Last week I ventured to “Tamba Nation”, the self-titled hub for volunteers
who live in and around the Tambacounda region in SE Senegal. The purpose of my visit was two-fold: 1) to teach a beekeeping class for volunteers
who are interested in getting involved with beekeepers in the area, and 2) to attend
“Tambathon – A Race for Education” organized by the regional volunteers to
raise money to encourage girls to stay in school. Unexpectedly, my visit served a third purpose which was to really open my eyes to the issue of the Talibé and bring a new perspective to this group of unfortunate kids.
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?
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| Honey filtration system |
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| The Gambia River |
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| 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.
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| Board games! That's Jamie, my host, on the right. |
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| Tamba Nation regional house |
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| The boys did their "Warblers" routine for me. |
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| 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.
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.
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| Talibé watching the race |
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| This kid climbed up to join me |
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| Looking for water |
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| Shoo-ing away the Talibé |
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| 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.
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| This little boy's name is Abdou |
Started reading this wanting a close up of my son's "DAD" t-shirt. Ended it crying for the boys. Thanks for sharing the world with your readers.
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