Yesterday, my Education and Culture class visited a daara in Pikine, a banlieu (suburb) of Dakar. Unlike the suburbs in the United States, the banlieus are really poor. They are the poorest areas of the city. We took cabs from our university to Pikine and then stopped at our professor's house. Professor Kane lives in one of the nicest homes in the entire banlieu. Then, we walked to the daara, which was located onthe other side of the train tracks. Daaras are koranic schools, where boys ages 5 to 20 are taught the Koran by marabouts (religious leaders). This was definitely one of the most interesting and saddening experiences I have had in Senegal.
The way that most of the schools are run, is that the kids all live there and only see their parents during Muslim religious holidays. At this particular daara, most of the kids come from the Touba region. This is a religious center for Mouride Muslims. They wake up in the morning and study koran until lunch time. This means memorizing passages in Arabic, even though they only speak Wolof. None of these kids, or even the marabout, spoke French. Therefore, most of the kids couldn't tell you what the passages that they recite mean. As they get older, the marabout and other students will help translate the Arabic into Wolof, so they can have some idea of what they are saying.
In the afternoon, the talibe (which means religious students) are sent out onto the streets of Pikine to beg for food and money. The marabout makes most of his money this way. The kids' parents don't pay for them to attend school, so begging allows the marabout to run the daara. Also, his adult followers will give him whatever money they can afford. Any marabout, or really any Senegalese person, will tell you that the purpose of begging is to teach the talibe to be humble. Humility is a very important part of Islam. However, in my opinion and in the opinion of most other Muslim countries, there are many better ways to teach kids to be humble. Really, I see begging as a way for marabouts to exploit their students and earn a living.
During our visit, we got to sit down with the marabout and ask questions, which our professor translated into Wolof. Many of the questions that people asked didn't provide us with any inight into this system, but it was interesting to see how he answered. For example, when we asked what most of the kids do when they leave the daara, he told us that many students end up working the United States. Really? These kids who cannot speak any language other than Wolof, have never been to regular school, and can't even write their names manage to acquire gainful employment in the United States? I don't think so. These kids have never learned math, history, science, or French. All they know is the Koran.
The saddest part of the whole visit was when the subject of beating the tablibe came up. This particular daara is well-known because a few years ago, the old marabout beat a child so badly that he died. When word got out, that marabout fled to Touba and has been there ever since. However, when we asked the current marabout if he beats children, he said yes without any hesitation. He told us that he has a cane that he uses if the children are misbehaving. He explained that beating is a necessary part of learning, and that if he didn't beat kids they would never learn the Koran. Even the public schools here still use corporal punishment. I don't know about all of you, but I was never beaten by my teachers, and I think I have done pretty well as far as education is concerned.
Recently, Senegal has come under international scrutiny because of the mistreatment of talibe by marabouts. Many talibe are beaten if they don't bring in enough money everyday while begging. Human Rights Watch recently did a report on this phenomenon, urging the Senegalese to do something for the 50,000 talibe in the country. The problem is the amount of power that is held by these marabouts. They are extremely influential politically, so the government is really afraid to take them on. If you're interested, the NY Times recently did a story on this problem that can be found here: http://www.nytimes.com/reuters/2010/04/15/world/international-us-senegal-streetchildren.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=Senegal%20talibe&st=cse
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
I Am Worth Four Cows: A Week in Salamata
I spent this past week exploring rural Senegal. It was our rural visit week, where each CIEE student is placed with either a Peace Corps volunteer (PCV), and NGO, or a host family in rural parts of Senegal all around the country. I was placed with a PCV named Jason Haack, whose site is about 18km outside of the town of Kolda. Kolda is located in southern Senegal, in the Haute Cassamance. The specific village that we were in is called Salamata, and about 750 people live there.
Liz, one of my friends who also lives in Sacre Coeur 3, was placed with me. We left the neighborhood around 7 am on Sunday to go to the Garage Pompier and grab a sept-place down to Kolda. We were told that it would be no problem to get a sept-place anytime on Sunday and that the trip would only take about 6 hours. Neither of those things were true. When we got to the garage, we were informed that there were no sept-places going to Kolda that day, but we could take a bus. Now, the way public transportation works here in Senegal is that you have to wait for the entire bus to fill up before they will leave. Liz and I knew this could take a while, but we only anticipated waiting a few hours. Instead, we didn't leave the garage until 4:30pm! In order to get to Kolda, you have to go through The Gambia. The ferry in The Gambia stops running at 8pm, and we knew there was no way we were going to get there in time, so we called Jason. He hooked us up with some of his Peace Corps friends in Kaolack, about 3.5 hours outside of Dakar, who let us sleep at the Kaolack regional house. We arrived exhausted and dirty, to find cheeseburgers and American movies.
