Excursion: Dakar & Ile du Goree

This past weekend was an ‘organized’ trip to Dakar. Dakar is the biggest city in Senegal, with a population of 2.4 million people. The city is divided into various quartiers, some of which are really nice, some of which aren’t.

Papis who works for PA arranged a bus for the 19 people going on the trip. Upon the bus’s arrival, it was evident that in Canadian terms the bus should seat 10 people but here in Senegal it would seat 19, and therefore be a really cozy 4-5 hour car ride! We left at 6:30 ‘Senegal time’ which meant 7:45… needless to say it was really a cramped, uncomfortable bus ride that got us to our hotel at 1:30.am and a ride that I would rather soon forget. It was impossible to see anything along the way because it is dark at around 7:30.

The next morning we were to take the ferry to Ile to Goree. Since we were travelling en mass, we made it for the 12:30 ferry. Ile de Goree was really a highlight of the trip so far. It’s a small island off the south east tip of Dakar which has no roads and about 600 permanent residents. After walking around Dakar a bit in the morning, and living in the noisy hustle and bustle of St Louis these past few weeks, it was really nice to walk down quaint, narrow streets with flowers and birds and plain old quiet.

Ile de Goree is really known as the last stop for most of the slaves exiting Africa. I visited the Musee d’Esclaves which is a small inconspicuous building made up of guest rooms with a view on the top floor, and small, dark holding rooms on the bottom that separated men from women and women from children until they all boarded the ship to South America, the Caribbean and North America. Typically the museums I have visited here in Senegal have been really scant on details and generally out of date. That is how the museum was presented here, but having read up on the slave trade in the past, Musee d’Esclaves really held a significant symbolic importance to the subject. I would say that especially of the small, square doorway that opens up right onto the Atlantic Ocean-- the doorway touted has being the point of no return for all who passed through it.

The rest of the island featured regular families going about their days, and a slew of artists who weren’t as pushy as most vendors I have come across. There were also a few leftover bits of artillery from an old Dutch base but most were in a ruinous state and not much of that story was told outside of one small notation on the tourist map.

Overall Goree was a great place to take pictures and wander around the streets. It was definitely very touristy but once we moved away from the beach it was hard to notice. At 4:30 we caught the ferry back to the mainland. We were all going out for a real West African dinner in celebration of Briony’s (a doctor from the UK) 30th birthday.

Dinner was amazing. Briony read about this new place called La Calabesse which is located on top of the African Cultural Centre (more like expensive African souvenir shop with one statue in homage to some past President). We had the set plate deal for 12000 ($24) which included appetizer, main and dessert, and since there were a load of us eating, the Maître D basically kept the food coming till we said stop. There were several meat dishes such as fish with coconut, chicken with peanut, goat (?) with sauce (?) and other such things as beans, couscous, rice, and prawns of various presentations. All in all it was nice to sit at a table, with my own plate and a fork and knife AND have good food to boot (though I should say I have only had a couple of meals that I didn’t like back in St Louis). The meal ended at midnight, and I was toast so myself and 5 other girls decided to head back to the hotel.

To Be Continued…

Care for a Walk?

My walk to school takes 20 minutes. I head out the door, walk along the short side of the soccer pitch through the dirty sand, and turn left onto our side street that takes you out to the main road. In the morning, it is strangely quiet on the street. Women are seen dragging their children along, hustling, so as to get to school on time. The ladies wear brightly coloured dresses, and the children all have their school pinafores on with such details as the school name, and phone number in case you are inclined to stalk any child in particular and want to make easy work of it. Otherwise most traffic happens when I hit the main road.

I pass the same homeless man on the left sidewalk every day. He wears a touque, an old dress short (once white, now grey), and dress pants. Unless I see a piece of bread sticking out of his pocket, I usually give him a piece of my breakfast baguette. Once I turn onto the main road it becomes much busier and noisier. The colourful Car Rapides (buses) and taxis and UN convoy vehicles and horse and buggys are all in a hurry to get somewhere.

Everyday the fruit vendor asks me if I need fruit. His pile of watermelons is never very appealing so I wait for the guy down the street who usually offers the same price and has nice looking oranges, apples and bananas. The coffee vendor offers me a tiny cup of super sweet Touba coffee for 50CFA and since it`s just not my taste I politely decline.

