BOH7FfI8aIg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 545px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_bf04_38a4_35d5_dedc" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaB4oci5E116N2k9szDl2pmWrz4vlNUnfCJytjcJaF4AoYWANqUwhSuT7dpKxhtjx0b55jZ0FOG2cnZ809Tjrur77Ye0jA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 626px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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 </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_2f9d_bd15_86ba_f25a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaBzCn72WeqMIMyVq6sq8M4oPqu5XhrknYntkY1TR8ETX1Lixsy-4rkPoRrL_cZPQF4zEwgk1cmqHXeZs5ukZ0zlKoS8dA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 683px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br></div><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_ead8_b63c_c1f1_9e4d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaCjj7mdjGx3f3EzkaBSN9qwlCY0gwgfCJUhsT_qV-ug2ZS6Lwmn4D8CI40LNh4wIv8ezcPe_aVPB0LB0D9xU2PnyjAg-Q" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 585px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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 </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5844_f4e1_6726_b4af" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaCu7zpGtCQ7FK9RK-lCneq9-YVy7nNH17Rgmd8X29g8rt52iGzjPV5kA77bMoRgvhBxEqyPAs_WApCzjtDhb_aPJ7grRA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 618px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_768c_c21e_b250_473b" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/drive-viewer/AK7aPaCLseHAwddrN8j1TLjSr2c5KsGP_zpri5mT7d00D6jeH8rJF5tspGc8HTfCJn2vNRfJ6FXPM3atql0WuXhZSO-s1OGWpQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 609px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-58880645042348776352022-07-04T18:42:00.001-07:002022-07-07T16:57:28.298-07:00Schools in the Desert<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_451c_a2f5_dc82_1f6b" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/sQlYnOppEMLN8zYZPPNCGCDnl_K_9T_IkV4ln0_X1D41AAiSBK3CSemoHO3IsmR2MGE" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 528px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_8763_5a8c_9d96_b1f8" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/rUFKx3WOsP-DtKvNdGRiUyxapIuq2ZmCqyVwp972NWLi7r8UA3oAGwU2ZQVNC5NYTyM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 585px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d1d_2ee7_4c33_66db" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/8CnS7gSxEYRlJK45fFFz-KAuIyprelBFcyNoPTTOUGaRNGpnnrKzqXaML_CKizIoJLo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 488px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><span style="font-size: large; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">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.</span><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_17e0_d0c8_763e_e0dd" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/FzqirFM3JnNIyRPwKaO3ogWscaDzKRPrd0xwDP_tBsxCV8xOHRzgH0B9WkquEcGZtj8" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 277px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_8d10_b0a_d8d0_eb50" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/aUNijfIeQ3mrsJrFx6WzVWeu6yGkjL-Buas0fnevC9mcOvGOHK4HPNTs6J4HaSBws3A" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 561px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_f879_7121_d004_4de9" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/qZnuLY5YCREg6lnZctb7pCbCFCH9dn8RtOMfgLg96jYxhwTZlAJPtOQx10mjxo2I6II" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 244px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><p></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_bbfb_d190_3391_72d1" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/YRDbIt6rr8tm0GiSNzaigET7vi5Ijl0HJRKTp2wm1GAkZTBDObVi0FLssko5YdVG2s4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 561px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_38ae_2edd_e0ad_e430" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/87dYYiUb_7Ly1XM0HA55dTt0EAOVysIjsBErzvL58sRIdAtqwfiskg6zRdYU--fUPMc" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 431px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">We returned back to the hotel near sundown. A full and important day does not even begin to describe it. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"></p><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: center;"><img id="id_98b7_6305_5e6f_2d25" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/_pnDkcKcR-F0w9vxLgD63blo1j06iX_gyvY_a-h7-MZ_5v0dXTmDoKuy-3v1pBCx4wQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 285px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="Helvetica Neue" size="4">Issa Kouyaté and Boubacar Gano of Maison de la Gare</font></div><p></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The future is looking hopeful, for so many reasons. for the boys and also the girls</font><span style="font-size: 11px;">.</span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="font-size: 11px;"><br></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d36_afa9_9ce3_9b75" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/mpMelwqhNI8IbJI08M4xflWPqVFbaAqwKabVyLpZiitJfhyPVfp4IAceFmNXGLR2JiM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 666px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><span style="font-size: 11px;"><br></span><p></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-61421927504671561662022-07-01T18:12:00.001-07:002022-07-01T18:12:38.426-07:00Grading, Grief, and Gratitude<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_43bf_2c64_2381_379a" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/hIuCqt3PGP55q5l2Nbo6ti56DCjVypK593IINYjBzsHjoXj3c4mdsT855SifenF2B80" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 545px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: center;"><img id="id_c664_c764_93f8_7e8c" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/fBDHn9e3aXxrf04MxroRn-PPYzXbIj2zWB5aDDIobZ92qgHmOXOZa8dBpSue3Ydnh-c" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 301px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="Helvetica Neue" size="4">practicing kions</font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="Helvetica Neue" size="4"><br></font></div><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><a href="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">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</a></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_52fb_e4fd_e8af_6b43" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/0VFOIdDWOSkiALn-7Pw1yfqf17yjglEZlNmFk5xffRTcoVFOd9Q3GPW5UHN7IQgguZY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 536px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">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. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Jasmine and Anne-Marie, may peace be upon your souls</font><span style="font-size: 11px;">.</span></p><div><br></div> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-71631526088690646462022-06-27T03:47:00.001-07:002022-06-27T03:47:38.251-07:00Sheep Adventures<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_1e92_d005_b205_ffe" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/DqNAFs_5VIFE9C-JmwBDtwpT8kEpN3te2FIrOVfsGFcyjIdEpcxyGT0uOmvIUKF1StQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 244px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Several years ago we visited the region of M’baye Aw, in “The Bush” to see the students of the schools built to induce parents to recall their children who were forced begging talibés back to the village. We also visited our friend, Cheikh’s, home village and his family.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Cheikh’s sister, Aïssa and I immediately developed a special bond. They are a family of herders, they raise goats and sheep. We visited during the “hungry season “, before the rains, when the desert is still relatively barren and the sheep are not yet ready to be taken for sale to Daara Diollof, the nearest town many hours journey away. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d9e5_eec7_ec65_8c37" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/VSybfBx7xw3k3Q0qeIGtQShniAoDB-9jIDFqAGJHbBV9hZCYMkntePFhUjMWQJQ9KHI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 317px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">At the end of the visit, Aïssa gifted Rowan with a lamb. At first, Aïssa could not understand why Rowan could not take it with her on the airplane back to Canada. It was a female, after all, with the potential to make Rowan wealthy with more lambs. Upon understanding that it was not permitted to return the sheep to our country, she offered to take care of the sheep for Rowan for as long as necessary.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Two years later it was announced that Rowan’s sheep was now a mother, and Rowan was thus becoming a wealthy woman. Aïssa continued to faithfuly care for Rowan’s flock, shooing away teasing children, and saving them from the dinner table.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">When we arrived in Saint Louis this time, after a too-long absence, Cheikh announced that Rowan now owned five sheep! The original lamb had three off-spring, and one of her girls also has had a lamb. Amazing, indeed!</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Rowan and Cheikh discussed the possibility of buying one of the sheep to offer a friend for Tabaski. Cheikh was horrified, pointing out the sheep already belonged to Rowan, she could not buy one, they were hers to do with as she wished. So Rowan asked Aïssa to accept a gift to thank her for faithfully caring for the flock all this time. Happily, this was gratefully accepted. Last night the first born son of the original lamb arrived in Saint Louis. A beautiful, healthy and well-fed ram.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_bf17_f168_dc12_d791" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/yZqLFCW8zDWTBfyG8oqxHz25fX6ADlaiZyXfiXPv3AQ8e4fq5pZjUrgQvaxD9Bak56U" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 293px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Now, to get the sheep to our friend’s house. Her son arrived to guide us to their house by taxi. The sheep was a huge and welcome surprise, as Tabaski is approaching and prices are out of reach. Besides, we were to learn the little lamb we had met there several years ago was still lonely and waiting for the opportunity for a mate. Cheikh said “no problem”, that sheep ride in the taxis. I had never seen or heard of such a thing, but it must be so.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_af9_6637_b1bf_6f30" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/oAr4jat0otdSrK1x6cAovFHZ22oygcFTeQ_NVkAmXpELrwCKt-sh4BWbWyaqPCwz_UU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 268px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Amazingly, the first taxi we hailed already had a sheep in the trunk! When a sheep-less taxi stopped, we put the sheep in the trunk for the ride across town. Upon arrival, the sheep impatiently hopped out in protest. Rowan then led it inside to present to our friends. The sheep steeled itself, refusing to advance into the house, protesting all the way. But, as soon as he saw the lady sheep in the back of the house, his attitude changed entirely. All of a sudden he was very interested in his new home, and its inhabitants. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_7118_607d_4afb_8787" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/Q1jdnuM8E1pEjviEXcAGtUPzQAwDSRdPptSmKmOyIYURHONaWZnjrpKKib_s75uqAjo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 252px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">After we enjoyed time with the family and a wonderful meal of Yassa, we said good-buy to the sheep, who now was once again very happy. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_c282_ccfa_63f1_af51" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/GyO86JQ0zlq9rx7lRqrkYTywW6Yj3EgWFOxowMGCkZjH1PnMlz2jfVlLXqNyYPpwHts" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 317px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br><p></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-2210979539693029262022-06-25T14:57:00.001-07:002022-06-25T15:06:05.752-07:00A travesty Against Humanity<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span><span style="font-size: large; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">On this day that the U.S. Supreme Court threw woman's rights back nearly a century in the United States, I feel ready to write about this other assault upon human rights in general, and women in particular. Another form of modern slavery in Senegal. Learning about this at the same time as the terrifying SCOTUS mistake feels unbearably too much.</span><br>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-BoldItalic; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><font size="4">“My name is Sokhna. I live in the village. I am 11 years old. I am a student going to school and I live with my mother, my father and my sister. I am the first one in my family to go to school. My sister married very young. In my village parents give the girls in marriage when they are 12 years old. I am becoming afraid that I will be forced to be married and not allowed to continue going to school.”</font></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.4px;"><font size="4"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-BoldItalic; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"></span><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-BoldItalic; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><font size="4"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- name and details changed to protect her identity</font></span></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">I have been reeling since I opened the envelope our friend handed us the night before last. stuffed full of written testimonies of young girls. Children testifying about their forced early marriages, and their fear of being forced to marry far too young and forced to end their education and dashing their hopes for the future. This was just one of them. It is too much.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Okay…I was not ready. It is now the next day. I am trying again. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Where do I begin?</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Several years ago our friend, Cheikh let us know he was trying to build a school in his village. He said he was inspired by watching us year after year helping Maison de la Gare help the talibés. Many talibés come from his village and region. There are no schools there. So parents felt their only hope of education for their children at all was to send their sons to to the city to daaras to learn the Quran. So… building a school can change things, he thought. And he started saving from his long days working as a street-corner cobbler. When we found out about it we started helping him. The first school was built. Then, this became a Maison de la Gare-associated program. More years of savings and the villagers “bought in” and more schools were built. Then one special donor in Canada found out about it and that has enabled hiring more teachers. </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_b4f4_5f07_b45c_4481" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/vq2xNctgIddnktKg2obBxQAEK9S7TMIlvfdOWh4ihF9jk76TsCizvqsccKIqs_Q8jlI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 301px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">a scene on route to the village region</span></div><p></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">When we visited several years ago we saw the schools in action, met the talibés who had returned from forced begging on the streets, met the girls who were attending school for the first time ever, because now that is a possibility for them. Turns out they were all beyond hungry for it, and are the most dedicated students. Here is a version of an earlier blog post published for Maison de la Gare about the project: </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><a href="http://www.mdgsl.com/actualites/engaug2018mbayeawa.html" id="id_e53a_b33e_99ec_314f">Into the Bush in Search of Education</a>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Now, after years of a campaign to obtain documentation for the children, a lengthy process attempted one by one that enables them to write state exams, annual trips to the nearest city to write the exams are becoming normalized. This year, 65 students are writing their exams at various levels. 