After a lovely night sleeping on the roof under a mosquito net, we grabbed a sept-place to Kolda and left around 8am. We got into Kolda in the early afternoon and Jason met us at the garage with David, another PCV. We went back to the Kolda regional house, where we spent the night. Liz and I were absolutely filthy from our trip. Since it's so dusty and so hot out, we were covered in dirt and sweat. So, after we met everyone at the Peace Corps house, we took long showers to get rid of all the dirt.
Jason convinced us to stay at the regional house Monday night with promises of fried chicken. Martin, another PCV, is an amazing cook, even if he is really socially awkward, and he made fried chicken and macaroni and cheese for us! We spent the night hanging out with the PCVs, talking about why they joined the Peace Corps and what their experiences had been like so far. I had a long conversation with David about what types of people are happiest in the Peace Corps. Basically, he said that people who come in with no expectations tend to enjoy the Peace Corps the most. If you come in expecting to do a very specific type of project and accomplish very specific goals, you are likely to be let down. Jason seemed to agree. When he reached his site 8 months ago, he met with the village elders to determine what they needed from him. He didn't go in with a preconceived notion of what he would be doing.
The next morning, we woke up early and took a taxi out to the village. Salamata is beautiful. There are woods and palm trees, animals everywhere, and the people are very friendly. Everyone in this area of Senegal speaks the Fulakunda dialect of Pular. Very few of them speak fluent Wolof, and even less speak fluent French. This made communicating very difficult. Luckily, we had Jason, who speaks pretty decent Pular, We pretty much only learned some basic greetings. It's really interesting how different Pular and Wolof are. Wolof is a really harsh language, while Pular is very sing-songy.
The four days we spent in the village were awesome. We met Jason's host family and stayed in his hut in their compound. There was no electricity or running water, but there was a well in the compound so we could take outdoor bucket showers. We got to explore neighboring villages, including Martin's village. We also went to see the women's garden in the village. This was worked on by Danny, the PCV who was in Salamata before Jason. He wrote the grant for it and helped the women set it up so that they could have some form of income and have better nutrition in the village. When we went down, the women asked Jason if he would buy them barbed wire to keep out the monkeys who eat their crops. However, one of the stipulations of the grant for the women's garden was that the women were responsible for its upkeep by saving some of the money they make off selling their crops. Jason did his best to explain this, and asked them to collect money from each woman so that he could go into town and get the barbed wire.
It was exceptionally hot in Salamata. I think it was over 120 degress everyday we were in the village. I don't think I have ever been as hot as I was while in the Kolda region. My daily outdoor bucket shower was fantastic. Also, because it's so hot this time of year, people don't really do much during the afternoon. So, everyday after lunch turned into nap time. Sometimes we would lay down under the mango tree, other times we would sleep in the hut.
On our last day in Salamata, we went on a death march through three or four villages instead of napping. We started off the day by walking to Sare Sarah (Martin's village), which is about 2 km from Salamata. Then we hitch-hiked to another village in search of palm wine. The two guys who collect palm wine in that village weren't in, so we ate lunch and started walking to a village that has electricity and, therefore, cold drinks. Once there, we bought some soda and bouy (baobab fruit juice) and sat in front of some government building to enjoy the cold. When we finished, it was off to yet another village in search of a man named Kobe who was rumored to have palm wine in his possesion.
When we finally arrived at Kobe's house, he was taking a bath. So, we sat in his beautiful garden until he finished. Then, he grabbed his gear for climbing and tapping palm trees, and we walked out into the woods. We sat down in a little grove of trees while Kobe climbed up on of these huge palm trees and tapped some palm wine for us. This was the second time I had tried palm wine. The first was in The Gambia, and I really didn't like it. The smell is really rancid and strong. But, this time I actually really enjoyed it. We sat in a circle taking turns drinking out of a calabash. It was lovely. Once we had finished, we hitch-hiked another ride back to the village.
One of the most interesting things about the village were the gender dynamics. Overall, men and women's lives are very seperate and different. In the village, the men build huts and do maitenance around the village, while the women spend all day cooking and pulling water from the well. The women get up in the morning and start grinding peanuts and corn. They do all the cooking and cleaning. It seems that the men only really work when there is something very specific to do. For example, the one time I saw the men working was when they were building a new hut for Jason's host brother, Ousmane. Interestingly, the village was the first time I saw fathers playing and interacting with their young children.
