Tambacounda is about 5-6 hours from Diourbel, depending on the road conditions and what type of vehicle you get in, but I was able to catch a ride down in a Peace Corps car which always shaves off a little time and is exponentially more comfortable than local transport. Like Diourbel, Tamba is hot and dry this time of year with daytime temperatures over 100 degrees and nights in the balmy 70s, but the HOT season is just beginning. Over the next month or so, the thermometer will continue to rise to about 120 degrees in the day and will only drop to the 90s at night. It will stay like this until the rainy season comes again in July, so basically, until I leave. This is the time of year when your skin gets very dry, your heels begin to crack, your nasal passages are crusted with rock-like formations and are prone to bleeding for no reason, and when we all start sleeping outside in tents because our cinderblock rooms or thatched huts we live in become unbearable.
My boss, Amar Sall, accompanied me on this trip and helped to organize the logistics for the 3-hour introductory beekeeping class that my friend Jerry, the visiting beekeeper, helped me put together while he was visiting in January. Fifteen volunteers participated, learning the basics of the honeybee lifecycle and social order, the history of beekeeping, the different types of hives used in the area, and the process for how to harvest honey. It was fun to pass along this knowledge to a group of young people who are enthused about this nerdy hobby of mine. The following day, Amar took a handful of us out to a beekeeping cooperative about 45 minutes SE of the city. There we met with some folks who run a “miellerie” or honey-harvesting center that supports the beekeepers in the area. Tamba’s terrain is much more conducive to beekeeping (more trees and natural vegetation, as well as a large water source), so there are quite a few beekeepers in the area. This association works with 35 beekeepers that use both traditional hives and Kenya Top Bar hives. Traditional hives are made of reed or millet stalks bound together and rolled into a cylindrical log and capped at both ends with round pieces of wood each containing a small entrance hole. This type of beekeeping has been practiced in Africa thousands of years and is quite effective here. Kenyan Top Bar hives were introduced more recently from East Africa and allow for more manipulation within the hive and higher honey productions. Both versions require that you destroy comb when harvesting honey, but at least they’re moving in the right direction, by adopting more modern equipment. What they’re doing is also very measurable; they know how many beekeepers are in the area, how many of each kind of hive they have, and how much honey is being produced from the hives. We were so impressed with the coordinated effort of this cooperative that Amar and I have decided to apply for a food security grant to help them expand their operation. One of my class participants approached me when returned from this visit to say that she wants to extend her service for a a 3rd year to focus on beekeeping efforts, so all of the pieces are beginning to fall into place. Since I had hoped to be involved in Senegalese beekeeping since my arrival, I’m glad that this project has finally taken shape and will live on after my service. It’s all about sustainability, right?
|Honey filtration system|
|Traditional grass hive|
|Kenya Top Bar hive|
|Steam-based honey extractor|
|Local honey label|
|Honey bee on cashew tree flower|
On our way back to Tamba, the group asked Amar to stop at one of the campements (rustic campground resorts) situated on the bank of The Gambia River that's known to be frequented by hippos. Luckily for us, there were two hanging out there that day but, because it was midday and hot, they mostly stayed below the surface of the water. We’d occasionally see their heads bob up to breathe and even heard them neigh, which is why, I suppose, they call them the “river horses”. Hippos in the wild--what an amazing sight to see!
|The Gambia River|
|Look closely, that's a hippo head (facing the bank)|
Twenty-five Volunteers call the Tamba Nation and its’ regional house their home-away-from-home. Many of the volunteers in this region live out in villages and bike into the city to enjoy electricity, running water, and the camaraderie of their friends from time to time. A few of them actually live in the city in small apartments or with host-families, including my friend Jamie who let me sleep on her roof while I was there. Hanging out with this tight-knit group made me made me realize what a different Peace Corps experience they are having from me. My site is located pretty far away from other volunteers and my “regional house” is the Dakar transit house, located 3 hours away from my site. Our transit house is a place where volunteers from all over West Africa come and go on their way in and out of the city and most of the Senegalese volunteers, like me, that are assigned there live at least a couple of hours away by car. There is definitely a family feel about the clustering of volunteers in other regions and they seem to be involved in a lot more group projects. I’ve seen this on my trips to the Kaolack regional house, as well. When it comes right down to it, I suppose we all leave here with a different perspective on our service, but somehow because of my location and maybe, at times, because of my age, my service seems a bit more solitary than most.