31 boys and 34 girls. 12 of the boys used to be forced begging talibés. This is an incredible achievement. Almost an impossible one! Hundreds of children, including girls are being educated and documented, and many dozens of talibés are being repatriated. This Senegalese, grass-roots project has sown dramatically more success for dramatically less investment of money, than any international development project I have ever read about.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">But of course, each success opens another pandora’s box, and then leads to much more to do.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">When my daughter Rowan researched and wrote about the forced begging talibé system, she noted the history, the various actors, and the possible levers for change. She also speculated based on observations and conversations from our trip to visit the schools the the talibé system likely contributes to the practice of early forced marriage and polygamy. When boys disappear from the villages at an early age and rarely return, and there are no schools, marrying the girls left behind to older men, multiple girls to each man, may have seemed a logical, perhaps even the only choice to the villagers. We did not really know how widespread child forced marriages were. It was just talk. But it seemed a logical conclusion to assume it happened regularly. Here is a much abbreviated version of Rowan’s report that was published for Maison de la Gare: </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><a href="http://www.mdgsl.com/actualites/engdec2020pourquoi.html" id="id_5b3f_686f_dd9b_aa4d">Who are the Talibés and why do they Beg.</a>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Rowan and I speculated that by building schools in the villages, not only would talibés be repatriated, but girls would also begin to study, to discover, to learn about human rights. Ideas would spread. And, there would be boys their age to marry, in equal numbers once more. Perhaps pressures for forced early polygamous marriages would eventually also diminish. Change could come for girls as well as for talibés. Schools in the villages could be the key to ending two forms of modern slavery.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">With the envelope of testimonies we received this week, the theory about forced early marriages ceased to be talk. And our speculation that education would bring awareness and opportunity and could lead to change has been proven out! This feels very important. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">But, we are now in the time between awareness and opportunity, and the change to come. This is surely the hardest time. The traditions of child forced marriage remain. But the reasons for it do not, thanks to the schools built in the villages. Change is being called for, but it has not yet happened. I have no doubt that it will come. But, in the mean time the testimonies in this envelope I am holding in my hand, and the pictures of the hopeful, newly educated young faces looking as if into my eyes, what of them? </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Do we console ourselves that they are bringing the change that will benefit their daughters? While I know that to be true, it is also hard to swallow. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">It will be harder yet to wait for the change surely to come when next weekend we travel to meet the students writing exams and to the village, and the eyes we are looking into are real, and not photographs.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><span style="font-family: HelveticaNeue-BoldItalic; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"><font size="4">“My name is Aïssa. I live in the village and I am 12 years old. I am a student at the school. I live with my father and mother and my brothers. My father wants to give me in marriage but I refused, as I want to continue with my studies. I have even spoken with the old man he wants to give me to and explained I want to study at school. It will not be easy, but I am determined to fight to continue to study. I am also determined to fight against forced child marriage. But I can’t do it alone.”</font></span></p>
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<p style="text-align: center; margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><font size="4">In the desert and bush regions there are camels and sheep but no schools</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p> </div>Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-64527937076316773192022-06-22T19:15:00.001-07:002022-06-22T19:26:26.684-07:00Saint Louis - de retourne<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_215a_a57_f6e4_ceb4" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/MHfzYohP1WWfMuwQmLSRMDwtPesDQ-6vHgBtvMyJ-ux3VDAVmh8gGrz2z36uYWBVeAc" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 528px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The sky is clear and the sun is hot. There is no sign of the violent storm we drove through last night enroute to Saint Louis. Word has spread that we have arrived and more friends have appeared to greet us. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The pandemic has been so difficult for so many here. So many jobs lost, then later regained, but at diminished hours and wages. People understand, and belts tighten. The many who rely on tourists for their livelihoods are still waiting for things to improve. How they have found a way to make ends meet these past years is a mystery. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">As we walk through the streets, I hear my name called out many times in greeting. It seems to be well understood that we are here for the talibés, and not as tourists. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">But, there seem to be fewer people on the island than I remember. I wonder how many have left the city to return to families elsewhere, due to the high prices and lack of work. The Pont Faidherbe has far less foot traffic traffic than I remember. The city is definitely quieter. More subdued. Waiting for things to be better. Waiting for the city to wake. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">In the afternoon we make our way to Maison de la Gare. Sor is definitely busier. This is a place for locals. This is closer to what we remember. At the center a pick-up game of futbol is underway. Kalidou is teaching an english class. As Rowan and I meet with Issa and Boubacar Robbie leads a game of tag with the kids. Then he helps Lala prepare and hand out the evening meal. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">At 8pm we are surprised by a great noise. I wonder if the rain has come to Saint Louis. But no, it is a planned “symphony of Cassoroles”. it seems much of the city has come out to bang their pots tonight in protest of the President of Senegal in advance of the upcoming election. it lasts 10 minutes, then normal night sounds resume. On the way back to the island we are passed by a hoard of protesters who had been banging their pots near the government buildings, still banging and chanting. Then quiet once more.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">One young man we encountered, an old friend, was excited about the protest, and showed me his identity card as evidence he could and would vote. Others shake their heads… “la politic”…It seems July 31, election day, may prove to be interesting.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">We learned that one of Robbie’s karate protégés, Abdou, succeeded with his first belt grading. This was announced with so much pride. The other three will get the chance to grade next time, Insha’Allah. We cannot wait to see them and practice together at the dojo. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The talibé karateka will come to the center for class tomorrow morning. But, we have learned, and they have yet to learn that classes tomorrow will be postponed. Instead a nationally televised presentation will take place highlighting terrible conditions in the daaras, and training for how to help improve conditions to stop the spread of disease. Karate will have to wait until Friday.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">As we were were about to call it a night, a soft knock on the door. We stayed up until well past midnight talking with our friend Cheikh. He is a local cobbler who has committed himself in his own way, and in so doing has involved us and Maison de la Gare, toward ending forced begging in Senegal, of talibés from the region of his village of origin. His project has become a great success. But with every success, new stories come to light, with issues to solve. This is a big one. Too much to write about tonight. I doubt I will sleep tonight</font><span style="font-size: 11px;">. </span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d905_2513_1962_de5f" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/EfEAmU7Y1rdF-17pT7yhJy_wO8HraNa06tFS_Zu1JbKrQGeYYuPzQj8tJIEM4HTelLM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 301px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><span style="font-size: 11px;"><br></span></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-61434132556943884052022-06-22T05:07:00.001-07:002022-06-22T05:15:16.003-07:00We are Back<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_1f60_9280_d99f_874f" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/s-xtgCYDz5YxzJr74hNqyI6_PEyzKW8LRPRfP4wl2ci5Ybe_qyU3zHDi3UO5VBrGpqM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 536px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">We are back. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">It has been two years and eight months, and yet it feels like we were just here. The majestic, ancient baobabs and the palms along our route, the red Sahel sand hazing the air, the many vendors along our route waiting for customers (the basket town, the meat town, the furniture town, the auto repair town, the fruit town, etc.), the horse drawn carts piled high with families and goods, the buses with people hanging on to the </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_bbe9_599c_b559_a1d5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yp_tEyZnw6mxay1Df9Tf3E9OqwMfsoj-30qv3OGiRBaQtJy0o5l23OgIuXmwQDDNBxM" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 325px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">back, the seemingly equal numbers of bright traditional dresses and bou-bous, and jeans and t-shirts, the herds of zebu, it all feels so familiar.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_bede_6cd3_fd85_f169" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/npOcylEnbtW2vwLsYmwUFwDEfaTG6CWyXnC4SMbnPT8-cruETMPgAbJodb2Y1kN_voE" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 366px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">But far less sheep were evident than usual. Tabaski is next month, and it is traditional for each family to slaughter a sheep. So, most have already been purchased. And due to the embargo on trade with Mali it seems there is a significant shortage of sheep this year. Those that are available have risen in price beyond the means of most families. Many may go without this year, unfortunately. Our driver confirms what I already know, times have been difficult since the pandemic began. Many families are struggling. But the optimistic nature I remember seems to prevail… “God is Good”, “we will find a way”.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">All of our luggage packed with donated karate equipment and uniforms for the Sor-Maison de la Gare karate program arrived safe and sound. This should not surprise me, but it always does. In 22 visits we have not lost a bag. Each bag is right at our allowable weight limit. Although this will be very much appreciated at Maison de la Gare, there is that long trip up the stairs at our hotel…</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_399f_6412_f4d0_afcc" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/7EnqJV2vExuI_9gDppV847gPI0cssoZu4kOcbqmlgidpc6mKIlPo3pyNjZQNMT4mLqs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 325px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The luggage includes some very special items this time. We will be hosting a karate tournament on Canada Day at Maison de la Gare: The Douvris Cup Challenge. The medals and trophies are donated by Canadian and world champions, hoping to inspire by sharing their own hard earned medals with the winners.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">We passed through a thunder storm on the way from the airport to Saint Louis. An early sign of the rainy season yet to come. But when we arrived in Saint Louis the streets were dry and the hot air was humid. As our car pulled up to la Maison Rose we were warmly welcomed by old friends. One close friend, Cheikh, had been waiting all day and night for our arrival to greet us. And our reunion with other friends was poignant, after so long apart. “C’est comme chez vous” are more than just words here.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"></p><div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: center;"><img id="id_f554_6210_15ff_ade0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/CQ3-ggyqHGbXN4-0zi4Q1DxP-XCjVmKR5kQ0yY8lsuzuUdpEUakp3yzWIf-s6WlDnLU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 504px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><font face="Helvetica Neue" size="4">the reason we are here</font></div><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-20806230785000899762022-05-13T06:29:00.001-07:002022-05-13T06:29:22.976-07:00A Talibé’s Hard Road Led him to Education<div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_ae88_13c_bb27_bfac" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/RyB7KnQRk1OenWinY1uMQ35VtByDk6G8gUKg7jezHTV_KMS5zSsfFZAdC2ed-E5Ewt8" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 415px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">It has been over two and a half years since I have been in Senegal, due to the pandemic. But, my connection with the children and my friends who I travel to support has not wavered. Throughout the pandemic I have continued to mentor Sulayman, a former talibé, and support his tutoring, as he continued his high school education. He has now completed his secondary school studies and is about to write his final exams, with hopes to carry on to university. This is why I volunteer in Senegal! Sulayman’s story, told in his own words, describes a typical talibé’s life and hopelessness. It is nearly unbearable to read, let alone to live. Most talibé stories do not end in hope and education, or lead to new beginnings, as Sulayman’s is</font><span style="font-size: large;">, unfortunately. But, this one does. Please read from Sulayman’s own pen…</span></p><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">My name is Sulayman Ba. I was born in Gambia, West Africa. I have six siblings and I am the third son of my mother. I spent much of my childhood and youth as a modern slave, first as a slave labouring then a forced begging talibé. But education was all I ever wanted. Eventually I finally took some control over my own life and found a way to go to school.