More on talibes begging for their madrassas

My friend Maimuna sent me an Associated Press article on young Muslim boys from Guinea-Bissau sent away to study with marabouts/serignes/ustas (Koranic teachers) in Senegal. The students/talibes support their schools/madrassas by begging:

It's big business in Senegal. In the capital of Dakar alone, at least 7,600 child beggars work the streets, according to a study released in February by the ILO, the United Nations Children's Fund and the World Bank. The children collect an average of 300 African francs a day, just 72 cents, reaping their keepers $2 million a year.

Most of the boys — 90 percent, the study found — are sent out to beg under the cover of Islam, placing the problem at the complicated intersection of greed and tradition. For among the cruelest facts of Coli's life is that he was not stolen from his family. He was brought to Dakar with their blessing to learn Islam's holy book.

This made me think anew about my friend Bubacarr's little dara/Koranic school in Thies, Senegal, many hours from Njau, Gambia.

At Bubacarr's dara/madrassa the begging is done in lieu of farming, which young students often carry out as payment to teachers in rural areas. Since Thies is a big city, there is no farmland so relying on alms (one of Islam's five pillars) is the avenue pursued to support the school (and everyone's feeding).

While I am still dubious about the overall merits of the boarding dara/madrassa system (far from home, more time spent begging than studying), Bubacarr's did have a few saving graces. These are that the talibes are all from Njau, so they and their families know Bubacarr well, and see him whenever he returns to visit the village. Also, although difficult, life at the school did not seem too harsh (although some of this may have been due to my visit) -- everyone ate fairly well (as well as or perhaps better than they do in Njau) and the kids had spare money that they could spend on icees (frozen sugar-baobab/hibiscus drinks). But it's probably one of the better ones.

Of course, most of these boys had the decision to travel to Bubacarr's dara foisted upon them by their parents. I would have preferred they went to Njau's government school, but people value religious knowledge and can't always see the benefit of western education. And I'm sure the boys missed their families.

Regarding the article's thrust on child labour, I am again unsure exactly how to think of this. As the author mentions, some returned boys began working in their home villages. Rescuing them from their serignes/marabouts certainly won't spare these children from contributing their labour to their families' livelihood.

An enjoyable weekend

First off, it seems that in Edinburgh female drivers have a good reputation. A couple of weeks ago, I saw a car for sale. Among the virtues listed was that it has had "1 Lady Owner." Recently I also saw a driving school company that is simply named Female Driving Instructor. While on the subject of cars, one of my colleagues takes the bus to work as if she moved her car her (unzoned) spot would be taken. So she owns a car but feels she cannot drive it lest she lose the parking spot. Absurd.

Since I've gotten to Scotland, I've been on the lookout for some Wolof speakers so that I can brush up my language skills. I hadn't much luck (the language I most often randomly recognize is Twi, from Ghana), although I am teaching somebody some Wolof for use in their research work in Senegal. [My roommate recently remembered that he has a Gambian coworker, so I shall see if we can meet up for conversation.] So I was pleased when I happened upon a brochure for the World Sufi Festival in Glasgow, which would feature a Senegalese booth. As I've mentioned before a lot of Senegalese are followers of the Mouride sect of Islam, although I discovered that religious fervour did not figure prominently in the "Senegalese Market."



After a relaxing Friday afternoon watching Brokeback Mountain (which I thought was excelllent) and meeting up with some people at a pub, I left early Saturday morning for Glasgow. I spent the morning walking around the city (a nice place, I thought), and visited the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. It's an amalgamation of an art gallery (with Scottish, Italian and French art, plus a few masks in a theme on costume), Scottish history sections (I learned that the Scots did not wear kilts into battle, so I'm a little disappointed in my primary source of Scottish history - Braveheart) and a natural history museum, but quite nice all the same. Their signature piece seems to be a painting by Salvador Dali, called Christ of St John of the Cross, the purchase of which caused consternation.