Everywhere I walk someone is psss-ing me to get my attention. While it is common to hail a cab with such a hiss or someone you know or want to know, I find it pretty irritating to be psst-ed everywhere I go, so with great practise I have developed selective hearing over these last couple of weeks!

Next I pass the police station or Commissariat at the round about that either tosses you straight towards the bridge or right out into the country side if you drive 15 minutes. After that its only a couple of more streets until I turn right onto level ground. Most (or all, likely) side streets are made of sand which may account for why the cobblestone sidewalks and other paved roads are in such disrepair.

This weekend we are off to Dakar for a 2 day excursion. We are taking a private bus and staying in some sort of apartment deal because it's cheap. That being said, I will not be making posts this weekend... so have a great weekend!

Oops!

Hello to my faithful readers,

I would like to apologise for any and all spelling, grammatical and syntatical errors that have occured over the last few weeks in my blog. There really is never a good excuse for making such errors, but I would like to say that I have tried my best to proofread. Thanks to Nathan`s kind email today, I discovered that I haven`t exactly been doing an amazing job in the proofreading department.

Anyway, I`ll continue to do my best but I am not promising anything!

Thanks

Ashley

Fedherbe Bridge Will Soon Have a Twin

The Fedherbe Bridge will soon have a twin. Construction began in the spring of this year and project completion is set vaguely for mid year, next year. Until then, traffic is staggered so that one direction crosses while the other one waits. Late at night, when you take a taxi home from the island and the cabbie takes dark and twisty back routes, there is no need to fear, he is merely working his way to the queue to cross the bridge back to the mainland.

Pedestrian traffic is likewise doubled on the one side of the bridge because the second walkway is right in the midst of all the construction. The walkway is made of thick wooden slats, brand new in some spots, and old and rotten in others. If you're lucky, you can follow a sheep herder across the bridge with his knobbly kneed flock, as it is quite entertaining to watch!

Before crossing the bridge coming from land, it is important to visit the two pleasant peanut ladies who are often known to give a good deal on their wares. Both ladies are old and wear elaborate cloth dresses of which involve folds upon folds of colourful african design fabric. When you ask for change, they often have to dig through various folds of their garb in order to seek out the correct coins. They have set up shop with a large white pail and a metal platter that holds all the bagged peanuts. Bits of used cardboard are set underneath the bags of nuts to create the appearance of sanitary food presentation.

On the bridge, there is always a firm breeze that rolls in off the ocean. Even on the hottest days, it is easy to find reprieve from the heat during the 5 minute walk across to the other side.

On the island side of the bridge, there are several vendors, always with the same selection: sandals, necklaces, magazines, sliced coconut, peanuts, Touba coffee, novelty toy sized buses. The necklace vendors are the most persistant, and will often follow you all the way down the street until you convince them you really don't need another necklace, but maybe tomorrow you will.

After the vendors you reach the large post office on the left, and the Hotel de la Poste on the right. The post office is a grand, white, art-nouveau style building that scarcely contains all the grandeur it must have once had. The Hotel de la Poste is where the French air mail pilots were housed back in the heyday of St. Louis. I can't speak to the current quality of it`s lodging, but sitting underneath the covered terrace with a cafe au lait and a laptop is really quite a great way to settle in and blog about a bridge.

Visit to the Daaras

I wanted to describe a bit more about my visit to the Daaras because I feel it is a really important topic to cover. Since I have not actually worked with the Talibe boys it is hard for me to describe a complete picture, but I have heard many stories from other volunteers, and read a few articles before I even came to Senegal. The fact that it was on the radar when I was googling anything and everything I could find, told me then it would be something worth looking into when I finally arrived here.

In brief, the UNICEF website describes the Daaras history as such: Daaras or Koranic schools began as a rural and city based Koranic school which intended to teach boys the Koran in preperation for adult life. In return, the boys would work for the Maribouts in their fields. Due to drought and economic downturn in the late 70's and early 80s, the Daaras were struggling and so moved to the cities in order to be able to beg for money to keep the Daaras running.