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">The way I became a talibé is tragically a bit funny actually. I and my elder brother would always be arguing about who is going to be a school teacher and who is going to be a marabout (Islamic teacher). I was the one that would always say I want to be a marabout and my brother would say he wants to be a teacher, but I was not really being too serious. One fateful day, my late father called me and my brother and asked if we were sure of what we were claiming we wanted to become and we said of course! I was very optimistic about it at the time, I was not familiar with the system of slavery that many West African marabouts practiced. So my father sent my brother to school and he took me to one of his friends who was a marabout, to teach me the Quran. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Although I was learning the Quran, the teacher was extremely strict. He would not even allow me to go to see my parents. Sometimes I would go to visit my parents house when I really missed them. When this was discovered by my marabout, he would beat me up. I can still remember those beatings. I lived with him this way until he persuaded my parents to send me to another village in Gambia. When I arrived in this village I was given over to another man, left alone with him. I remember on the second day my shoes disappeared. At this time I started crying, realizing my life was to be real hardship. I was so young at that time that I can't even remember what my age was. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">This village was composed of many "talibés". In this village we talibés were the labourers. We were forced to work on huge farmlands. We grew groundnuts and maize. We consumed half and the other half was taken for sale. We also took care of gardens for the son of our marabout in that village. We mainly cultivated bananas and onions. Our marabout had more than 400 talibés and there were only a few rooms for us to sleep in. It was like a prison inside our rooms, there was not even space to step or walk. There was a long time that I only had the clothes I was wearing and no shoes on my feet while I had to do this hard work every day. The life in the village was like a hell for me, particularly in my first year before I got somewhat used to the situation. We did not have electricity so we would go to the forest everyday to fetch firewood. We would burn that wood for our light at night and when we had to wake up 4:00 in the morning to learn the Quran until 7:00 am. Then we would be sent to work all day. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">There I was until my father passed away. I wanted to go home and my mum visited me there in the village only twice and I would cry whenever she was leaving. But she always told me “I have no choice Sulayman, your Dad wanted you to learn the Quran and become a marabout and he always reminded me of this” my mum said. So there I remained until I was finished the Quran. But then my marabout in that village decided to take me to Senegal to continue studying. This was how my journey to Saint Louis came about. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">I was taken to Saint Louis, Senegal with one of my daara- mates, who was also a Gambian. When we arrived in the city around 8pm we were supposed to be taken to the "ville". But we were not allowed to stay in the place we were sent. Instead we were sent to a different marabout. We eventually arrived at this other daara later that night and it was full also. But the marabout let us stay there with some of his talibés despite it being overcrowded. I remember it was so dramatic that night! </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">My first morning in Saint Louis, I woke up and was sitting waiting for breakfast. We were extremely famished after our long journey and the the chaos of the previous day without food. One guy came and told us boys “I know you boys are new comers, but here in this daara you have to go out beg for food or look for job in order to survive.” We of course had no money, so we went to the market with some of the other talibés to try to get jobs carrying people's stuff. We were paid very small amounts actually, not enough to even buy food. That was how we were living for several more years. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">I was forced to do many tedious jobs in Saint Louis just for survival to take care of myself, and also to give my marabout money. No one else cared about taking care of me even though I was a child. I can remember my first job apart from going to that market was sweeping. There was a very wicked woman named Aja that I was working for, she was very mean to me. I did not understand the money, and I would wake up every morning and clean everywhere in the house up and down everyday, with no days off. For this I was paid 2000cfa a week (about US$3.25). But this woman often would not even pay me that small amount so I left there and I returned to the market to earn what I could. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">In 2015 I learned about some centres helping talibés like me. I started going to the centres and found Maison de la Gare. Whenever we were returning from working in the market we would pass by Maison de la Gare to take a shower and sometimes watch films and play. We would also come back in the afternoon and eat free food they gave us. I joined karate classes too. I started falling love with it. Maison de la Gare was a break from my very hard life. I spent as much time as I could at Maison de la Gare. I started getting used to the people at Maison de la Gare, and trusting them, especially the teacher, Abdou Soumaré. He always would advise me go to the classes and learn French or English, that it may help a lot in my life. </font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d97_639c_6238_afaa" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/5lob4cs-YrBcY5LY5oPgT9HUEIYGwueyCd0wCnn2-yDYLWZevt48aV73K3x76Sig1Lo" alt="Sulayman and Abdou" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 333px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">At that time I could not understand anything in either English or French so I found it pointless to sit in the class room. I could not tolerate my life in the daara any longer, so I was eager to escape to Europe, through Libya or Morocco. Four of my friends had gone on that journey, and I wanted to do it too. That was the year I left the daara and went to Mauritania to try to find a job and then make my way to Europe. But Mauritania was even a worse nightmare for me. Even more terrible than living in the daara. I returned to Saint Louis and finally took Abdou Soumaré’s advice. He had always been telling me I should try to go to classes and at least learn to understand one official language that could help me in life. So I started learning English with some of the volunteers at the centre. I remained at the centre until I started speaking a bit of English. I even joined the karate dojo and earned my yellow belt.</font></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_df80_789f_d6f_352b" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/lA_hH0b63Kw59ZlncpFyCIJhvf52rPQ6s7zn0zzOKcje6TH0YyFYTUXrf9nxXdMS5C0" alt="Robbie granting Sulayman his yellow belt" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 390px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">I returned to Gambia in late 2018, but I found my mum had a heart attack and my elder brother was not working. My uncle was the one taking care of this whole family and I had the feeling that I needed to make a change. I was wondering how I could make my way through my entire life with only having learned the Quran. I refused to treat other children the way I had been treated, as slaves, so being a marabout was not for me. I felt quite useless in my family. I went back to Saint Louis, and my main objective was to try to support myself, enrol myself to school, get my certificate, and then start working to become the bread winner of my family. I refused to return to the hell of the daara so I lived sometimes on the streets, sometimes at friends’ rooms, and sometimes at Maison de la Gare’s dortoir (emergency shelter). I continued to go to the Maison de la Gare classes.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">I explained my situation and my desire to go to a real school to some of my friends. One friend who motivated me the most to find a way to go to school was my friend Tijan, also from Gambia. Tijan and I almost have similar stories. He was the one who would tell me “Sulayman stop thinking about this back way of going to Europe. You can make it in your own country.” He had returned to Gambia to go to school a few years before and he was going to graduate from high school! He was at that time in Senegal only briefly to visit Maison de la Gare. Tijan convinced and inspired me to return again to Gambia, this time to go to school. Abdou Soumaré and Issa Kouyaté, the president of Maison de la Gare gave us both some advice and wished us well. Tijan and I returned to Gambia together. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Today I believe that everything in life is possible. You just have to believe in yourself and give it a try. If I didn't believe in myself so strongly at this point, and already been through so much hardship, I would have dropped out of school the very first week that I enrolled. I will never forget this in my life: my very first test in school I earned zero out of one hundred. The teacher called me in front of the class room and embarrassed me in front of everybody. But, I didn't give up or think “well, I am stupid and I can't do this” instead I was like “ahhh, this is my first time in school, so it's not the end of the world. I’ll do better next time after I learn something.” I thank God now, Alhamdulillah!! that I stuck with it. I have learned much and improved a lot, advancing through all my high school grades. I am not bothered that I am of such an older age compared to my classmates and I am now at the last stage of high schooling. I have completed my high school studies with the help of tutors to help me get caught up for all the education I missed as a child. I have qualified to write the WASSCE, the West African Senior School Certificate examination, which I will be attempting this spring.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">My hope for the future is to get good results in my upcoming exams. My high school diploma and good exam results will open the door for me to further my education. I hope my hard work and perseverance will give me the chance to go to university, to continue my education. I want to do it for myself and for my family. I believe education can brighten my life, it is the way.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_70d1_5498_f5f4_7b35" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/PhL1FLm-FgDOvS5y753OG7ivGFfTXHRmHt9w-Na393lBpJKavibfpTRTIfDe9ydfrbU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 512px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-12409535631849350782022-02-21T13:06:00.001-08:002022-02-21T13:30:54.577-08:00Opportunity Knocks<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5f92_5fdc_add1_beae" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/2SppmAg5IqiO0Xl8jYM20fx0l_Jq7aJVD5VgWFd2o1krT59uXEkslekek9Bt2zDIaSU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 431px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">2021 has been such a difficult year for the talibés, forced begging street boys, of Saint Louis and the staff of Maison de la Gare who strive to make their lives better and help them find hope for a better future. Again.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Covid 19 initially closed the Maison de la Gare centre and dramatically affected the talibés ability to find enough even to eat. Eventually with the help of donors, Maison de la Gare was able to help feed the hungry boys during periods of lock-down. Later, the Center was able to reopen and talibé could return to spend a few hours a day playing, learning, seeking solace or health care, and just be children.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_7949_6712_6a1f_e64e" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/cOCpQd0L2Sx4JLcDnaDjJWvIH2sbAe62HOFwfk-E1fKmw8BIo2pXYHXAYrtraz7-wFw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 244px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Best of all for the young martial artists of Maison de la Gare, karate could resume. the clean, white gi’s came out of storage, white and coloured belts were wrapped around torsos once, the sand was raked and swept of shells, pebbles and twigs, and the karateka lined up under the African sun once more. Yoi. Ready in anticipation for the instruction of their Sensei.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">This December, excitement about karate was heightened as a few of Maison de la Gare’s long time karate students, Ahmadou and Adama, and the Center’s instructor, Bouaro were invited to compete at a rare International Karate Tournament being hosted in Saint Louis on boxing Day, December 26. Ahmadou and Bouaro competed in kata divisions, while Adama competed in kumité. For any martial artist, a karate competition is an exciting opportunity. For talibés, it is an absolute life highlight. More than an opportunity to excel at their sport and test their skill, competition tests a karateka’s perseverance, courage, determination, and offers incredible opportunity for personal growth. It is also an opportunity to shine on the mat. To be applauded as a hero, win or lose. For talibés who live most of their lives neglected, overlooked or pitied by much of society, the positive impact of applause and admiration, let opportunity to be in the spotlight can hardly be understood.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Bouaro, Adama, and Ahmadou enjoyed their glorious day of competition. Cheered on by Maison de la Gare supporters and their fellow karatekas, the day of competition will not soon be forgotten by the competitors. And it will be remembered by the spectators who watched these young people putting everything they had on the mat, demonstrating their skill with unusual passion and determination, inspiring other talibés that it is possible to rise out of the invisible crowd and shine, that glory is possible if one is willing to work for it. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">There are over 40 of the talibés who are more advanced and particularly committed to elevating their karate skills, who are registered in the local dojo, Sor-Karate. They are anxious to renew their memberships at the dojo and be able to continuing to practice the martial art they have come to love, that offers them a sense of self worth, confidence, self respect, and belonging. January each year the karate licensing and dojo membership renewal fees are due. Continuation with the program depends on the generosity of international donors. A gift of $100 Canadian will renew a child’s karate membership for a year, enabling them to test for higher belts, and participate in a supplementary food program while training. More kids who have been participating in the morning karate classes at the Maison de la Gare center are ready to join the dojo as well. Their hopes being fulfilled will depend upon the generosity of donors. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Thank you to our generous donors for helping to bring the opportunity that participation in martial arts offers, to the talibés of Maison de la Gare.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_aef5_c6da_5a02_151a" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/CkWiSRSSOZbDo04fcxDYm0l3d03v8nd9XS98db0gTXO32OabRjR5mg4JuQ4cAo6_h3g" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 650px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p>