Overall, I really loved my week in the village. We met amazing people and had a lot of fun. Of course, it was also really interesting to see how so much of Senegal lives. Mostly, I really enjoyed talking with PCVs about their projects and their experiences with the Peace Corps. It was really eye-opening and they each had a story to tell about how they ended up in the Peace Corps and what they thought of the entire process.
Liz, one of my friends who also lives in Sacre Coeur 3, was placed with me. We left the neighborhood around 7 am on Sunday to go to the Garage Pompier and grab a sept-place down to Kolda. We were told that it would be no problem to get a sept-place anytime on Sunday and that the trip would only take about 6 hours. Neither of those things were true. When we got to the garage, we were informed that there were no sept-places going to Kolda that day, but we could take a bus. Now, the way public transportation works here in Senegal is that you have to wait for the entire bus to fill up before they will leave. Liz and I knew this could take a while, but we only anticipated waiting a few hours. Instead, we didn't leave the garage until 4:30pm! In order to get to Kolda, you have to go through The Gambia. The ferry in The Gambia stops running at 8pm, and we knew there was no way we were going to get there in time, so we called Jason. He hooked us up with some of his Peace Corps friends in Kaolack, about 3.5 hours outside of Dakar, who let us sleep at the Kaolack regional house. We arrived exhausted and dirty, to find cheeseburgers and American movies.
After a lovely night sleeping on the roof under a mosquito net, we grabbed a sept-place to Kolda and left around 8am. We got into Kolda in the early afternoon and Jason met us at the garage with David, another PCV. We went back to the Kolda regional house, where we spent the night. Liz and I were absolutely filthy from our trip. Since it's so dusty and so hot out, we were covered in dirt and sweat. So, after we met everyone at the Peace Corps house, we took long showers to get rid of all the dirt.
Jason convinced us to stay at the regional house Monday night with promises of fried chicken. Martin, another PCV, is an amazing cook, even if he is really socially awkward, and he made fried chicken and macaroni and cheese for us! We spent the night hanging out with the PCVs, talking about why they joined the Peace Corps and what their experiences had been like so far. I had a long conversation with David about what types of people are happiest in the Peace Corps. Basically, he said that people who come in with no expectations tend to enjoy the Peace Corps the most. If you come in expecting to do a very specific type of project and accomplish very specific goals, you are likely to be let down. Jason seemed to agree. When he reached his site 8 months ago, he met with the village elders to determine what they needed from him. He didn't go in with a preconceived notion of what he would be doing.
The next morning, we woke up early and took a taxi out to the village. Salamata is beautiful. There are woods and palm trees, animals everywhere, and the people are very friendly. Everyone in this area of Senegal speaks the Fulakunda dialect of Pular. Very few of them speak fluent Wolof, and even less speak fluent French. This made communicating very difficult. Luckily, we had Jason, who speaks pretty decent Pular, We pretty much only learned some basic greetings. It's really interesting how different Pular and Wolof are. Wolof is a really harsh language, while Pular is very sing-songy.
The four days we spent in the village were awesome. We met Jason's host family and stayed in his hut in their compound. There was no electricity or running water, but there was a well in the compound so we could take outdoor bucket showers. We got to explore neighboring villages, including Martin's village. We also went to see the women's garden in the village. This was worked on by Danny, the PCV who was in Salamata before Jason. He wrote the grant for it and helped the women set it up so that they could have some form of income and have better nutrition in the village. When we went down, the women asked Jason if he would buy them barbed wire to keep out the monkeys who eat their crops. However, one of the stipulations of the grant for the women's garden was that the women were responsible for its upkeep by saving some of the money they make off selling their crops. Jason did his best to explain this, and asked them to collect money from each woman so that he could go into town and get the barbed wire.
It was exceptionally hot in Salamata. I think it was over 120 degress everyday we were in the village. I don't think I have ever been as hot as I was while in the Kolda region. My daily outdoor bucket shower was fantastic. Also, because it's so hot this time of year, people don't really do much during the afternoon. So, everyday after lunch turned into nap time. Sometimes we would lay down under the mango tree, other times we would sleep in the hut.
On our last day in Salamata, we went on a death march through three or four villages instead of napping. We started off the day by walking to Sare Sarah (Martin's village), which is about 2 km from Salamata. Then we hitch-hiked to another village in search of palm wine. The two guys who collect palm wine in that village weren't in, so we ate lunch and started walking to a village that has electricity and, therefore, cold drinks. Once there, we bought some soda and bouy (baobab fruit juice) and sat in front of some government building to enjoy the cold. When we finished, it was off to yet another village in search of a man named Kobe who was rumored to have palm wine in his possesion.