I think the culture then shifted in the Daaras from a more pure intention with community involvement, to one where the Maribouts are making money by exploiting the children who are essentially forced to attend. The boys I have seen all live in harsh conditions, and are malnourished. The UNICEF website says there are around 100,000 children who attend these schools, but statistics regarding such issues from developing countries are notoriously undervalued. The boys hang about in the streets at all hours hoping they can collect meagre handouts from passers by.

The people with PA who work with the talibe mostly work to clean and bandage wounds and offer other topical medical attention. They also help with the friday meal, where an upwards of 200 children show up for a piece of bread with chocolate spread and oil on it.

Last week, Briony a doctor from the UK, told me about how she attended the friday meal. She said that after 150 kids they ran out of food. The volunteers were left scrambling trying to figure out how to not disappoint the remaining 50 kids. Briony offered to pay for whatever supplies they needed to make sure everyone got something. It cost her 4000 CFA ( the equivalent of $8) to purchase one more tub of chocolate spread and enough bread for everyone. Her comment to me was "Jeez, I would think nothing of spending 4000 on a glass of wine at dinner".

I often see the boys out in the streets at the appropriate times during the day praying with their wooden tablet, repeating and repeating the lines that are written out in coal. I highly doubt they can read what is actually written, so interpretation and explanation would be left up to the Maribout. I also wonder what life skills the Maribouts really think these boys are getting other than surviving life on the streets.

When we delivered donuts on Sunday I got to visit 5 different Daaras all in the same general area. Our escorts were the men who work in the talibe centres or go to the Daaras to help out with the boys. The centres have a place to hang out during the day, and a doctors office that has services, albeit limited services sporadically througout the week. The men are primarily responsible for anything from haircuts to first aid to sourcing food every friday for the 1 supper.

The men who work with the Talibes really are amazing people. Everywhere we walked they took the time to exchange greetings and shake hands with the boys we met in the streets. When it came time to change bandages, or in the case of one boy who had an abcess on his backside looked at, they were kind and gentle and sincere.

The first Daara was situated in a soccer stadium. The deal is, the boys can sleep and stay there, but if a game is on then they all have to leave. The stadium is old and dilapidated as are many buildings here, and their wash spot was an old puddle. When we handed out donuts, the boys were polite, lined up and made sure their pals got one too.

The next Daara wasn't so large, maybe 15 boys or so. It was situated in a smallish abandoned type house. There was a mat to sit on, an old mosquito net and not much else. These boys actually showed a little excitement at our arrival, but otherwise I scarcely saw a smile on any boy's face all day.

The two next ones were about the same, though the Maribouts refused to shake the girls' hands, as this is sometimes the case with Muslim men.

The last one was referred to as the "Daara des Mouches" which means Daara with lots of flies. It lived up to its name. We wandered along the long abandoned train tracks where garbage was piled high and goats were busy sorting through to see if there was anything good to eat in the piles. Then we veered off through narrower allyways where there were less people and more abandoned buildings. There was shallow ditches outside the houses that smelled of sewage.

We turned again down a narrow alleyway and came to the Darra, marked only by some scraggly writing in chalk on the wall. We waited while one of the escorts went in to make sure things were still ok with the Maribout.

There were about 100 boys or so at this place. They were all sitting cross legged with their tablets, knee to knee, crammed into these tiny rooms where they were apparently recieving instruction. Once they figured out we had treats for them they all immediately began scrambling to get one. Luckily we had enough for everyone...

Honestly, it was really depressing walking around the shit neighbourhoods of this area, walking over open sewage and arriving at a dilapidated building with 50 kids shoved in a tiny room, filthy, repeating and repeating the Koran which they don't understand but are merely repeating over and over because it's what they're supposed to do.

When I walked down my street to go home, the street looked totally different. Suddenly the garbage wasn't as bad as it could be, the people were better off, the kids in my house appeared to be thriving compared to these skinny Talibe boys despite their lack of toys and occasional threat of being whipped by the tv cable. It was really really crazy to see such a contrast after just 1 morning wandering around in the poorer areas.

I also have a hard time seeing where we can really get in there and help. Giving money to get supplies such as food and bandages and blankets is certainly needed but only offers a topical solution. There really is a greater need for a major cultural shift to happen.