<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; min-height: 13.1px;"><br></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-32409758467778059162022-02-21T12:54:00.001-08:002022-02-21T13:31:29.541-08:00An Oasis During the Pandemic<div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_f2de_1c52_e6a3_e1bd" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/CJADZp41rivsUPSPHG-dFYjBix5D5nekyEUGPph2gQR0we_Tllqz1dyh9qE36INYCQs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 577px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">In March of 2020 Covid-19 hit Maison de la Gare like a freight train. Our planned visit was cancelled at the last moment. International volunteers evacuated the country. Other planned volunteer visits and the revenue they bring were cancelled. Travel between regions was prohibited, trapping vulnerable talibés children in the cities in their darras. And, the cities locked down, instantly eliminating the source of food for tens of thousands of forced begging street children.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Early in the Pandemic, Covid-19 was not the primary danger in Saint Louis. With travel and all activity stopped in its tracks, cases were few. But, the economic devastation was swift and deep. Many Senegalese lost their work and income. Many could no longer house or sufficiently feed their families. For the vulnerable talibés, already victims of abuse, neglect and modern slavery, things became so much worse. Within days of the first lock downs, the streets of Saint Louis were empty of all but hungry talibés, desperately sorting through garbage heaps for anything at all to eat. With the help of generous donors, Maison de la Gare was able to continue to pay its staff, but the Center had to close. The only refuge for thousands of talibés was lost to them. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Maison de la Gare soon was able to pivot and respond to the new dangers to talibés. Neighbourhood cooks were rallied, international donors responded, and first hundreds, and then thousands of meals each day were cooked and delivered by Maison de la Gare staff and older talibés </font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d246_477d_8d16_835" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/JN1t9iwnVP6hCfMogg55J8oQMVNtri2G00m78QWKqSPssQLvKhQ9ROJOFoMlf7J_NCs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 268px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">to the daaras where the boys lived. Starvation for many talibés was avoided after all. Apprentices in the Maison de la Gare couture program sewed massive quantities of masks. Maison de la Gare teams delivered cleaning supplies and masks to the talibés in their darras and taught them to protect themselves from the Covid virus.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">As time passed, Covid did make its way more dangerously into Senegal. After months of experiencing few cases, economic activity began to resume in Saint Louis. people returned to their daily business, even if at a diminished rate. Talibés went back to begging, the Center was able to open again. But, as vaccinations became widely available in the Global North, travel began to resume. And with it, Covid began to spread and take hold.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Now in Senegal, hospitals are full. So many people are sick, and everyone seems to know someone who has died of Covid. But, unlike in the North, the hope offered by vaccines is not available to most in Senegal. The supply of vaccines only trickles in, and Covid continues to spread.</font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">But now, knowing how to better manage the risks of Covid, life at Maison de la Gare continues. Masked, and distanced, but it continues. Food and water and cleaning supply costs are higher than ever at Maison de la Gare. But, talibé children are able to tumble through the gates each day in twos and threes, or alone. They wash their clothes and themselves. They enjoy a meal they do not need to beg for. They visit the infirmary, sometimes to have serious conditions treated, sometimes just for some much needed tender loving care from the health care workers. The put on clean, white uniforms and practice karate. They play soccer. They attend classes and learn French and math. They play, relax, and just get to be children for a few minutes or hours. </font></p>
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<p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4">Some of the Maison de la Gare team have managed to get vaccinated. Others are registered to get their jabs, waiting their turn. But, it could be a long wait. People are scared. And vaccines are scarce. Nevertheless, Maison de la Gare staff are doing all they can for the vulnerable talibés, most of who are too young to be vaccinated, even if the supply were available. We have often described Maison de la Gare as an oasis for the talibés. During the Covid-19 pandemic, the oasis provided by Maison de la Gare has proven to be more important than ever, offering more than hope…helping to sustain life itself.</font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"><font size="4"><br></font></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_ddc5_accf_a152_6210" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/oAsWoaTnieKWuKj1ZWf4_D1bZYa5rGY7N6njHTp5hGoMKrB0RQe-1HcH_1aB2rEC1ng" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 488px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><font size="4"><br></font><p></p> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-51455581471375073192019-12-01T09:23:00.001-08:002019-12-01T09:23:44.909-08:00Alkaline<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_c9d8_a03f_ded_7ad5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ZZ0Nd7bO42_Lbr-XSI58e3kYhKavFXnM89Nlx8VmIAOBD4xkZJJoc1TOIrw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 403px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sulayman with Abdou Soumaré</div><div><br></div></div><div>I have known Sulayman for over five years. He has always been a quiet, positive boy with a gentle spirit and a smile. He began with the karate program early. Robbie presented him with his yellow belt at a cérémonie de passage about three years ago. As he is originally from The Gambia, Sulayman speaks some English, and we always enjoyed conversations while hanging around the Maison de la Gare center.</div><div><br></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_6ef3_f3af_bf5c_4346" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/lzuR6x7y9XHE_k_YjAUjn6q0lkMZKisxJW7btFWfQHzdvdkokaZxqRwXLrE" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Robbie Hughes presenting Sulayman with his yellow belt in karate</div><br><br></div><div>Sulayman remembers that when he was a young boy he lived happily with three brothers and two sisters and his mother and father in the Village of Welingarau in The Gambia, until the age of six. </div><div><br></div><div>Everything changed when his father died. Sulayman does not remember his father at all, just photos of him. Apparently Sulayman had once told his father when very young that he wanted to be a marabout. and his brother said he wanted to be a teacher. Sulayman has no memory of having said this, or of ever having wanted to be a marabout. But, Because it had been his father's wish that he become a marabout, upon his father's death his mother sent him to an Arabic school in a nearby Gambian village. His brother was sent to school in hopes of becoming a teacher. Sulaymane remained in the daara for nearly eight years.</div><div><br></div><div>Then, at the age of fourteen, Sulayman's mother wanted him to go to Saint Louis to be a talibé to better learn the Quran. So, he was sent by his Marabout to a daara in Saint Louis. Saint Louis has a reputation as a place to send one's sons to learn the Quran, among poorer villages, anyway. Perhaps many parents are unaware of the miserable conditions to which they are sending their children.</div><div><br></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_c666_f54_c1c_e1c8" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/au8avyi8YhzmGpRTGh4yfnTJ3vMCiMv-A4zVgoG3wkkcPi9SbgrnME78-8c" alt="a daara Saint Louis, taken by talibé in transition, Elhage Diallo" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 418px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">a daara in Saint Louis, taken by talibé in transition, Elhage Diallo </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div> Sulayman noted that all of the younger children were forced to beg for daily quotas of money. He only needed to beg or work for his own food. None of the children, including himself were fed or offered any type of health care when needed. No one was sent to school. Sulayman did not like what he saw of how the children were treated. He was taught the Quran during the day, but there was no place for him to sleep at night at the daara. Sulayman spent the first three months sleeping on the street, in doorways of homes, getting little sleep as he needed to quickly move away when anyone entered or left the house where he was sheltering. He learned to ask for food from door to door to feed himself. Sulayman arrived from The Gambia with good clothes, but everything except what he was wearing was soon stolen in the daara.</div><div><br></div><div>Not too long after arriving in Saint Louis, Sulayman heard about Maison de la Gare and he made his way there. He saw the Maison de la Gare classes in session and he realized education could be the key for him. He spent as much time as he could at the centre, as life was much better there than on the streets or in the daara. He joined the karate program and earned his yellow belt.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_ae2_486f_aaaa_caef" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/P6tHuPe_GkjpPlMwpZaU4uOFjKvb964iJauD4U9SoxuMlB_zaigJlme0cKA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">A Maison de la Gare classroom</div><br>After his first three months his marabout left for Casamance in the south of Senegal and Sulayman was able to sleep in the daara now, with more than 50 other boys. </div><div><br></div><div>Sulayman was able to return to The Gambia to visit his family twice in 2015. After two and a half years living in the daara in Saint Louis Sulayman had had enough. He left, and from that time on has existed in Saint Louis by couch surfing with friends. Sometimes he would sleep at Maison de la Gare's emergency shelter. He spent as much of his time as he could improving his English and learning math, in Maison de la Gare's classes and in others offered by other associations. His goal was to learn enough that he would be able to someday be able to integrate into school in The Gambia. He supports himself working in the market helping to make cooking pots, operating the grinder to finish them. Sulayman earns enough money working to buy food. </div><div><br></div><div>Some of the older talibés have given themselves knick names, which is how the international volunteers have come to know and address them. Sulayman has been going by the name of Alkaline. He is not quite sure why that particular name, but he likes it. Sometimes the names are chosen by a friend, sometimes they select them themselves. Perhaps in a world where the talibé are nearly invisible to society, this is one more way they can feel they are individual and in control.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_9a48_41f0_c5d7_80e1" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/i12-q_095pEco5bier68gRLBLvEEzarrAGepEnEeiYd-6D15JJ_XDXxlIvU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Tijan and Sulayman</div><br>Since this summer Sulayman has been seriously considering the idea of returning to The Gambia to go to school. The lack of resources to pay school registration fees and the fear of the unknown has held him back. This week things changed when Tijan arrived in Saint Louis. Tijan had been a talibé who I first met about six years ago at Maison de la Gare, also from The Gambia. Tijan also had wanted nothing more than to become educated. About three years ago when I was in Saint Louis, Tijan confided that had been considering attempting to find his way to Europe, as he heard that minors who arrived there would be enrolled in school. We figured out how he could instead return to The Gambia where he had the right to go to school, but no practical means to do so. That was three years ago. This June Tijan graduated from high school and is now preparing to begin university, studying business and economics, in January. This week he had come to Saint Louis to see me and Robbie before starting university.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_b7d_982d_102e_b676" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/YReUyeFAzxQh9E_dHsw3nrwwjxiCXY-Rz2us4OXkXsR8h3-UhekDsiHZVJw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 388px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Tijan with his high school diploma</div><br>Sulayman, seeing Tijan's successful example, made up his mind that perhaps the seemingly impossible may be possible after all. The school he thinks he could go to is near his cousin's house. He is hoping to be able to stay with his cousin, eating two meals a day there. And, Tijan lives just 20 minutes away in case he needs help. A friend in Ottawa had given me some money for a person I perceived to be in need. I gave it to Sulayman to help him on his way. I gave him a school bag and some school supplies and set up an email account for him to ensure we could stay in touch.</div><div><br></div><div>The ongoing school fees will be a challenge. And, he is not sure his plan for living arrangements will be workable. But, he is full of hope and optimism. Sulayman is determined that his time is now. Before Tijan and Sulayman left, Issa, the President of Maison de la Gare, spoke with the two boys, offering advice. Sulayman also received much appreciated life advice and encouragement from Abdou, the head teacher at Maison de la Gare.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_92dd_31b4_ea40_95a4" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/24rsfjFgIYPhqnS0OEYtLNo9wNDALKtuoCeVwp-06PyOReDtIq1D6q0SYfo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">Issa Kouyate, President of MDG offering advise to Tijan and Sulayman</div><br></div><div>Tijan and Sulayman left Maison de la Gare together, excited about the future and we said goodbye. Two days later I learned they had arrived in The Gambia. Sulayman has had a meeting with the director of his hoped for school. He can begin high school at the start of the next term, at the end of December despite his age of 21 years. And, he has already found a math study group to join now to help prepare him for what lies ahead. And Tijan begins his university adventure in January. The future is looking bright.