Here’s a slightly more disturbing set of observances. I SO
often hear Senegalese people talking about going to America so they can have
money. I try to explain that there, just like here, it’s not easy to get a good
paying job, and then all of your daily needs are way more expensive. I don’t
think this message usually sinks in. I’m reading A Fine Balance by
Rohinton Mistry right now, and am
currently deep in the story of a couple of village men who set out to the big
city for the dream of making fast, easy money to bring back to this village
lives. Of course, disillusionment and struggle follow. It makes me think about The
Grapes of Wrath too. In which there was actually a planned conspiracy to
create poverty to force people to a point of desperation at which they would
accept extremely poor wages to create the illusion of alleviating some of that
same desperation of poverty… Who are these people??? Who are the people who
have so much money and participate in the creating of poverty? Well, damn, man… I am one. Maybe not of the
degree of evil of those bas****s who created the crop rushes of the dust bowl…
you guys already know this point. Our everyday decisions to participate in a
system that creates poverty without or out of eyesight perpetuates it. So, what
are we to do? I DON’T KNOW! I may never know, so in the meantime….
I have an amazing and exciting new work opportunity here in
Senegal. From here 'til who knows when, I’ll be coming in to Saint-Louis every Wednesday
morning to work at a center for Talibé*. This is a start-up center created
by a British SIDA volunteer who is leaving this week. The rent is payed through
the year (Inshallah) by a private donor, the materials and snacks through the
year (for three afternoons a week) have been fundraised by a few volunteers,
all of whom are leaving, there are a couple semi-permanent Senegalese
volunteers at the center, and two other PCV’s are also volunteering their time
for various services from installing a garden to helping with administration
and teaching. I’m taking over the English classes there, teaching one on
Wednesday afternoon and one on Thursday morning before going back to village Thursday
afternoons. My initial reaction was sort-of, what is the point of teaching
these kids English? And I think that’s a valid question. But I’ll leave it for now. The fact is, most
children in Senegal have the opportunity to get at least an elementary
education. Talibe’s don’t. They get a koranic education at the daaras* in which
they live. Only. I got to sit in on an English class yesterday, and, frankly,
it was beautiful. The kids are actually young men aged 16-22, they’re lively
and highly engaged in their learning. One of them lives in the center and helps
teach the class. He knows a little more than the others because he has received
more one-on-one tutoring because he’s around. He and another talibe also take
charge of most of the maintenance of the center, helping the younger kids and
cleaning the facilities regularly, and well as managing some of the other
materials at the center such as the first aid kit. All I can say is it was an
amazing experience just to go hang out there for a couple hours, and I’m incredibly
excited to be able to work there.
Since it’s a new center, the future is entirely uncertain.
Funding? Staffing? Stability? All unsure. But I’m happy to jump in and do what
I can. I’m already thinking I’ll ask the students if they’d be interested in a
basic math class on top of the English classes. The St. Louis PCVs who know
more about the NGO world here are looking into ways to link the center into
pre-existing organizations to have more stable funding. There’s a small
library, they do occasion craft activities, and like I said there’s a small
first aid kit. As you all know, my village is a relatively patron place. I
mean, it’s NOTHING like the infrastructural comfort of American middle-class
life. Relative to that, my village is a place of hard living. But as you know,
the babies get enough to eat, there are women on birth control, there is money
coming in from that age-old-dream of going to the city for work to get money
back to the village… (So, sometimes I guess that does work…). The life of a
talibe is an entirely different beast. These children come from all over
Senegal and other West African countries, given by their families, or in some
cases trafficked, to live in a daara, under the direction of a Marabou (a
Senegalese Muslim leader). In some cases families who can’t support all their
children give as a talibe, sometimes it’s seen as a religious duty, or as a way
for a child to at least get a religious education. Conditions vary for these
kids, but can be absolutely atrocious. Think sleeping on the dirt with no
sheets, no clean clothes, and spending hours a day in the street begging. No
ready access to medical care, no guaranteed nutrition, and frequently suffer
abuse within their daaras. I must mitigate this harsh reality with a note about
the culture here. Part of the Islam discipline requires giving to those who
have less, and talibe often get their daily meals through the donations of
other Senegalese.
That’s all the background on this I can manage right now.
The fact is, these kids could use any help they can get so they can not only
have healthier lives, but maybe for a few hours a week, get to have a childhood.
More on this to come.
Meanwhile, just so you know, village life is still
happening. I’ve been away a lot since I’ve been back from America, because of a
back problem and lots of meetings. However, there are good things happening
there. Some really uncomfortable really honest conversations about what it
means to be a PCV and what kind of work I can really do. Mostly covering stuff
I thought I’d already mentioned, but now my language is up to the task of
really making things clear. That’s been really hard at times. But really
rewarding just because I feel like honest exchange between people is so much
more valuable than… not having it… Anyway, there are some good things. A lot of
the Moringa tree’s we planted before I left are dead, but two of the
neighborhoods surprised me and have beautiful little pepiñeers ready to be
transplanted, like, tomorrow. There is also a woman who wants me to help here pepiñeer
more trees to reinforce the life-fencing of her house.
Social life there is fine. Sometimes it’s absolutely blissful
just to take a ten minute break in a day to sit with a friend whose house I’m
passing on some mission and just talk about nothing. My host brother seems more
and more to understand the struggles I’ve faced in trying to get PC projects
happening there, and that I’m not just a walking ATM. The kids are as magical
as ever. My boyfriend is as wonderful as ever. And I just feel strong and
confident and so much more comfortable than I did last year at this time.
Possibly just because I know that hot season will not actually kill me (Inshallah), and will end eventually, giving
way once again to the absolute bliss of cold season. In the mean time, I get to
again appreciate the indescribable amazingness of iced chai on a hot afternoon.