When we finally arrived at Kobe's house, he was taking a bath. So, we sat in his beautiful garden until he finished. Then, he grabbed his gear for climbing and tapping palm trees, and we walked out into the woods. We sat down in a little grove of trees while Kobe climbed up on of these huge palm trees and tapped some palm wine for us. This was the second time I had tried palm wine. The first was in The Gambia, and I really didn't like it. The smell is really rancid and strong. But, this time I actually really enjoyed it. We sat in a circle taking turns drinking out of a calabash. It was lovely. Once we had finished, we hitch-hiked another ride back to the village.
One of the most interesting things about the village were the gender dynamics. Overall, men and women's lives are very seperate and different. In the village, the men build huts and do maitenance around the village, while the women spend all day cooking and pulling water from the well. The women get up in the morning and start grinding peanuts and corn. They do all the cooking and cleaning. It seems that the men only really work when there is something very specific to do. For example, the one time I saw the men working was when they were building a new hut for Jason's host brother, Ousmane. Interestingly, the village was the first time I saw fathers playing and interacting with their young children.
Overall, I really loved my week in the village. We met amazing people and had a lot of fun. Of course, it was also really interesting to see how so much of Senegal lives. Mostly, I really enjoyed talking with PCVs about their projects and their experiences with the Peace Corps. It was really eye-opening and they each had a story to tell about how they ended up in the Peace Corps and what they thought of the entire process.
La Jour de l'Independence
Sunday, April 4th (Easter Sunday) was the 50th anniversary of Senegalese independence from France. Naturally, the entire weekend was one big celebration. Saturday was the inauguration of La Monument de la Renaissance Africaine. This is a giant statue that can be seen from most places in Dakar. I have a perfect view of it from my roof, even though I live really far away from it. This statue has been really controversial. First, it is meant to represent Senegal and Africa. This is problematic because it depicts a man, woman, and child who are not wearing very much clothing. This has been really upsetting to the mostly Muslim population in Senegal. People here dress cery conservatively. Girls generally wear floor length skirts and dresses, and certainly nothing that is cut above the knee. Another point of outrage with this monument is the insanely high cost to build it. President Abdoulaye Wade spent billions of dollars building this huge, unsightly statue, when roads need to be fixed, schools need more funding, and people need to be fed. It would be one thing if the billions of dollars went to Senegalese workers, since there is a severe job shortage in this country. However, the money mostly went to North Koreans, who engineered and built the statue. Also, Wade is collecting a percentage of any money made by the statue for himself, claiming that he designed it.
So, due to the serious controversy surrounding the statue, I was shocked to see so many people out in support of its inauguration. The streets and hills around the statue were packed! Roads were blocked off so that hoards of people dressed in outfits made of this ridiculous fabric with Wade's face and pictures of the statue all over it could gather to watch the speeches. People were wearing t-shirts commemorating the event, and important leaders from all over the world, including Jesse Jackson, were in attendance. I sat up on a hill with two of my friends, next to a beautiful baobab tree, and just watched. I couldn't comprehend how so many people were happy about this statue. In the days leading up to the event, I talked with taxi drivers, my family, students, and random people on the street about their thoughts on the statue. Not one of them supported it. Later, I found out that many of the people who were out cheering for the statue had been paid to be there.
After a few hours of madness, I headed home to get ready for the evening. That night, there was an Independence Day party in Ouakam, one the neighborhoods in Dakar. There was lots of dancing, and most people from school were there. The whole night was a lot of fun until, at about 5 am, a man came up to my friend Jenna and me and started yelling at us in English. He was chastizing us for being white people in Africa, repeatedly telling is how ugly we were because we were white and that we were only in Senegal to find black men. This is not a sentiment that I have often encountered here. Most men respond very positively to white women, telling us how badly they want a white wife. I was so upset by this man, who I had never met before, yelling at me two inches from my face. Jenna eventually convinced me to walk away. I can understand why he might feel like that. A lot of rich, older, French women come to Senegal in search of attractive, young, Senegalese men. However, for him to assume that I am here because of some devious motivation really offended me. Not to mention, no one likes being called ugly by strangers.