</div><div><br></div> <br><br>Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-32256642674869786882019-11-28T06:02:00.001-08:002019-11-28T06:02:28.363-08:00The Future is Bright in Saint Louis<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_c3c0_1f74_e750_7ed1" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/xx8oqh9uFAkGYJE9FRKjF9svNpNjTSvHKdyAbYoPf7VR-TmKE73p-0WBMBY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 403px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>Saturday night a very special family joined us for dinner. I had been looking forward to seeing Oumou's six beautiful children again. Many years ago, long before the youngest, Mohammed had been born, we had visited their home when our friend Samir welcomed us as guests. </div><div><br></div><div>Samir had worked at our hotel in Saint Louis. He had been the first to welcome us on our very first trip. Each day I went for an early morning run around the island Samir would watch out for me. We had many talks about his pride for his children. The family was committed to the education of their children as their first priority. Lala is always at the top of her class, and Fadel usually is first or second in his. When ever we visited their home, all the children were proud to show us their exercise books and test results.</div><div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_1ad2_45bf_5165_ba03" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/4vA5RjJwnveH5A4LvBG1W2zJQPmxJZL1zQNuEU88jBwFNa8zLU4vx1NaZik" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 388px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br><br></div><div>They chose to live in a very small, rudimentary two room house with a small sand courtyard in order to afford private school fees. Private school is not as what we would think of in Canada, but it does usually assure that the teachers show up and when they do that they do not spend much of their time on their smart phones. If one wants to advance to high school and succeed there, private school is nearly a necessity. It is not expensive, but for Samir, with fees to pay for three children, it was a considerable burden. When the youngest at the time became old enough to be registered in school and Samir was not sure how he would cope, I began to help them out at registration time.</div><div><br></div><div>Two years ago Samir tragically passed away. His wife, Oumou, is not educated, and five of the children were under the age of twelve. The director of the school at first waived the fees for the older children. Due to their brilliance and promise, he did not want them to have to drop out of school. Extended family and Samir's former employer also helped out for a time. Working reselling charcoal and consumer goods, and cooking for neighbours, Oumou could earn enough to pay the rent or feed the family, but not both. Evntually the assistance trickled to a halt. Tragic stories such as this one are not uncommon here. Life, its hopes and dreams, can shatter in a heartbeat. Families adapt: children drop out of school, go to work, or the family breaks up to get parcelled out to live with and possibly serve distant relatives. This is the accepted way of things. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_2acf_a271_7987_5011" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/b5A2WzjxWCOpRr0F3PcvDTA3IVGx0CBcYgSDrFhMAF7Dnx3OuZZYF7FFOk8" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 381px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>But Oumou is different. She and Samir had sacrificed so much already for their children's' education. And, she is a fierce, determined mother with a will of steel. She confided to me that her family would be separated over her dead body. So far, thanks to Oumou's perseverance and creativity and some help from Canada, all of her children continue to thrive in school and their happy family life persists, the children sheltered and protected lovingly by their mother from knowledge of the precariousness of their future.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_f87a_b908_f2b1_4c70" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/tsf4KSdo93sr7Kt_cZO9gFRZBYB8vtnnVsJM8KFGMYXahEGtI76ChZ7cMB4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>Indeed, the optimism. and gratitude in this family is almost shocking. When I presented the family with a Quran, gifted from a compassionate friend in Canada, Oumou was overwhelmed with happiness and expressed her belief that God has been so good to her family. So many in her situation would have a very different perspective.</div><div><br></div><div>The next afternoon, our dear friend Cheikh bounded joyfully to our hotel door to inform us of the birth of his second child. His wife was not due for several weeks yet and he had been anxiously preparing to return to his remote village in the bush. Their son came early, but both mother and child were healthy. Cheikh was over-whelmed with joy and gratitude, and hopes and dreams for his family.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d8d5_4a60_32cb_14a3" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ofNN9fK59klv9Dx_hO17-QqrAW3OWJiAW6O_UMAip1lGaHibPHnm5-kGeyg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 396px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div> Cheikh works as a street-side cobbler in Saint Louis. And, just like Oumou, he is the type of person who is optimistically willing to move mountains for his family and his community. From the example of Maison de la Gare Cheikh had the idea to build schools in the region of his village to offer local families with little means an alternative to fulfil their wish to give their sons an education rather than send them to a daara in a distant city. The schools have become a Maison de la Gare supported pilot project to end forced begging. Most of the villages in the region have stopped sending their boys to the city to be talibés. And, Chekh has found and returned many of the talibés from his area who were in Saint Louis back home. A happy effect of the schools is that now, for the first time, girls are benefitting from an education too, along side the boys. Cheikh even thinks that with the return of young boys it will be less likely in future for girls to be polygamously married off to older men. In fact, he is so optimistic for girls that Cheikh had hoped for a girl this time. But, of course he was just as grateful and over joyed to have another boy instead.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e75_4914_6c56_8880" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/m2raHe_DUgwAgXlAYYXpsf874rfeIOH1uG062NPthWmzLu4vc17iVFz4nz0" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 373px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>Despite the ever present reminder of the harshness of fate and the precariousness of happiness in the oppressive and abusive forced begging talibé system, optimism and ingenuity are alive and well in Saint Louis.</div><div><br></div> <br><br><br><br>Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-78365348390176619382019-11-24T17:20:00.001-08:002019-11-24T17:20:40.770-08:00A Time to Shine<div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_8d8a_9d80_b819_20d5" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/OL_M8dINodTfCDffmmBkcKSYM7JJl5kO5N1eQnwq7HCW5pHP87bDBDtc3XU" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>As the sun set before tournament day the Maison de la Gare-Sor karate kids set up the mats in preparation for the highly anticipated third Douvris Cup Classic. They had been delivered earlier that evening by horse drawn cart. Bouaro and I had compiled the lists of competitors earlier in the day, of the first four divisions planned for the morning. 20 young kids, white and yellow belts for kata and kihon. And, 11 older white belts also for kata and kihon. We were not sure who would be competing in the afternoon kata and kumite from among the more advanced dojo kids, and would need to wait to see who presented themselves to register. Bouro estimated perhaps 15.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_16fb_8c5_7102_43a4" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/3ROuFhs_6IQRgs8MIJE1NCzKJ1hyk6pDwBZPcdLAqFeUOHNCMSPFHbJwOag" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 485px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Douvris Martial Arts in Ottawa had donated enough medals for all the participants. And, I had brought with me the names engraved on plaques of the previous Douvris Cup winners to add to the trophies. Robbie's final two WKC Championship sweaters would be given as Grand Championship prizes, and Douvris t-shirts for the runners up. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_76e_a2_c4e8_8032" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/SgXFd89qEraQdBx0Ovp04pvZIVtlT8GIz1J5pQ7Ik4zXKwWPD013GcxWmFw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>As the sun rose on tournament day I could almost feel the nervous excitement of all those talibé boys. About half of them had competed in previous Douvris Cup Classics. For the rest, it would their first time ever being in a positive spotlight, with an opportunity to shine and be rewarded for it. To show they are individuals with the ability to persevere and excel at an activity of their own choosing, based on their own hard work and determination. For the gold medalists and 2 grand champions, true glory awaited.</div><div><br></div><div>Robbie and I arrived at the center around 8:30am. The person with the keys to the room where the gis are kept and the classroom where the tables and benches were had not yet arrived. The kids set to compete in the first divisions were present and were busy sweeping sand off the mats and setting up a tent in anticipation of the full burning sun later in the day. </div><div><br></div><div>Eventually the keys were found. As the boys donned their gis, Robbie and I set up the prize tables and laid out the medals and the Douvris Young Guns Cup. The Douvris Cup for the older dojo kids was in Dakar, where the previous two time winner, Ahmadou Diallo had proudly taken it to his family. I knew there would be a chance he had not yet returned it so we brought a temporary stand-in trophy donated from a Douvris student to replace it. Talibés helped set up benches for spectators, happy to be part of what was about to happen. The WKF sanctioned referees began to arrive, professionally sporting suits and ties. The chairs were delivered in the nick of time, a referee was positioned in each corner. Sensei Ignéty Bâ of Sor Karate presided at the head table, score sheets ready. The referees bowed in the competitors. The first pair of kihon competitors was ready to begin.</div><div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e84_245b_b082_8d07" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/LJMoPIYVZUVVIrNp4nd4h4S9Lu6eK4Qf5CcwARRSR6Wyc_tbbVmKvHMIswQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>As each person stepped on the mat for his turn to compete, their expressions ranged from palpable excitement to anxious anticipation to deep, focused concentration to steely determination. The kihon instructions were called out in Japanese. All the boys correctly recognized the instructions. None mixed up soto-uki with uchi-uki or oisuki with jatsuki. Each time the flags were raised, either blue or red, the expressions changed: in each pair one deflated and the other became exuberant.</div><div><br></div><div>Eventually fourth, third, second and first were determined. Then, the process was repeated for kata. At the end of the first two divisions we awarded the placing and participation medals. But, the presentation of the Douvris Young Guns Cup would have to wait. The next two divisions of Young Guns, the older white belts who practice at the Center in the morning (and are not registered in the dojo at night) were not all present. Apparently some had been told they would not be competing until the afternoon or had responsibilities at their daaras they could not escape. So, we broke for a mid-day break and prayers (Friday is the day most visit the mosqué). </div><div><br></div><div>Ahmadou Diallo arrived to watch the tournament (without the Douvris Cup). Upon presenting himself to Sensei Ignéty Bâ, Sensei insisted he compete. Ahmadou had not prepared diligently to his own high standard and had already decided not to attempt to defend his title. But, out of respect for his Sensei, Ahmadou put on his gi and prepared himself to compete for the third time. Robbie took Ahmadou aside to help him warm up and advise him on his kata choice and execution. After a few run throughs and adjustments, Ahmadou's confidence and determination seemed to have been restored and he was ready.</div><div><br></div><div>At 4 pm we reconvened. The second two divisions of Young Guns were dressed and ready to go. 9 of the anticipated competitors competed. Maybe the nerve of the other two had failed. Maybe their marabouts had detained them, it was impossible to know. </div><div><br></div><div>I was astonished at the skill and focus of these white belts. This competition clearly meant so much to them. During the competition for third and fourth place one of the missing karateka presented himself, out of breath. His marabout had given him many jobs to do and he had not been able to get away until completing his extra assigned labour. Unfortunately, at this late hour there was no way to fit him in. He would have to continue dreaming of his next opportunity for now.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_f718_c3ca_ac_add3" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-zIBeMsYEe5tgP2VC07Eseq-dCVhIUyJ1CFw0F6BtsqS-d35bvU7rpYguUY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>The same candidate won gold for kihon and kata. He would be the Grand Champion of the Young Guns, supplanting the morning winner of one gold and one silver. But, none of them realized this yet. First, the two divisions of dojo kids would have to compete.</div><div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e806_9046_e8b7_f7df" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/78wCP5zgmRRwVidtosIz7nREnBtLhCRyPsgqiwCe5I0Njnm9QLnTdCp-ef8" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 388px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br></div><div>There were 17 dojo talibés competing. The katas were beautiful to watch, each one a triumph to me. After the finalists were determined we moved onto kumité. By this time the crowd of spectators had grown to several hundred. The cheers that accompanied every hit were sometimes deafening. For both the kata and kumité finals it came down to Yaya and and Ahmadou. Yaya, whose membership has been sponsored by Douvris Barrhaven since nearly the beginning, has devoted himself to karate and he had markedly improved since the last Douvris Cup Classic. Yaya won gold in kumité and Ahmadou won gold in kata. Once again, the competitors would have to await the presentation of The Douvris Cup to know who the Grand Champion would be.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5e35_609b_5d83_7888" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/GJhJVq_sb_dPJujXaXetZpdkSdlgO1zDBPCYfRVldZxhZwn5qbdHRX-O3bo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 388px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br></div><div>But first, the presentation of certificates and belts to the successful candidates of the last grading. several yellow belts were awarded, Ahmadou received his blue belt!</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_80d6_68e7_fb34_bfe6" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-1hmijeB696aLnzjT7E18YH1g2wgMyWoFvYbFZVNEdKiR_7rQFC0Bz8rsEg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_f2b2_b2a1_8c87_18d8" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/R6LGG0oUQbEYS0BLbL2H-OkNIDfJiZjvBl0iCRHZ-enCpWC2gv55SQ4dAkY" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>By now dusk had fallen. The head of the Regional WKF Karate Federation assisted in awarding the medals. He respectfully asked Robbie to present the gold medals. Finally, it was time for the Douvris Cup and Douvris Young Guns Cup presentation. Adama Drammeh was the new Young Gun Champion. When we return next time, his name will be engraved on the cup beside the previous winners, Seydou Ba and Omar Sow. This clearly was the first tine Adama had experienced a triumph such as this or won a prize. Despite the 32C temperature, he would not remove his new WKC sweater. And, I expect he is still wearing his two gold medals. Ahmadou Diallo was exhilarated to receive the Douvris Cup title once more. I showed him the two name plates to put on the Cup for his previous wins and explained he had now earned a third, which I would bring next time I returned. He promised to bring the Douvris Cup back to reside at MDG well before the next Douvris Cup Classic. I told him he would be able to keep the other temporary trophy permanently in exchange.