Reaching Africa’s Children Blog - by Amy Farley

I spend much of my time in Senegal working with Talibé boys. So I thought I would post some information and pictures explaining exactly what a “Talibé Boy” really is…

What is a talibé? 
Talibé is a word derived from Arabic that means disciple or follower. In Senegal, talibé is the term used for a boy who is forced to beg on the streets as part of his Koranic education.

Where do the talibé children live? 
Most live in a daara—a run-down shack that doubles as a Koranic school and is shared with up to 25-30 other boys. The daara is controlled by a marabout (teacher) who receives the cash collected by the boys. Their humid, cramped, airless living quarters provide ripe conditions for the spread of tuberculosis and other infectious diseases. Latrines and running water are non-existent. The children rarely bathe. They sleep, eat and work in the same clothes. Some marabouts insist that children don’t bathe or wash their clothes so people will pity them and give more. They have no choice but to beg neighbours for dinner leftovers—often their first and only meal of the day.

What physical risks do the talibé children face? 
According to a recent study, up to 80 per cent of the street children have been sexually abused, making them vulnerable to AIDS. There are also reports of talibés being abducted. Where they live in the daara, they fear not only beatings from their marabouts, but from each other. Physical abuse, including sexual exploitation, from older boys is the law of the daara.

The following pictures are a small glimpse into the life of a Talibé.

So, seriously….if my life were a reality show I honestly think it would be quit entertaining at times. I mean sometimes, I just do REALLY stupid things. Last night, I almost burned my house down…yep…thats right!

In Senegal, people usually dig through your trash….you know the saying, “One mans trash is another mans treasure”. Because of this, I always make a stack of things (papers etc) for burning. You know, things with personal information on them. Well I had a pretty big stack of things to burn-and I was getting tired of the clutter it was creating in my apartment-so I decided to burn it all last night.

I had the ingenious idea of burning these things in my kitchen sink….yea….I know…sometimes I don’t think these things through. So I start the fire and get excited (I mean who doesn’t like to play with fire??) and start piling everything into the flame. After a few minutes the flames get REALLY big, my eyes start to water and I start coughing. I realized that the ENTIRE apartment was filling with smoke!!! I quickly run to open every window in the house (leaving the fire going-because why stop when I am already halfway through…right??).

Once I return to the kitchen (coughing) the flame is TOO high! And it was at that moment I realized the cabinets above the sink (high above the sink) are made of wood. I then decided it was a good idea to put the fire out. I reached for the metal faucet (which had been engulfed with flames) to turn it off…and of course it was HOTTTT…I burned my hand (ouch) but successfully turned the water on and put the fire out.

My entire house STUNK of smoke and ash! I lit every candle I had-and left the windows open through the night. This morning my house doesn’t smell so bad-but my kitchen…is almost unbearable to be in….there was also a YUCKY YUCKY mess left in the sink to be cleaned. I should have taken a picture…ewhh!

I think the sink is kind of permanently stained… : ) I think I will invest in a shredder!

I really don’t know what is about me and Police. I am wondering if I have a target on my forehead that says “Please stop me and give me a ticket!”. I have gotten use to being stopped in the states-but now-for some reason-the Senegalese police love to stop me too! Seriously, what is the deal! : )

Before I say anything else you have to know that traffic in Senegal is INSANE and pretty much there are no rules.

Two weeks ago I made a road trip up north about 4 hours from where I live in Senegal. An hour into my trip I was stopped by the police in a town called Rufisque. The officer walked to my vehicle and told me I did not respect the traffic rules and asked for my license and carte de gris (a very important card that basically shows ownership of the vehicle). I sat and waited while he walked away for a few minutes. When he returned he handed me my license and a ticket telling me I must go to the police station and pay right now…then he walked away. I started to worry because he still had my carte de gris. After about 15 minutes had passed I got out of my vehicle and walked over to the policeman (they are always on foot-usually directing traffic) and said, “You have my carte-I want it back-give it to me”. He said, “No…you go pay the ticket, bring back the receipt and I will give it to you.” I told him I did not know where the station was and I needed him to go with me. He refused. I then told him I did not trust him and I would not leave as long as he had my carte. That was probably the wrong thing to say because he was very offended and pointed to his badge saying he was the police of Senegal!