At the Senegalese booth at the World Sufi Festival (other events at the conference centre included the Model Railroad Show and Cyprus Property Show) I did indeed meet several Wolof speakers and got some good practice in. In fact, one of them had sent a brief response to my Gumtree posting for a Wolof conversation partner, then never wrote again (apparently Amadou went on holiday to Ukraine), so he remembered me. There was a nice little dance and drumming session (it always seems to be white guys who are on the djembes), and a couple of them sang some familiar chants from the Baye Fall, itinerant Mourides who roam the Senegambian countryside singing for alms. There were plenty of other interesting booths, plus some nice Pakistani singing performances. There were a couple of real estate booths -- I could have bought into some condominium in Beirut ("by Ivana Trump" - I didn't know this was a big selling point) or perhaps gotten a bargain on a place in Lahore.

My weekend wrapped up with my second Sunday playing pick-up football in the Meadows. It was quite fun, although rather cold and I had an abysmal second stint in goal. It's nice to get the exercise, though, and hopefully we'll go for post-match pints next time. People are strange here in that when an activity ends here, they just up and leave.

Like the Pope passing away...

Last week the leader of the Mouride brotherhood in Senegal passed away. About half of Senegal's population belongs to this Muslim brotherhood, with a lot of followers in Gambia too, and even Mauritania.

While in The Gambia, I was fortunate to travel with some Njau residents on the Magal, the annual Mouride pilgrimage to Touba.

In addition to large-scale involvement in Senegalese agriculture, a lot of Mourides travel overseas for work, both to support their families and their imams/serignes and the brotherhood.

Here is a picture Jon took of some pictures of serignes (religious leaders and teachers) who are widely venerated in Senegal and Gambia. I've also seen bumper stickers that say "I [heart] Serigne Omar Jobe" and others.

A nighttime drive through the forest

July 31, 2007

Our vehicle from Mandar, Senegal to Labe, Guinea left around 5PM, after everyone had had their fill of the lumo (weekly market). So before long it was dark as we muddled along. The forest enveloping the road reminded me of when I first visited my English grandparents, as we drove through the New Forest that night. So this nighttime drive was evocative of that 1988 visit, notwithstanding the washed out road, frequent breakdowns and eventual retirement of our vehicle (we transferred to another station-wagon the next morning).

Time for an update!

I am presently in Grand Bassam, the old colonial capital of Cote d'Ivoire. I really should have attempted the occasional update while travelling, but the computers aren't always reliable, and I am often lazy.

Anyway; I shall move chronologically and gradually post descriptions of my travels:

circa July 27, 2007

Yesterday we had a nice visit to the Salls in Nord Foire (sp? it's on the outskirts of Dakar). The mother Fatou is a sister of my host father in Njau (Chebo), so I have stayed with them on past visits to Dakar. I was here with Jon, who had just arrived a couple of mornings ago (and, as luck would have it, his luggage arrived early the next morning.

Elhaas's wife Astou cooked a delicious chicken yassa, and I got to say goodbye to the Salls, we watched Senegalese TV/Brazilian soap operas, and I again got grief for not marrying Sohna, their cute cousin who dropped in.

Mot Lamin's coworker Jack, from (PR) China; had some interesting geopolitical news from The Gambia for me -- President Jammeh has announced that should China invade Taiwan, he is ready to send 1,000 soldiers to Taiwan's aid. Gambia, you may recall, is one of Taiwan's allies/client states in its quest for international recognition, along with Nauru, Vanuatu and others.

Senegal recently switched allegiances to China (well, in 2005). Around that time, in September '05, they had a falling-out with Gambia after the Gambians doubled the fares for their ferries. So the Senegalese government imposed a blockade of sorts, requiring all trucks going between Dakar and Casamance to drive around The Gambia. At the time, Senegalese president Abdoulaye Wade proposed the following solutions:

1) build bridges (the river's not very wide),
2) let Senegal control ferries of their own, or
3) dig a tunnel running under The Gambia since it's so small.

The matter was resolved a few weeks later, when Gambia sheepishly returned ferry prices to their pre-blockade rates.

Faith in the Market...

Prior to my visit to Touba, my aunt Judy remarked on the large presence of Senegalese vendors in Italy these days.

An Economist article last year delved further into these itinerant traders, the vast majority of whom are Mourides. So here is a little more background on the Mouride diaspora. I switched from the Economist's link as it is now in their archive and unavailable, but at least here is the introduction.

A Madrassa in the City

I had long promised to visit my friend Bubacarr, who works as an Ustas (Koranic teacher) at a dara/madrassa in Thies, Senegal's second city, during the dry season. Bubacarr comes home to Njau to farm during the rainy season, so that's how I know him. So it was that, after the Magal and a stopover in Dakar, I came to visit Thies.