</div><div><br></div><div>A feast for the tournament competitors was presented. It seemed the rewards and the accolades would never end. Surely in the hearts of these boys, this day and these feelings will be permanently imprinted.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_596a_354f_357a_9067" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/oKutn6CuvaD91htn2Jp368cYdSSl2_Q4_xknxuA2T9rFlaXoETep_Rl1Oo4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>The courage, confidence and self assurance of these talibés has been uncovered and locked down thanks to karate. Even if due to circumstances they cannot control, any of them are unable to continue in the MDG-Sor karate program, they have learned what they can control. They will never lose the gifts karate has given them. Each of these boys has been forever changed for the better.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_2293_da0e_374a_6d84" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/jLbFVuDRiP3SC0kWnmPjIsZTWg8sHdkYBIjNpfyWGjlBZsHYKUWxvkMgCs8" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-24823011073217634672019-11-23T18:54:00.001-08:002019-11-23T18:54:39.359-08:00Like Coming Home<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_882c_7122_71bb_b56c" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/RKcpEvwxvFzC7FIeoZGJ9Sb3SacHqhO7Iw-8UdyHIAsCx8mdK5Vr24VWGRI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 441px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>After arriving in Saint Louis we made our way to the Maison de la Gare Center. On the way we passed several groups of talibés: barefoot and in rags, carrying their begging bowls. They could not have been any older than seven or eight. A few talibés were on their own. Isolated in so many ways. unseen or detested, possibly pitied, by society. Abandoned by family. Neglected and tortured by the marabout to whom they have been entrusted. Existing void of affection or love. Their only friends are each other. And, Maison de la Gare.</div><div><br></div><div>It felt familiar and somewhat comforting walking up the alley toward the gates. We knew what awaited us inside: shelter, peace, welcome and friendship.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_3da8_82ed_f2f4_30e6" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/0zCfWQqNMmaPBh10HX-l5I0UgURpAF9-_PqJoMzGCPoh-ooNLeWy7v2iKYw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 403px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>One of the first faces I saw was my friend Tijan. He had travelled from The Gambia to meet me. It was a joyous reunion. Tijan had been discussing the merits of an education with my friend, Souleymane. Souleymane has been a talibé for many years. And, he has been a karate student for years also. Robbie had the honour to present him with his yellow belt two years ago. Souleymane is seriously considering returning to The Gambia, as Tijan did, to enrol in formal school. He understands it will not be easy. Tijan, who has recently graduated with his high school diploma, has ensured Souleymane understands the challenges and the long road that awaits him if he chooses the path of education. Souleymane has made up his mind. He is going to do it. He has somehow developed enough confidence and self assurance to take this risk of the unknown in pursuit of a better future. Perhaps karate offered him this gift. Perhaps it was in him all along and karate helped him uncover it. Tijan's example showed him the impossible can be possible.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_9135_2e5b_a849_e659" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/woQUWhG9FnbbPxo12jL1aQPeb7nOPC-wLNVkGdSXr7fgMPTqW01D1-FN9Mk" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 470px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>The next morning we returned to the centre, knowing there would be a karate class. As Robbie and I stepped through the gates carrying duffel bags filled with uniforms and karate supplies, the karate class that was newly underway came to a jolting halt. The karateka rushed us, calling "Sonia" "Sonia" Sonia" "Robbie". Bouaro's face lit up when he saw Robbie. The kids all reached out at once to touch or shake our hands. Then off they ran with the bags to put them away. The new students who had been waiting for Gi's dressed and so did Robbie and I. After we were bowed-in Bouaro asked Abdou to help translate the sentiments of himself and his students about how happy they were to have the karate program, and how it helps sustain them through their challenges. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_7933_da70_b5ec_b6f6" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/mdbY9wX3G-rJONdnCkSq6EjHcOGs6uHyYzFJlcUltnX6HqhITWPtd_ifdIE" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>I brought out photos of some extraordinary philanthropists back home. I explained (again with Abdou's help to be sure I was understood) that children from our dojo, Kaylie and Keagan save every penny they earn all year long to be able to help them have the chance to do karate. And Anna eschews birthday gifts and presents, asking only for money to help talibés become Maison de la Gare- Sor karate kids. I explained how these Douvris karate kids love karate and also think about and love the talibés so much that they want to be able to bring them the gift of karate.</div><div><br></div><div>The children seemed shocked to hear my words. A few already knew of Kaylie and Keagan but most did not. Such a huge and impossible thought that children in Canada would be thinking of them and willing to sacrifice for them. One boy asked to speak. He said "we are so happy. Karate is so important for us. Now, knowing this, we will persevere and work even harder. We will never give up." Others nodded in agreement, looking emotional, fierce and determined. one by one they all respectfully approached us and one at a time bowed. How can there be words after this!?!</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_3739_7eb0_8457_5fa2" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/PUGU6oC5Cvi3hWHgFY1nocN_xyIhXjGLfbFgv94ACkYaWzn5r9DhtbqGx6E" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 441px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Later, Robbie took a group of karatekas aside to help prepare them for the tournament to be held the next day. They would all be participating. For many it would be the first time and they were excited but anxious. Robbie worked with the older beginners, white belts, on their katas. I had the strong sense that the children felt honoured to be training with Robbie and I. But we both knew better- the honour was all ours to be training with them.</div><div><br></div><div>It was hard to say good bye when class ended. But, the streets called. Off came the white gis that marked them as special. In many cases they remained barefoot. But, without the gi this marked them as lesser instead of more. The children still had begging quotas to fill.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_166e_101d_7f33_b4af" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/DHuJwBtXDQd-bptnM4fhvhuLyyUu86N3h6Bmu8S_zjsh0kYPJrcRo7c3hu4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 441px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>In the afternoon Robbie assisted Kalidou teaching his English class. Kalidou is a leader in the couture apprenticeship program, and he also teaches English every evening. I met Kalidou on my very first visit to Saint Louis over ten years ago when he was a forced begging talibé. Now, having taught himself English and devoted himself to learning a trade, Kalidou is an example to so many young talibés.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_9cb0_2244_b6b3_4c6f" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/VMGcjWbk1A_g9w_gWWvkWUkoRYaf_TETGtvauGaYNov99YTMC1WUtnNO60c" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 441px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Robbie and I made arrangements to meet Idy late that night for a Ronde de Nuit in search of talibés who had run from their daaras and were in far worse danger, alone on the streets at night.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_438_e158_e2c2_6a71" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/mZ3lfTHyc_WRamqxCra0SOaww-2L6ohxuEZJlsgWzQRgX3XE99607WjmvYo" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>After midnight, at the Gare Routiere, we soon found a little boy, asleep in a corner. Idy gently woke him and explained he was not safe, and he could sleep instead at Maison de la Gare in a bed and have some food. The little boy, Ibrahima, trustingly followed Robbie and Idy, proving just how vulnerable they are while on the run. It was not long before we discovered a second talibé, curled up against the chilly night air on a well lit counter. For these runaways, the relative safety offered by well lit locations must be balanced against the desire to remain hidden. This boy, Ibrahim, also followed us with little objection. We took them in a taxi to Maison de la Gare's emergency shelter. The night guard checked them in and we tucked them in. Then we went out once more. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_54a6_7349_310f_70de" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/a87qG8zPt_eT0OlVbsnyZ6An49npmanWXIesiygAzDVWns6Fz9a_4oMVJpw" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Along the main road, we found a tiny boy sound asleep under a bright light, knees tucked into his ragged t-shirt for warmth. It was very difficult for Idy to wake him, and the boy kept nodding off again, clearly beyond exhausted. Eventually he woke and realized it was late. He seemed upset that he had fallen asleep and wanted to get back to his daara quickly. He had walked for miles that day, and had not eaten at all. He had been simply too tired to take another step. I bought him a fataya to eat at the all night restaurant nearby, as well as two more for the boys now safely back at the dortoir. Idy suggested it would be safe for the boy to take him back to his daara or he would not have asked to go. So, we accompanied this little one (He seemed about age six to me but Idy said he was likely eight). The talibé was so tired that he was stumbling and seemed in danger of falling asleep on his feet. but, with every bite of his food he gained strength. When we finally arrived at his daara after about a 20 minute walk he had perked right up. instead of going in the front door, the talibé wanted to hop in a back window quietly, hoping to rejoin the other boys undetected. Idy gave him a boost, and the last we saw of his face was a smile of thanks, accompanied by a quick wave. </div><div><br></div><div>It was 2 am when Robbie and I returned to our hotel, emotionally and physically exhausted. But sleep would allude us this night.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_7283_5ac9_9d9_46f1" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/CtGniC7Js7dxKvc7xTTMtjdlPjdgm7XKObkA2ZBSTVeHH29AjLbzQjM6wig" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-28050359346945774242019-11-19T15:26:00.001-08:002019-11-19T15:26:10.241-08:00Tomorrow, Saint Louis!<div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d3a_473b_1823_effa" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/fByrJ0nFKPoTCrPfCzyxPHHay_v0O9MWy1WzAGypf1ACKOQWvA88KyxZPfs" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 306px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div><br></div>We are on our way, again. Robbie, Dad and I. I am writing from the JFK airport. In a way it feels like going home. But, as we are leaving Rowan and Robin in Ottawa this time, half my heart will remain in Canada. And, just as more of my extended family is also back in Canada, many more await me in Senegal as well.<div><br></div><div>Two of my Godchildren, Djiby and Mohammed are in Saint Louis. Tijan, has travelled from The Gambia to meet us and waits at Maison de la Gare. Oumou and her lovely six children are anticipating our reunion. And, Arouna, of course. Robbie and I are excited to see and train with Bouaro and our MDG-Sor karate boys once more. and all of the dedicated MDG staff, who are almost family. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_6479_aaa1_125b_167b" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/P3BkKEcHDcEsFjV2LLqpcxdrEMhG4IZDwVOp6T0I1jNQy6MUfe1dZpasG1M" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 217px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>I first met Tijan many years ago when he was a talibé in Saint Louis. He and Robbie have been connected on-line since that time, friends across the ocean, from two different worlds. I have been supporting and encouraging Tijan to pursue his high school studies back in The Gambia for several years, rather than to attempt a dangerous migration in search of hope and a new life. This summer Tijan graduated from high school, despite the nearly unbelievable challenges he faced in pursuing his education. Robbie graduated at the same time. Such different paths and obstacles these two boys of mine faced in pursuing their dreams. Both of them are taking the next step toward their dreams, beginning university next year. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_a704_bee9_5d84_1fbb" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/bwa12Bef7yfY0GOWN2uCR2uF1LKbXrJ0ZvKVlfumG1H-6s78IcArKKWLVYg" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 605px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Oumou's family exists on a precarious knife edge, yet sheltered from their regular brushes with disaster, dispersion, the end of their educations by Oumou's indomitable protective spirit and diligence. The kids are happy, polite, charming, love school, and each other. In Oumou's own words, her family will be separated only "over my dead body". Oumou is uneducated. But, she has a burning belief that education will free her children from their difficult life. A friend in Ottawa and I are determined to find a way to support this family more comprehensively, help them to better help themselves. Maybe on this visit I will figure out what, beyond school fees might be most effective.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_791b_3ff9_d1c3_fbc3" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/EsLdUP37ubveNRnnq0kR2X744iMoJ2-wLqLUSB9ZuobysSL2FcSOU12pVEA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 366px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Robbie and I are sponsoring a karate tournament at the MDG centre at the end of the week. We both volunteered in support of a local Ottawa Douvris tournament this past weekend. Watching and ecouraging the children conquering their fears to lay everything on the mat is always inspiring. There will be no shortage of inspiration again this Friday as the MDG-Sor karate kids swallow their anxieties and step onto the mat for their own triumphant moments.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_714e_a044_903c_5466" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/zer87h5XjnelipqdMfCP1vIjWJHS3yOGc1MIAXkZJJGB2u-bOt36UFoVFno" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 582px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>We have many plans and will see many friends on this journey. But first...one more flight.