Another difference I noticed when visiting the Tamba region is the effect the surrounding ethnic group has on the culture. Tambacoundans are mostly Pulaars. They have their own language, which is a bit more sing-songy than Wolof and their interactions are much less aggressive. Walking down the street in Tambacounda was a markedly different experience than walking down the street in Diourbel. I felt much more welcomed.
|Board games! That's Jamie, my host, on the right.|
|Tamba Nation regional house|
|The boys did their "Warblers" routine for me.|
|This friendly Pulaar woman "took a picture" of me with her purse.|
The most recent group project that the Tamba Nation coordinated was a Race for Education, a 5k-10K-1/2 Marathon event that raised about $3000 for girls’ education. I’ve been calling it the "Tambathon" all week. At some point, I considered running the 5K and, in retrospect, kind of wish that I had since we had a fairly cool morning. I was happy enough, however, to be down there cheering on those that did and capturing the experience in photos. In addition to the many volunteers that made the trip to Tamba to run this race, many local kids and school and government officials participated. The local army post and fire department also had an impressive showing. Djiby Sow, a runner from Dakar who has run marathons all over the world, traveled 10 hours to join us and made a monetary contribution to the cause. He was quite personable and even came with a personal manager, which seemed to elevate his celebrity status and make us all wish that we traveled with personal managers. He was all muscles and legs and ran the ½ marathon in 1hr 14min. My friend Richard Ross, who admittedly has a little less leg and a little less muscle, became a celebrity in his own right by “joggling” the entire way and being the first volunteer to finish the ½ marathon.
|Girls getting ready for the 5K|
|And, they're off!|
|Djiby Sow easing across the finish line|
|The Djiby Sow fan club|
|Joggling to the finish line|
Unfortunately, Richard’s excitement for the event was somewhat marred at the end of the race when he crossed the finish line and was immediately approached by a group of Talibé kids asking for alms. Richard is affectionately known among his Peace Corps friends and family as “the Talibé Whisperer.” He’s spent much of his 3-yr service working with this group of young boys who are forced to beg on the streets as part of their Koranic education. “Talibé” translates to “disciple” and is the term used to describe boys who are sent by their families to live in daaras (usually located in run-down buildings) with local marabouts to learn the lessons of the Koran. They spend hours memorizing and reciting Arabic chants and the rest of their time begging on the streets, collecting money for the marabouts and finding their own food. In general, they are not well-cared for, and are usually unbathed and wearing raggedy clothing. Images of Fagin and his group of street kids from “Oliver Twist” often come to mind when I observe the Talibé and their marabouts. This group of kids is the focus of concern for many NGOs, including World Vision and Human RightsWatch (click on the hyperlinks if you're interested in more info). They are prevalent throughout the country and even in my neighborhood most families have a Talibé child who comes on a daily basis to pick up a bowl of rice at lunchtime. This is likely the only food they eat all day. Richard lives in St. Louis and started a garden project there to teach them to grow some of their own food. He’s also met with the US Ambassador and leaders of aid groups to discuss possible solutions to assist these boys, and has organized an upcoming soccer tournament that will not only give them the opportunity to participate in a group sporting event and have social interaction, but will raise money to help ensure their well-being.
|Talibé watching the race|
|This kid climbed up to join me|
|Looking for water|
|Shoo-ing away the Talibé|
|Talibé with their signature bowls|
I’ve wanted to write about the Talibé for a long time but, for many reasons that are hard to explain, the topic is a difficult one to summarize. Who knew that the Tambathon would provide me with the motivation to bring this issue to the forefront? The juxtaposition of a group of well-intentioned volunteers and community leaders that came together to raise money and awareness for one group of kids (girls who want to stay in school), while at the same time excluding another (the Talibé) by shoo-ing them away from the event was shockingly evident to those of us who weren’t too busy dealing with the race logistics to notice. At the end of the race large groups of these dirty, thirsty, hungry, young boys crowded around us asking for t-shirts, water, and bean sandwiches, but we had no system to deal with it. These were for the runners, which made sense, as the project had been well-planned to provide for those who were participating in the race. Group dynamics quickly came into play and volunteers and staff (the “haves”) huddled around the supplies to protect them from the grabbing hands of the Talibé (the “have-nots”). Yes, even I was guilty of this. Watching this scene play out through my camera lens really made me pause and reflect. How have I treated the Talibé on a daily basis? How are they different from the neighborhood kids who ask me for xaalis (money) on a daily basis, yet have families that care for them and beds to sleep in every night? What could I have done during my service to make a difference in these kids’ lives? Maybe it’s because I spent several days hanging out with Richard after this event, but this issue really started to get under my skin. My service is coming to a close in a few months, so it’s not realistic to think that I’m going to take on a Talibé project that will have any real effect, but I have started to implement a simple approach that someone suggested will make a difference--stopping to greet the boys when I see them and just simply asking them their names. This brief interaction can have a significant effect on them psychologically and validates them as people, not just beggars. This is something I can and will do.
|This little boy's name is Abdou|