I expected that some parents in Njau and other villages had left their sons in Bubacarr’s tutelage. I was surprised to discover, though, that all of his talibes/students were from around Njau, having moved 300 kilometres away to Thies. It seemed to me counterintuitive that Bubacarr, an Njau native, and his talibes would leave their homes and families for an expensive, unfamiliar city in another country. As it turns out, the rationale is economic.

If Bubacarr’s madrassa were in Njau, parents would not be able to pay him for his services. There are rural madrassas where children toil in their Ustas’s fields (see my July 18 2006 post on this), but Bubacarr lacks the land for this to be a viable option.

Moving to Thies proved feasible, though. The talibes’ parents still don’t have any money, and there’s no subsistence work available, but one can get by thanks to the West African and Islamic values of hospitality and zakat (alms giving), respectively.

Bubacarr rents a compound where he and his 40 or so students live and study. With water fees (there’s a tap in the compound), rent comes to 12,000 CFA (about $22) a month – a heady sum when your students have no money, nor food. This is where the aforementioned kindness of strangers, prescribed by social and religious norms, comes in.

The talibes spend a couple of hours every morning out with old tomate paste cans (for taking collections), offering prayers to people kind enough to make a contribution. A similar thing happens at lunch and dinner. The children return home with extra rice from compound food bowls and divvy it up at meal times. Bubacarr, too, has a couple of neighbours that provide him with meals, out of respect for the work he does teaching children the Koran and Islamic values.

The talibes study for a few hours before and after lunch, and for another hour or so at night. Older students teach the younger boys, with Bubacarr there to teach the older guys and to answer questions that come up. Bubacarr likened his role to that of my headmaster at Njau’s primary school.

So Bubacarr’s dara relies solely on charity to operate. At first this seemed unrealistic, but if every kid collects 25-50 CFA a day that works out to 1000-2000 CFA. Bubacarr had enough to splurge 2500 CFA on dinner for us (leaving me feeling a little sheepish), and is even contemplating renting a slightly nicer room. The funds also supported his two wives (now three as he has married his brother’s widow) and children at home in Njau.

So the urban dara system, in this case, works quite well financially. On the other hand, living quarters are cramped, the diet’s not great (but on a par with Njau), and Bubacarr and his talibes are far from home. Also, one boy is there simply because he ran out of money to attend government school, and Bubacarr has poached a few other kids from Njau’s primary school. It would be nice if more children simply took the two track approach – about 30 Njau LBS students pay for extra Koranic classes with the school’s Ustas – rather than making it an either/or proposition, but the money’s simply not there to support a madrassa in Njau.

Addendum: I did a brief Internet search on talibes, and most posts deplored the living conditions of dara students. Although the living conditions are difficult, I saw a generally happy atmosphere at Bubacarr’s school, and the talibes seemed to be treated reasonably well.

The Magal pilgrimage in Touba!

On 6 March 2007 I traveled from Njau for the Magal/annual pilgrimage to Touba, Senegal. Assembled here are some random notes from letters I’ve been writing to friends.

The Magal is celebrated by followers of the Mouride sect, and commemorates the founder’s return from 20 years’ French-imposed exile in 1907. So this city gets up to two million visitors during the Magal (to put that in perspective, I think Saudi Arabia allots passes for two million pilgrims for the Hadj). About half of Senegal’s 11-12 million people are Mourides and a fair amount of Gambian Wolofs are too (and some Mauritanians). I traveled there with Njau’s imam, an old pa (Baay Pateh) from Njau who’s keeping an eye on me, and a few other people from Njau and the surrounding villages (we hired a gelegele/minibus, which went off the beaten track, heading north from Njau). Quite a few other people from the Njau area are here; I bumped into the gelegele driver from our Grade 6 class trip last May, among others. The first afternoon we were there, I visited the mosque with Baay Pateh. It’s very large and ornate, and there are several adjunct shrines/mausoleums dedicated to past leaders of the Mourides. Every main street branching out from the mosque is filled with shops and sidewalk stalls (I think we passed over 100 cell phone stores). Many of the Senegalese working overseas are Mourides, and there’s a lot of trade back and forth. A major characteristic of this and other Muslim brotherhoods in the region is their reverence of their Serignes/marabouts/leaders, and their belief that these leaders can be conduits of messages or prayers to Allah. A lot of other Muslims might consider this elevation of leaders to be un-Islamic, but it dovetails nicely with local traditions of consulting wizened men for help with health, family, or financial problems or needs.