The next day was actual Independence Day. My program took us to Stade Leopold Sedar Senghor, a large stadium in Dakar, to see a traditional wrestling match between Mike Tyson (a Senegalese man who has taken on Tyson's name and wears and American flag) and Yekini. This was a huge match that had been advertised on TV for months leading up to it. It was a rematch between Tyson and Yekini. In the parking lot while we were waiting in line, my friends and I bought whistles for 100 CFA (roughly 20 cents) and t-shirts for 1000 CFA (about $2.00). My t-shirt supported Tyson, who was making his comeback to wrestling that day. CIEE had bought us the expensive seats, which cost $10, and we got to sit in the first row. As usual, there was more dancing than wrestling. Each wrestler has a crew, and they dance together before the match. Unfortunately, Tyson lost the match. But it's okay, because Akon was there! Since he is Senegalese, Akon comes to Independence Day in Senegal every year. He drove around the stadium waving to the crowd before taking his seat to watch the match.
The stadium was crazy once the match ended. There was lots of yelling and cheering, and people started jumping from the crowd down onto the field. This is especially dangerous when the security, who are all military and police, have very large guns and aren't afraid to use their night sticks. We left before anyone got seriously hurt, but I did see the police going after a few people with their night sticks.
Monday classes were cancelled in celebration of Easter, so my friend Katie came over and we dyed Easter eggs! My mom had sent me an egg dying kit in a care package, and it was really nice to celebrate Easter with an American tradition. My Senegalese family did not understand what we were doing at all. We tried, and failed, to explain this bizarre Easter tradition. Eventually, my family gave up trying to understand and were just happy to eat hard-boiled eggs and play with the stickers. Explaining these sort of cultural things gets really tricky when you can only speak French.
So, due to the serious controversy surrounding the statue, I was shocked to see so many people out in support of its inauguration. The streets and hills around the statue were packed! Roads were blocked off so that hoards of people dressed in outfits made of this ridiculous fabric with Wade's face and pictures of the statue all over it could gather to watch the speeches. People were wearing t-shirts commemorating the event, and important leaders from all over the world, including Jesse Jackson, were in attendance. I sat up on a hill with two of my friends, next to a beautiful baobab tree, and just watched. I couldn't comprehend how so many people were happy about this statue. In the days leading up to the event, I talked with taxi drivers, my family, students, and random people on the street about their thoughts on the statue. Not one of them supported it. Later, I found out that many of the people who were out cheering for the statue had been paid to be there.
After a few hours of madness, I headed home to get ready for the evening. That night, there was an Independence Day party in Ouakam, one the neighborhoods in Dakar. There was lots of dancing, and most people from school were there. The whole night was a lot of fun until, at about 5 am, a man came up to my friend Jenna and me and started yelling at us in English. He was chastizing us for being white people in Africa, repeatedly telling is how ugly we were because we were white and that we were only in Senegal to find black men. This is not a sentiment that I have often encountered here. Most men respond very positively to white women, telling us how badly they want a white wife. I was so upset by this man, who I had never met before, yelling at me two inches from my face. Jenna eventually convinced me to walk away. I can understand why he might feel like that. A lot of rich, older, French women come to Senegal in search of attractive, young, Senegalese men. However, for him to assume that I am here because of some devious motivation really offended me. Not to mention, no one likes being called ugly by strangers.
The next day was actual Independence Day. My program took us to Stade Leopold Sedar Senghor, a large stadium in Dakar, to see a traditional wrestling match between Mike Tyson (a Senegalese man who has taken on Tyson's name and wears and American flag) and Yekini. This was a huge match that had been advertised on TV for months leading up to it. It was a rematch between Tyson and Yekini. In the parking lot while we were waiting in line, my friends and I bought whistles for 100 CFA (roughly 20 cents) and t-shirts for 1000 CFA (about $2.00). My t-shirt supported Tyson, who was making his comeback to wrestling that day. CIEE had bought us the expensive seats, which cost $10, and we got to sit in the first row. As usual, there was more dancing than wrestling. Each wrestler has a crew, and they dance together before the match. Unfortunately, Tyson lost the match. But it's okay, because Akon was there! Since he is Senegalese, Akon comes to Independence Day in Senegal every year. He drove around the stadium waving to the crowd before taking his seat to watch the match.
The stadium was crazy once the match ended. There was lots of yelling and cheering, and people started jumping from the crowd down onto the field. This is especially dangerous when the security, who are all military and police, have very large guns and aren't afraid to use their night sticks. We left before anyone got seriously hurt, but I did see the police going after a few people with their night sticks.
Monday classes were cancelled in celebration of Easter, so my friend Katie came over and we dyed Easter eggs! My mom had sent me an egg dying kit in a care package, and it was really nice to celebrate Easter with an American tradition. My Senegalese family did not understand what we were doing at all. We tried, and failed, to explain this bizarre Easter tradition. Eventually, my family gave up trying to understand and were just happy to eat hard-boiled eggs and play with the stickers. Explaining these sort of cultural things gets really tricky when you can only speak French.
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