</div><div><br><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_fe3d_5130_a67f_d3e3" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/jWzRc0BzJLRhVBE6ZWBXiOoL9tVP7HbOyFGjRNMKKjeVUzBQlpK3x70dTMI" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 321px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div><br><div><br></div><div><br></div></div></div>Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-84142680851259623922019-03-23T08:26:00.001-07:002019-03-23T08:26:37.810-07:00Lala and the Beautiful Game<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_1e1_52d5_5f2e_8ebe" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=15OsDsi03K17DF1Ebm8Ry5WpSvIhRumMX" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 478px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br><br></div></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div><div style="text-align: right;"><img id="id_2eb4_3dac_2c29_62c8" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1uLQnonVJ5jpuxYPSgm2S044g7w-b1g1E" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 388px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br><br><br></div><img id="id_5c4f_d897_478e_d047" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=10tGSYgud8besdg8ecLY0pclrwS9zv5Lx" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 373px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br><br>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e48e_c418_c8dc_813" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1XoYZYfuLVx2-ewEaFkcVPMjyVOh6rfXA" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 418px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5449_8266_de5d_d7b4" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1fRZag1IHfeAogg1lDcTbjo5pOY7aH3K4" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 470px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br><br><div style="text-align: left;">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.</div></div></div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div style="text-align: center;">"<i>I feed myself off of my love for the talibés and their love for me. I am one with them</i>."</div><div style="text-align: center;">- Lala Sene</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_20dd_10cc_af3c_7778" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=18nQ4NcTKU5HhEk3xr3WdlaG_bJDBcNR8" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br><br><br></div> <div id="_blog_touch_end_br_for_reorient"><br></div><div id="_blog_touch_end_br_for_reorient"><br></div><div id="_blog_touch_end_br_for_reorient"><br></div>Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-89555388732109491182019-03-17T09:14:00.001-07:002019-03-17T09:14:24.603-07:00A Time to Shine<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_951f_967f_e96c_92cc" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1RfyYTmIMYc1P2wayoIrhIa2u6-yHLa6A" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_34ff_f0a9_e238_f62e" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1JcjYOoXOC_7TZBve5ClXpH1N25555ZUP" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_a01d_e126_e7b2_6b35" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1AZtmxqLdJbHdoCiAJ_WDMMB3Nx-eORQF" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 478px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_d163_7cbe_3445_33b1" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1MqdgvFJXCstzdtiApm3GXf9I4vkS0nOQ" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_859f_295e_bef5_f6c3" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1-fvcXlpY5-X0EHlzWMzz8nfsJqLb7VMm" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 418px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_3ad1_db12_fa3e_793" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1vQ1QVUfElHmfVrVKm_naQ6DDmqLvxk2y" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_c444_366a_a9b9_18d0" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1FIvFPNfJ6c_z_tCUAxkSOKGRlr0UnTpy" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 470px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5294_9556_b7e1_dade" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1n4OWrOECCZn17WQPt8agDUnFBuaomfr-" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 418px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_b9ee_1e40_b205_3c7f" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1x1cvS-anR78tq7FVgp988erZX7xCCaPz" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 478px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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!</div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_cd54_f48e_a391_e309" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1g3uOZN3YoRnWukMfUG74z9onroAQI7zj" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5ab3_9b75_18dd_b7c7" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=10NXoHyf1gs8m8wV8tklUbQ6RqyIUvbsm" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 441px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>This glorious day for the talibés, competitors and guests alike, will not be forgotten. As for the medalists, heroes forever!</div> <div id="_blog_touch_end_br_for_reorient"><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_a275_9514_711_3d6f" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1j7xZBhD-cWQmATgWfgIc5nHa_evfG4Wc" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;">u</div><br><br></div>Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-66547235369801923312019-03-14T19:06:00.001-07:002019-03-14T19:06:43.835-07:00The Sounds of Senegal<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_ee4e_7086_bfa3_5a3" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1H9k4knFEJFPIEzkLj3XL0hphISm2qjMH" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 463px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_85f4_2f36_49e0_5ff4" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1_C9a2RkDr8s7JVrH1yoUDdkj7Dku9MDL" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_269e_c3dd_98d2_e17" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1P6HJtMEr0ziqPK-LaqiwnnIiajp7Vusc" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_2c1e_6381_2292_3570" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1JfcEGOqTlUnP4K4IDZb9ZFaMCX2AlFTy" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 351px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_6201_5bb3_f8d3_2aa7" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1johMqABvU5XXyBkIj0iy3ZoPgr9LKnNe" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Another call to prayer. Another reminder, along with the hopeful faces of the children in class, that God is here. </div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_ca64_ac1d_86c_d420" src="https://drive.google.com/uc?id=1npxbrGpxQOldE_hHDGwNl9BDvV6OMtqT" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 426px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-14325181598704166322019-03-11T11:01:00.001-07:002019-03-11T11:01:33.189-07:00A Whirlwind of Action<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_c087_e471_ed14_fff6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-AAfXFj5n2Hw/XIaiUBMSmdI/AAAAAAAADzY/WF0iZZTgjdUxsJxPip6VrFK6oazAqpQhACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div> 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. </div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_cd3c_576b_6673_6d0e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-GhdpCSb1uWE/XIaiXO2QwgI/AAAAAAAADzc/g0pz1f8BJpUtdwTnVxwJwcA2KZTrWgjSgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 403px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5f89_e0ed_1f64_e8f1" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-0RHKykOnSJ4/XIaiZYd_EBI/AAAAAAAADzg/inm0PsUwn2UeR4-npX8-uE9U7rROSPkiACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_ef4f_6bd8_735f_5455" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fwml8xOsk-A/XIaicS-00VI/AAAAAAAADzk/c_CnZgrPDSI7ece5ASwhWHphlpG4XBOtwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Did I mention this all happened on our first full day at the centre together?</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_aeeb_fda2_d5e5_cc6e" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-T-VfiYj2dyg/XIaietnBnKI/AAAAAAAADzo/sHU35TyvBv09Zt5muhbu2j6SR85CdxPogCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><div style="text-align: center;"><i>a talibé who prefered to watch all the industry from his lounge chair</i></div></div> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-34440209415495798972019-03-09T17:40:00.001-08:002019-03-09T17:40:56.220-08:00In Honour of International Women's Day<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_cf6c_86d5_3170_52b7" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-TfZOU98MSdg/XIRq7T6ZQkI/AAAAAAAADyo/hoGDr3O08Hoq-9GXOIGxkmY1rAZWEa0mgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_9753_eca3_2832_e62d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7k1tb-Kbu_0/XIRq9G7kARI/AAAAAAAADys/B6wi7kt9BYI-nHiaAjZjnKi20uytmUk5gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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. </div><div><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e14_659e_b46c_eff3" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JD3ryDycMbc/XIRq_jrBMqI/AAAAAAAADyw/_UmAmWhJ1GkcYNpIUtW01wqxGEyl_Ku2gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5d08_133_6bf2_3f69" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1tiWyZItcLg/XIRrA2NH3II/AAAAAAAADy0/yrDwrrBw3Qc09O6DCf0RrLsSNNsmuPeqgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div><br></div><div>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. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_7d34_dc36_d9a0_ad79" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-R4OOYwhBhVs/XIRrDamcxUI/AAAAAAAADy4/Y5Pof4xX7usbN9H2CFB5QKjkK1m_0CLTwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 433px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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...</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_1d4c_4bb8_8829_3461" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-SNGVOnrH1nE/XIRrHzwLzBI/AAAAAAAADy8/czIlPWuhSMc8Gl1M6mGTRJ1XiEXNrc3RACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 448px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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".</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_b74c_6281_ace1_efdc" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-McuXcevQf9k/XIRrJJQnuFI/AAAAAAAADzA/gzIhtJ1SdMEdBRphRewD8m1YeSozHIAlwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 418px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>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.</div><div><br></div><div>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.</div> Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2784944829476928135.post-75025851988646917262018-12-03T18:41:00.001-08:002018-12-03T18:41:06.190-08:00The Douvris Cup Classic - The Young Guns in Canada Deliver Karate to Talibés in Africa<div style="text-align: center;"><br><br><img id="id_55ac_998_ee17_2201" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fahP1q_gggY/XAXpLrQ1mFI/AAAAAAAADwM/GjMBPjA2ykEegujG4m6Od6WwbPF-r78lQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 411px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"><br><br></div>It has been just under four years since the karate program at Maison de la Gare began. Founded and nurtured by my son, Robbie Hughes, Maison de Gare karate has been enjoyed by hundreds of forced begging talibés. Karate classes on Thursday and Friday mornings at the Maison de la Gare centre, led by Boiro, of Sor Karate are frequented by about 20 kids daily. And, There are now 32 talibés registered in the evening dojo classes as members of Sor Karate.<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_8afe_92b0_4610_fe40" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-gPNl-BG1mDU/XAXpNx2aDMI/AAAAAAAADww/2RUsyrFEiI4Ht32P8L8HE29DLWBrzthYQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: center; width: 362px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e51d_a653_c31_9b73" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VRlM0E1P3gI/XAXpNRr-tUI/AAAAAAAADws/4JLQH0Oa4tQHmDil7CeDFi8yAzSoTGXQgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 485px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Each year Robbie calls the families of his own dojo, Douvris Martial Arts in Ottawa, to action; raising sponsorships for the Maison de la Gare dojo karate kids; their annual fees must be renewed each January. Two young Douvris Karateka siblings were inspired by Robbie to contribute toward helping talibés enjoy the sport they also love. Robbie always donates part of the money he earns. Kayli and Keagan have saved their allowance for the past two years, enabling two boys to join the dojo. This year, six year old Kayli decided to step up her commitment to Maison de la Gare. For her birthday last month, Kayli asked her friends to give to Maison de la Gare instead of gifts for herself. She raised $105. One sponsorship for a year is $100, covering the annual registration fee and WKF license, monthly fees, and regular belt testings. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_5ddc_c820_57ca_dde9" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-k2Jo0fqly-c/XAXpMA9p-1I/AAAAAAAADwY/TuLbKIuFbIEpeN9Gl0SYzfCS-0eohQsCACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>For this trip to Senegal I had planned a karate tournament for the talibés to compete, showcase their skills, and taste glory for the first time in their lives. Robbie and I invited Kayli and Keagan to sponsor it with the money raised from Kayli's birthday. Upon thoughtful consideration, the siblings decided, instead, to do something bigger, and use the opportunity of the tournament and Kayli's fundraiser to challenge their teamates to give as they do; to share their good fortune in being able to practice karate, train and compete at what they love to do. So, the week before my trip to Senegal, Robbie and Kayli and Keagan stood in front of their teammates and called out the Young Guns Douvris Challenge. The Young Guns are the junior members of the Douvris Karate competition team. Robbie spoke about the talibés, the lives they live, and how karate is so meaningful to them. Kaylie talked about how she used the occasion of her birthday to generate contributions for Maison de la Gare and of how important it is to help other people. And, Keagan spoke about how he was able to set aside his allowance on a regular basis in order to be able to make a significant impact on another child who needed his help. Inspiration was definitely in the air at Douvris that night. In fact, inspired by Kayli's example, another young Team Douvris member, Anna asked for birthday donations to Maison de la Gare as well. I was already in Africa when I received the wonderful news that she had raised $251 for the cause. One</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_70c6_7ff8_b87d_256f" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-dQh1f2Fb--Q/XAXpL5LEAQI/AAAAAAAADwU/kcTRYDqoJIgUIjeojSdmemrWm-UqQoB0ACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 325px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div> dollar of this had been offered by Huxley, a team member who answered Keagan's call and decided to donate his allowance on that day. It is quite amazing how much inspiration a single dollar can pack! As I told the talibés Keagan and Huxley's stories and how Kayli and Anna preferred to give their gifts to the talibés instead of themselves, the boys were astonished. As I showed the picture of Robbie and Keagan and Kayli and a picture of Anna at her birthday party holding up a donation instead of presents, to one boy, indicating they helped to make the tournament and karate possible, he examined it, then pointed to himself in surprise, understanding dawning. Then nodding his head, he smiled. Dierudieuf. Thank you.