Besides checking out the market/city, we spent our time hanging out in three compounds that our imam and Pateh know (we are among hundreds of people sleeping in their courtyards), chatting with various pilgrims curious about my presence here, going on expeditions to places to take a bath (Baay Pateh knows a couple of compounds about 30 minutes’ walk from us that had pretty reasonable bathing places, plus we didn’t have to fetch water – one time Pateh simply pulled rank and used his seniority to annex one unfortunate young man’s bucket of water and place in line), eating, and resting.

So that’s about all I can tell you about Touba. Most of my information may not be completely accurate, and I use some terms interchangeably that may not be completely correct. Still, it gives you a small idea of what the trip was like, along with this little ‘survival guide’ which I’ve put together for prospective Peace Corps travelers to the Magal.

Magal Survival Guide

Although this won’t match the attention to detail in Tina and Nate’s Mauritania brief (“The pit latrine in the Atar PCV house issues a pleasant report when you drop a solid stool…”), I will do my best to be helpful. I highly recommend the trip to anyone who is curious (some command of Wolof or French is vital – or a companion with those qualities).

Try to leave a couple of days before the Magal, as traffic and accommodation both get really tight.

Travel with Gambian or Senegalese friends

If your village/town has a fair amount of Wolof compounds, there’s a decent chance there are Mourides among them (some Mauritanians are Mourides too). Travelling with locals should mean that logistics (transport, accommodation) are taken care of.

Bring your own water?

This was the suggestion of my host father, who claims cholera is widespread in Touba during the Magal. To be sure the taps end up surrounded by cesspools, and the water tastes awful. I brought along a 20 liter bidong for myself and the old pa whose fare I sponsored, but this only lasted two days as the less-prepared members of our party helped themselves. Bottled/shrink-wrapped water can be bought, but it sold out the day of the Magal.

Bathing

This could be a battle. You could borrow someone’s bucket, or bring your own. On the plus side, the taps always run. I lucked out as my old pa is a Magal old hand, and found us some good bathing places, although they were a half hour’s walk away.

Sleeping

Plan on sleeping in what you wear. You may want to bring extra layers, and socks, as it was quite chilly and you’ll likely be exposed to the elements. You’ll need a mat or something to roll out over the sand. Mats can be bought in Touba at the usual rates. Sleeping will be cramped; the last night we squeezed our mat between a compound wall and a taxi.

Visiting the Grand Mosque

This can be a bit tricky (although they apparently give tours during quieter periods), but it you dress the part, speak some Wolof (a little Arabic would probably completely flummox and quieten interrogators), and have someone who can vouch for you (Baay Pateh banged on about how I fasted over Ramadan and was generally living as they do), you should be fine.

Theft

The crowds are overwhelming, so try to stash somewhere on your person any valuables you don’t need at hand. I found my khaftaan quite handy as it covered the items in my trousers. I left my clothes and such where my people were ensconced and nothing was taken. Basically, the usual precautions apply.

Toilets

The standard pit latrines, just count on sharing it with a few hundred people.

Food

There are plenty of street vendors to buy food from, and tones of bitiks. If your host is a Serigne, or Mouride spiritual leader, he’ll want to make a good show of taking care of his acolytes. Breakfast was tea and bread; lunch was benichin with vegetables and beef(!); dinner was cous with sauce and more beef. It was kind of like Tobaski, except cows were slaughtered instead of rams or goats.

EXPENSES

Roundtrip fare from CRD-North: 5000 CFA / D 250 / $9
Large mat: 4000 CFA / D 200 / $7.50
Drinks: 300 CFA / D 15 per person per day / $0.50

The World/Gambia is Flat

29 August -- I've been passing the time reading "The World is Flat," a book my parents sent me for my birthday (among others - thanks guys!). The gist of the book is that the world is flattening or converging -- creating new opportunities and challenges for billions of people as barriers to education and employment come down. So I have been reading with some trepidation about this new world, considering the ramifications for The Gambia.