I decided I would just “wait him out”. I walked over to my STL truck, opened my tailgate, and sat down while drinking my bottle of water. I wanted to make sure he knew I was in no rush-I would sit there all day if that is what it took. I sat for about 20 minutes when the officer comes to me again and argues with me. Then he walks away saying I could sit there until tomorrow-he didn’t care! At that point, I knew I had gotten to him. : ) After another 20 minutes he comes back over to me and says “Isn’t the heat getting to you?” I smiled and said, “No, I am from Texas-I’m use to the heat”. He started to become a little friendlier and talked with me for a moment about where I was from then he walked away again. THEN, 15 minutes later he comes back to me and says, “Madame, why are you so difficult?” I laughed and said, “I’m not difficult, you are difficult!” and then reluctantly he agreed to go the station with me.

While in the car, he realized I was being honest about not knowing where to go because he had to direct me the entire way (which really was not far). Once we arrived at the station he introduced me to an older man and said to me “this is the boss man-he is in charge”. Then he proceeded to tell the man that I was a very difficult women. I interrupted him and said “No, No, No…I am not difficult he is difficult. He gave me a ticket and I did nothing wrong. This is not just, this is not right!” The old man laughed and looked at my ticket-I then had to pay 6,000CFA the equivalent of $12. We all had a good laugh-and then as I was leaving the police officer who had given me the ticket asked for my phone number-he said he would like to call me sometime. I simply said, “No, you should not have been so difficult!” The “boss man” laughed gave me a high five and I left. We all ended up being friends.

Now, this week I am back in Dakar. The other day I was stopped by a policeman for doing something that EVERYONE else was doing. This time the office just takes my license, gives me a ticket, and says I must go downtown to the station the next day to pay. I of course argued with him saying I had done nothing wrong (and I really hadn’t) to which he responded “well then, you do not know how to drive.” So the next day I arrive at the police station and everyone is looking at me very surprised that I actually showed up. Surprisingly they quickly find my license in a stack of literally hundreds. Then the man begins to tell me how much I owe-but I interrupted him and said, “This is not right. All the Senegalese were doing the exact same thing-and he only stops me. I did nothing wrong. This is not just.” The man laughs and tells me I can leave. YAY!

Ok, well, TODAY I was leaving my Wolof class and the same police officer stops me again for the exact same thing (seriously though-what I was doing was not wrong). He was angry and was shouting at me! He asked for my license-I gave it to him (while I argued with him). Then he wanted my carte de gris…I said “NO-I am not giving it to you”. In my mind I thought I can not believe I am telling a police officer no! I told him I wanted to speak with another police officer. He walked away. And I just waited. He returns and argues with me some more-I still refuse to give him the carte and he walks away. Then he returns a third time and insists I give him my carte. I refused-I pulled it out and told him he could see it-but I would not give it to him because he would keep it. He then walks away not happy. After about 15 minutes another police officer approaches my car-I thought to myself-”I am going to be really nice-I have had a week of Wolof lessons so I will greet him in Wolof”. So I greeted him in Wolof-he was surprised and then asked (in wolof)..”you speak Wolof?” I answered in Wolof saying-”just a little” and then continued in french saying “I started classes a week ago.” He then handed me my license and told me I could go. I thanked him in Wolof.

As I drove past the other officer (he was in the street directing traffic) he saw me and started shaking his finger at me. I smiled, nodded my head, and clasped my hands (kind of a “peace go with you” thing). Then he started laughing and held up the ticket he had written for me and ripped it up!

So, I have made several police friends and I still have my license and my carte! YAY! But even cooler than that….all of these conversations were done in French and Wolof. Finally it seems like language is coming together.