On a lighter note, I have seen several incidents where random neighbours in my neighbourhood have stopped fights, or chastised talibes for bad behaviour. Many people offer them leftovers, but I rather think that having a consistent set of people raising me, and feeding me would be far more beneficial than simply knowing where the good handouts are.

First Day of School

Yesterday we had our induction into Ecole El Hadji Sidi Ndiaye which is a moutful of words to describe a school with boys and girls aged 8 - 12. The population of girls in this school is slightly above the boys, but I can only assume that is because many boys are attending Koranic schools instead.

The Director, Abdulaye, was most welcoming. He took us around to each of the 14 classes to introduce us and give a very rousing speech about the importance of learning English in order to better their opportunities in English speaking countries. Along the way, he spoke about how this school is one of the few offering English to primary children, so for some students, this is their first crack at learning any English. Aside from the usual maths, sciences and so forth, the children learn French and Arabic, which means they could very soon be quadrilingual (that is, if we have any success teaching them our own native language!)

My teaching partner is Krista, a 19 year old student from Vancouver. She was involved in the summer school that PA puts on so she will be a good resource to keep the classes moving along.

We are responsible for 4 classes of the same level aged 9 and 10, 4 classes of a heightened level of the same ages, and 2 classes aged 8 who have had zero English instruction so far.

Today we covered off numbers 1 - 20 and the ABC's and saw a few cobwebs fly out of come students ears. I certainly think we have our work cut out for us, but with only two sessions half an hour in length per week, I can't be sure how much we can really cram in.

Sounds Like Senegal

Sounds Like Senegal
I wish I could take all the sounds of Senegal and bottle them up for my people back home. At my host family's house, the sound of shuffling feet echoes ghost like through the hallways because the walls are hard and the floor is tiled. So while I can always tell someone is lurking around by the schhh schhh schhh, it is almost ghostly because no can be seen making the shuffling noises.

The children's voices are becoming very familiar to me. Mama tends to cry a lot and so does Aisha but Mama is more baritone while Aisha more treble. Mama likes to boss everyone around and generally at the ripe age of 3 has a pretty good sense of humour about life and is often shouting this or that at everyone, all the time, morning, noon and night. As for the rest of the kids, you can be assured that they are well heard...

Though I manage to sleep through the early morning call to prayer most mornings, there is the odd occasion where the loud tinny voice of the religious guy barrels through and wakes me. There is also the odd time when a loud cricket wakes me up first. The giant crickets have been sneaking into my room through a hole beside the door, and even after I shoved newspaper int he hole, I can still hear them cheep cheep cheeping softly while scratching to get in.

Every horse pulling a buggy has a bell or two on them ranging from something like a dinner bell to something off of Santa's sleigh. The taxi cabs use their horn as a means to navigate the roads without stopping or slowing down. The giant trucks hauling loads of materials do the same, though I rather think that noone is going to bother getting in their way.

In the evenings the Talibe boys congregate in the soccer field outside my house. I have never seen them appear, but it happens sometime after soccer practise is over, and shortly after the sun goes down. I think they are mostly waiting for something to eat and a front step to sleep on before the food is handed out.

The other night I was drawn out to my balcony because I could hear their voices and it sounded that there were a great many of them, and there were. I watched as one boy did sloppy somersaults across the entire length of the soccer pitch. I watched older boys tenderly scoop up the smaller boys and toss them around to their delight. I watched a boy renact crawling through an invisible war field, his long legs, thighs as skinny as calves, stretching insect like forward and back until another boy interrupts him by coming over and kicking him in the side. I watched one boy urinate on the ground in front of our house. I watched them wrestle. I watched them play soccer with a ball of garbage. I watched them laugh, and throw rocks at each other, and sit around talking like there wasn't a care in the world.

Today we delivered home made donuts to the Daaras, the Kornic schools where the boys live mostly and learn the Koran. Talibe boys are a well-known problem, as in, the fact that there are droves of homeless boys wandering around looking for hand-outs is well known, but there doesn't seem to be an apparent solution. I find it frustrating because it is hard to get a straight answer, or a complete answer, as to why there are all these boys homeless and poor. I also tend to wonder about where all their sisters are, and how life is happening for them.

Today was my first view into where the boys live, who the volunteer 'social workers' are, the Maribous (Daara religious leader type figure), and what the Daaras look like. I suppose those details will have to wait til another day...