I am fearful that most of this country will miss out on this flattening of the global playing field. I haven't read the book's section of developing countries yet, but the author (Thomas Friedman) seems sanguine about the aggregate positive effects of globalization on the world's population. Unfortunately, Gambia seems largely removed from these changes. To be sure, modern communication is slowly proliferating, but the country seems to be falling further and further behind the rest of the world. There are some improvements, like the paving of the north bank highway, but these all seem to be driven by foreign donors. Most people want to go work overseas (and they do work hard if they get there), but the money made is devoted to micro-level changes here -- a nicer house, a few years of generator-provided electricity. Reading about legions of Chinese and Indians toiling away and improving their skills, it is difficult to contrast that with what I see here, where many teachers may not read a single book during the school holidays.

Yet just a kilometer from here is a functioning, albeit poor, country. All of Senegal's large towns have near-constant electricity. Even out here, if I walk 3-4 kms to Makorgui, the site of the nearest Senegalese school, the government has installed solar and the village has light at night. When I was riding a horsecart to my host mother's village for her brother's wedding I saw the ambient light in the distance, which I regarded with the fascination I would presumably reserve for an alien spaceship landing.

In short, I get rather discouraged when I think about Gambia's prospects. It's one of the reasons I'm contemplating another PC posting -- to visit a country where the attitude towards poverty and life is not largely one of abject resignation. To be sure, I exaggerate, and there are a lot of kids, and some adults, with lots of creativity, curiosity and motivation.

UPDATE: Having finished the book, I thought I'd comment briefly on the chapter on developing countries. I think Mr. Friedman's arguments that states should open up their markets, lessen red tape, invest in education and infrastructure and so on are laudable. And to the benificent leader who is not terribly enamored with remaining in office, these are great moves.

However, I see very little motivation for an administration that is less altruistic or visionary in outlook. Gambia has very little incentive in such a situation, as the leaders' hold on power and information would be negatively affected. As things stand, Gambia gets enough aid (some 60% of the education budget, for instance) that there is little financial pressure to increase surveillance of public employees or to reduce spending on wasteful projects.

The international community, too, seems to have a symbiotic relationship with an administration interested in touting minor infrastructure improvements. They draw positive attention for NGO's donors and Gambian citizens alike, both of whom rely on others for information -- the NGOs and the largely government-controlled Gambian media, respectively.

And Gambia's too insignificant for larger countries to pressure it to change, although America deserves credit for (quietly) dropping Gambia from its list of deserving countries receiving aid through the Millenium Challenge Grant/Account, or whatever it's called. More forceful follow-up is needed, though, if Gambia's leaders are to undertake more than piecemeal moves to improve governance.

Pictures of Dakar, courtesy of Jeremy

My friend Jeremy sent me a disposable camera, and he has just sent the prints and a CD to me. These pictures are from my trip to Dakar, Senegal, in April 2006.

This is a small picture of the crowd in Dakar (it belies the scope) assembled for Independence Day celebrations and the procession of Senegalese President Abdoulaye Wade and everyone's favourite reformed dictator, Muammar Qaddafi. Below are posters of Wade and Qaddafi. Five other African heads of state came too, but they barely rated a mention in the national press, nor did they take part in the main parade.

A view from the southern tip of Dakar. Also, Dakar is on the western tip of the peninsula that is the westernmost land on the African continent. During a future visit I shall trespass on Club Med grounds and make it to westernmost West Africa (Cape Verde excepted).

A distant view of Goree Island.

Goree Island was a major waypoint in the slave trade. Nowadays it's a rather tacky environment, although there is some interesting architecture. Lots of restaurants and touts, though. The old forts (left relatively unmarred by tourism) in Ghana are much more thought provoking, and so is the ruined fort at James Island in The Gambia (nearby Alex Haley's "Roots" village Juffureh is not up to much).

The Palais du Justice and main bus station.

The Travails of My Trousers

Lazily taken from a letter I wrote to my good friend Harry while in Dakar, Senegal.

9 August -- My trousers are being held hostage by the Senegalese government. I discovered a tear along the seam of one of the legs yesterday, so today I took them to a local tailor and, after a prolonged negotiation, I left expecting to pick them up after lunch. I returned after 3, but the tailor's was still closed. Assuming he was still at lunch, I came back again a bit before 5.