</div><div><br></div><div>At the end of our first day on this trip to Senegal, I went to visit the dojo to see my karate boys. They knew about the upcoming tournament and had been training each day for extra hours, practicing their competition katas, kihons and Kumite. A few of them had competed before, sponsored by Maison de la Gare to a regional competition, and on one earlier tournament that Robbie and I ran at Maison de la Gare. But, 90% of the competitors had never experienced a tournamnet before and did not know what to expect. Many had seen photos of The Grand Champion Cups on line, from when I posted pictures of Kayli, Keagan and Robbie's Young Guns Challenge presentation: La Coupe Douvris Karate and La Coupe Douvris Young Guns Karate. The desire to win was palpable in the air at the Sor-Karate dojo. One boy, Yaya, who had recently earned his orange belt had hurt his ankle but there was no way he was going to miss the oportunity to compete. Seeing that he would not be persuaded to follow the wise course and rest his ankle, I gave him antinflamatories and painkillers, so he could at least mnimize the damage and get through the competition. I know how this works, Robbie has competed with a not fully healed broken wrist, not willing to let an important qualifying tournament pass him by. To these kids, karate is life. They will not be denied their opportunity for glory for some short term pain.</div><div><br></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_8d2e_1b82_bfb4_9cdb" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QazNxJI8NEM/XAXpL7g24nI/AAAAAAAADwQ/AniNa0XRP2M3QG6XBaVslRwpPTtO3j4rQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 396px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>Wednesday I joined the karateka at Sor-Karate dojo to train. It felt good to stretch and work my muscles after such a long time sitting in cars and airplanes. It is always a bit of a challenge training in the dojo here, in a good way. My Japanese is improving, so I am using the correct strikes and blocks more often now. Most of our katas in Canada are the same, with slight variations to pay close attention for. But, interestingly, most have almost exactly the same timing as my senseis instruct at home. </div><div><br></div><div>The next day 15 new karateka from the morning program at Maison de la Gare were being registered at the dojo, bringing the number of active members back up to 32. They were waiting for my arrival for authorization to join the dojo and receive some needed Gi's. They know I always bring more, compliments of our Douvris family. With confidence that Robbie, Kayli, Keagan and the Douvris Young Guns would be able to inspire 32 karate sponsorship renewals by Christmas, I signed them up! Over the year some of the karateka drop out of the program, usually to go back to their home countries or regions as they finally age out of the talibe forced begging system. Sometimes they are sent to other regions as forced labour to work their marabout's fields or build him a new house. Even those that will no lonnger practice karate will not leave behind what was learned in the course of becoming a yellow, orange or green belt. They will always carry with them the confidence, self respect, discipline, and dignity that karate gave them. And, they will remain part of the martial arts community. There is a comradeship among karateka here. On our final car ride back to Dakar I heard our driver answer "os" instead of "yes" while speaking on his cell phone. Only a martial artist would do that. It turns out he is a brown belt, having practiced karate on and off for 18 years, but no longer active. Karate is still part of him, however, and we connected instantly, bonded by something each of us deeply understand. The Maison de la Gare karateka who have moved on will always have this also.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e0f4_943e_a4b8_f821" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEwL2BAfZKg/XAXpMrdr0aI/AAAAAAAADwc/IFyUUkQj_i4NerB1UbQYXOeu1P-6H6gjACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 291px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Thursday morning was Karate at the centre in the morning, led by Boiro. Boiro arrives usually by 7:00am, long before anyone else, to sweep the sand clear of stones, shells, and any sharp objects that could hurt his karateka's feet. And, he prepares the Gi's, organizing them for the class to come. At 9:00am the class begins. The most serious students arrive early, anxious to profit from every moment of instruction possible. they would already have been begging for several hours by now, and the break for karate is very welcome. Another group arrives later, around 10:00am, don their uniforms, and joins the class. It is about 35 degrees C by now, the sun beaming down on the class. The heat never stops anyone here, however.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_423_b8ff_524e_ffff" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NngV2yVWFbI/XAXpOnOVWTI/AAAAAAAADxE/baKVmvYilIck92_HuU626TSFaFYZbscVgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 493px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Thursday night, to the dojo again. There is an early evening class at the dojo Thursdays for the younger karateka from the morning classes. They get a taste of dojo training, and it inspires them to persevere, and imagine that some day they will be able to join as full members also. The juniors would be participating in the tournamnet the next day. They would be competing in two divisions, kata and kihon. The overall Grand champion would earn la Coupe de Douvris Young Guns Karate. Sensei demonstrated what to expect on entering the ring. Where to wait. How to bow. How to know when to begin, and how to back out again. Each boy had the opportunity for a test run or two, including running through his kata in full dress rehersal. Excitement was in the air. As evening fell, A horse drawn taxi arived to collect the mats and deliver them to Maison de la Gare. Souleymane climbed up to escort the load to its destination. <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Later, the older boys arrived, and practiced later into the night, their last chance to perfect a kata or drill before the big day.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_e7e2_e96e_c992_2003" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Yw7O8IknNoQ/XAXpOKmPfvI/AAAAAAAADw4/hXzfO38D_ZYi0PI7jscI4KonoteyNnStgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 485px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>Friday morning dawned; tournament day. The Douvris Cup Classic was about to begin. I arrived at the centre carrying the prizes. The mats were layed out. Tables were ready, waiting for the prizes to be displayed. The junior karateka, the Maison de la Gare Young Guns, were gathering and donning their Gi's. The WKF sanctionned referees were brushing off their suit jackets and straightenning ties. As I layed out the Douvris gold, silver, bronze and participation medals, the karateka gathered to see. And shirts for the Gold medalists. Then, La Coupe Douvris Karate and la Coupe Douvris Young Guns Karate were revealed. Many boys came over to indicate the Cup would soon be theirs. There was more than a little good natured trash-talking.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_279b_8053_c511_90a6" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-6SsKDA4i2M8/XAXpM3PixXI/AAAAAAAADwg/B7-twDpm-Xo0K4H1uZjfm8PrHf151WhoQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 463px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br>Then, as the referees called the tournament to life, it was on. I could feel the nervous anticipation in the air. Confidence, mixed with terror, mixed with joy on the face of each competitor, in turn. After each pair, the red or blue flags were raised. Followed by devastation, or exultation. Kihon was first, the requirements called out in Japanese. Next was kata. Each pair presented themselves at the ring, bowed to each other, to the judges, then advanced in turn. After each performed his kata, the blue or red flags indicated the winner. Some of the competitors nerves got the best of them, forgetting the kata partway through, adding extra moves by accident that threw them off their groove. But, none gave up. The demonstration of courage and perseverance at this tournament was extrraordinary. Even when one boy in a pair was clearly exceptional, and his oponent had made mistakes and forgotten his kata, both seemed to believe they had a chance of winning. Hope is alive and well in the hearts of these boys. There was extra formality for the final matches. So much was on the line. The boys who had made it this far knew that ultimate success was within their grasp. As the blue flags were raised in Seydou Ba's direction and he won the gold for kata, my heart soared along with his. I also felt the temporary disappointment of Oumar Sow and his transition to joy with his realization that he is the silver medalist.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_46cc_9f16_abc0_b756" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WIu2RhwLYok/XAXpOLszVII/AAAAAAAADw8/kyVJRRA5rBIT081lFotE5GO_8wGVZa1WACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Finally, it was time to award the Douvris Young Guns Cup. As Seydou's name was called, the expression on his face said everything. The crowd ahhhed in appreciation, then cheered as Seydou stepped forward to receive the Cup. </div><div><br></div><div>After a mid-day break for lunch (back to begging for the talibes) and mosque, the second stage of the Douvris Cup Classic was ready to go. I laid out the senior prizes: white muscle shirts for each competitor, and black for the gold medalists, as well as gold, silver, bronze, and participation Douvris medals, and of course, the Grand Champion Douvris Cup. For the seniors, there was also a special prize for the gold medalists and grand champion of some money. Not much to us, perhaps. But to a senior talibé, the prize could represent a week's holiday from begging or lugging goods in the market. And, the Grand Champion would be twice rewarded. The senior competitors seemed just as nervous, yet determined as the juniors had been. Kata first. Some of the karateka who had devoted every spare minute of the past few weeks to training were spectacular. Their dedication paying off. The talibés watching from the sidelines looked on in awe. There was a buzz in the air about karate - likely many more will present themselves next Thursday morning to Boiro, asking for a Gi so they can join the classes too. When Amadou Diallo won the gold medal kata match, his joy was irrepressible. This day, he was no one's slave. He was a winner - a Champion! And, everyone treated him accordingly. </div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_b462_4fb6_afc2_6f64" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DEqvAeE3Jn8/XAXpMw7IUdI/AAAAAAAADwk/kvkNMKuZnD44ojKHdC62ZkL7Lc4MA_aKQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 396px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Kumite was as stressful for me to watch as it is whenever my son, Robbie competes. These boys trained well, and they are strong. No punches were being pulled. No helmets here. But, whenever one boy faced another who was bigger, the referres made them put on chest protection, thank goodness. We have to get these boys mouth guards. The ones Robbie and I brought a year and a half ago are long gone. Souleymane N'Diaye, a long time friend of Robbie's, and Mamadou Ba fought for gold. Mamadou Ba appeared to be on top of this one. Souleymane's particular fighting style and unique kias's had the crowd laughing at first. But, his hook kick to the head is his secret weapon, and as he started to hit the target, the crowd's laughter turned first to applause, then to adoring cries of "Souleymane! Souleymane!". In the end, Mamadou Ba took the gold, and Souleymane the silver. Both earned a level of respect here that will not soon be forgotten. When the matches appeared to be over, it seemed there were two bronze medalists for each of Kata and Kumite. I felt bad insisting on a final match for kata, and kumite, to compete for the bronze. And, it was getting dark. But, there was only one bronze medal for each division. For Amadou Diallo, much was on the line for his fight - He could win the Douvris Cup if he could win his Kumite match and win the Bronze, already having won the Gold in Kata. Otherwise, the Cup would likely go to Mamadou Ba, the Kumite gold medalist who had not placed in kata. Amadou fought as though his life depended on it. The kunite match went to overtime. Everyone was on their feet, each strike and block was accompanied by cheering. I was too caught up in the action to remember to take photos. With Amadou's final, winning point, the crowd went wild, and so did Amadou!</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_adae_8676_6aee_e95d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bktg4RKRheA/XAXpNav1_aI/AAAAAAAADwo/sfBsIzQ8aoAjzFZoLonrz6R3m_nRGrXCQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>There is no doubt in my mind that this was the best day of Amadou's life. As he held the Douvris Cup high, Amadou's joy was not to be contained. He could hardly believe that he was the Grand Champion of the Douvris Cup Classic. All those hours of dedicated training had done it, against more experienced and bigger karateka, proving to all that anything, truly, is possible.</div><div><br></div><div>After the medals and prizes were all awarded there was one final, very special task for Sensei Ignety Ba. Boiro had been a brown belt ever since I have known him, nearly four years. Achieving black belt here is a challenge, as it is anywhere. But, the fees and competitions that are black belt requirements can add up. And, for a talibé, where is that money to come from? Now that Boiro is part of the Maison de la Gare program, His fees are covered. Last month he completed his requirements for black belt. But, the last stage of waiting for the black belt to arrive from the authorities can take months. So, this night Boiro proudly accepted his black belt, sent from Douvris Martial Arts in Canada, a faster result than the Senegalese route. Boiro, now a sensei teaching karate at Maison de la Gare, let me know how proud and happy he is, crediting Douvris with the succesful turn his life has taken. I try to explain that it is he, himself, who earned this success. One thing is undeniable, that this was the best day of his life so far. There was a lot of this feeling going around on this glorious day.</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_3f9c_fd4_2163_118" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ujOmqrXJ4A8/XAXpOLXeTTI/AAAAAAAADxA/-RvFnyhr1eoS5ECvniAuPBxMwZxHWyU-QCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 456px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div>Amadou could not bear to part with his trophy just yet, which will be used again at future Douvris Cup Classics in Senegal. His name will be inscribed on the side - the first of many. So this night he took it back to his daara, proof of his glorious accomplishment, to himself and to others. Seydou's Young Guns Cup is still at Maison de la Gare, being passed around for everyone to admire and respect, before Seydou's name is engraved on it for all time. This experience is surely engraved, as well, in the hearts of the Champions and all of the competitors, not to be forgotten, ever.</div><div><br></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img id="id_f53b_78ac_8d41_9c7" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Ni105dVBVIg/XAXpODuj8cI/AAAAAAAADw0/MIIDDSLBkmckfj-wXLYy2fIj-kKhmdwEgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 463px; height: auto; margin: 4px;"></div><br><br></div><div><br></div></div>Sonia LeRoyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13451958355890676899noreply@blogger.com0