When I got there, the men at the neighbouring store told me the tailor was gone, the place locked, and he might not return today. Given that I had (faint) hopes of leaving tomorrow morning, I found this a bit vexing. I asked if anyone knew the tailor's phone number, but they said no and, when pressed, that no one around there knew how to contact him. Cryptically, they said he doesn't have a key anyway.

So I settled down and played a game of foosball. Another thing that Senegal has over Gambia, besides electricity, roads, and the like, is foosball tables galore. Going down a town’s main street, I see one every two or three blocks. I don’t know if they are truly foosball mad (or perhaps the French brought higher smoking rates and a love of foosball to their colonies), but they are truly abundant.

A little later the tailor did return. He promptly told me the trousers were ready. I suggested that he fetch them. At this point one of the assembled men decides to tell me that he is the one in charge off the sewing booth – it resembles a freight container from a ship – but he cannot open it.

He explains that the space is rented from the municipal authority, which decided that afternoon to lock out tenants truant on their rent payments. He told me he would go tomorrow to pay his arrears and collect the key. When? In the morning, Insh’Allah (God willing). Does he have the money to pay the rent? No. Does he know where he’s going to get the money from? Nope. So, when might he be back to open the place if he does happen to get the money? After 1 o’clock, Insh’Allah. Reiterating that I may be leaving tomorrow does not faze him. In fact, he, the tailor and the rest of the crew found it all quite entertaining.

I have to admit it was amusing (aided in this hindsight as I was by a can of Carlsberg given to me by a Nigerian who stayed in the room across from me), but it crystallizes some depressing facts of life here – that so much depends on the arbitrary whims of government officials (the closings took place without any notice or warning), that nobody gives a shit when things are delayed or held up, and the compulsion to withhold information unless asked repeatedly.

24 August – In a happy ending, I picked up the trousers on my way back down from Mauritania!

A Sojourn in Dakar

Of note in Dakar, where I took a brief holiday from April 2-7. I stayed with relatives of my host family in Njau, and was unemcumbered by greeting and other obligations I face in village or down around Banjul. It was a few days to myself, where the anonymity of a big city with lots of expats meant I could choose my spots and practice my Wolof (my French is now non-existent, but everyone in Senegal speaks Wolof) when the mood struck.

On April 3, I made the rounds with a Togolese man named Ali Francis, a friend of my host Cheikh. Ali is something of a small business man and, although he speaks little English and Wolof and I no French, it was interesting running errands with him. We visited a couple of banks, a church's basement kitchen (where one of his clients was cooking lunch), and several clothing stores where Ali picked up a few knock-off t-shirts. One of these stores had a little DVD player showing old Michael Bolton music videos. Dakar's different from The Gambia.

In the afternoon I just roamed around town. The next day happened to be Senegal's Independence Day, so I was treated to large crowds feting this anniversary and, yes, the impending arrival of Muammar Khaddafi. In addition to the obligatory posters of Senegal's (non-despotic, mind you) president, Abdoulie Wade, there were just as many of Khaddafi. Oil money will do that for you.

The next day while relaxing around my host's compound (interrupted by a couple of walks on the beach some 300 metres away), we saw the Independence pageantry on the TV. Khaddafi has just started growing a mustache and goatee. Due to the greying of his facial hair (in contrast to his locks, which remain a suspiciously glossy black), the salt and pepper effect merely made him look dirty. I also saw Charles Taylor on the news, and surmised that he has now arrived in Sierra Leone. So, although Khaddafi enjoyed the adulation of the Senegalese (I cannot imagine him getting such a reception in Libya), it may have been a bittersweet moment as one of his proteges is now in the dock.

Visiting Dakar, with all its amenities, is a bit incongruous, what with near-constant electricity, running water, and many other consumerist goodies. This was best typified by my uncle Al-Haji Laying, who was also visiting from Njau, and is just a few years from Old Pa status. This is a man whose energy use consists of having someone use cooking charcoal to brew some ataaya for him, yet one morning I came out of the bedroom to discover him on the computer using his best Fana Fana greetings (How are the home people? Hope nothing's wrong? How is the work?) while speaking to relatives in America over Skype, a program that up till then I had only read about in The Economist.