I am Thierno, I am 10 years old and I am a Talibé .
You don't know what a talibé is? If you have ever been to Senegal you have certainly seen one. They are the children you see everywhere on the street, alone or more often in groups, with a used tin to hold whatever they have managed to get from passers-by during the day: a handful of rice, a few sugar cubes, a few coins.
For three years I have been living at a Koranic school (Daara) in a Dakar neighborhood called Parcelles Assainies.
First, in my village in the Kaolack Region
I lived in a village near Kaolack. My father is a farmer and my older brothers help him work the fields. We had three fields but now there is only one left. The other two were seized by a foreign company that makes strange plants that you can't eat but are used to produce energy. So, we didn't need as many workers in the field anymore, especially since it often didn't rain enough ato produce large amounts of crops.
I remember, my father was worried and my mother and her co-épouse (my father's second wife) always complaining that they didn't have anything left to put in the pot to prepare food for us.
We were 11 children, 6 of my mum's alone. Maybe another one has been born since I left, because my mum had a huge belly like before Awa, my youngest sister, was born.
Since there was less work in the field, my father no longer took me with him to farm. But, I used to have a lot of fun with the other children in the village, making machines out of wire, bottle tops and old tin cans we found on the ground or climbing trees to look for berries or wild fruits. It was great during the rainy season when everything finally turned green. We would take the sheep out to graze and would pick the delicious fruit from the huge baobab trees.
Dad decided: I will have to go far to become strong
One day I asked my dad if I should get ready for school too. In fact, the rainy season was almost over and 3 of my inseparable friends were all excited because they went with their dads to enrol in the nearest school in another village.
My dad told me no, I would not go to that school because it was too far away. I would have to walk miles on my own every day and he didn't have the means to buy me shoes and suitable clothes. In addition, he wanted me to learn the Koran much better than I had done before with the teacher in our village.
The way you study now," he told me sternly, "only a few hours a day, with your mother always defending you when you are punished for not learning well, you will never be able to know the whole Koran by heart. In addition, you have to become a man, strong and courageous, capable of facing the difficulties of life. And then, where does the school where your friends go take you? There are only a few classes and once you have finished those you will have no chance of getting a job. You'll have to go to another school further away where I don't know anybody. Instead I want you to become a religious man, listened to and respected. I know a very serious and respected marabout who has a Daara in Dakar where you can learn a lot without me having to worry about anything because he takes care of everything."
My mum listened in silence. Later, I heard her arguing with dad, who got very angry. I didn't hear what they were saying, just "he's still too little" from my mum who looked like she wanted to cry.
On the one hand I was sad to be going away from mum, but I was proud to become a strong man and perhaps a great marabout myself. That way I could be the one to help Mum one day and free her from all her worries.
A few days later, I said goodbye to mum, who held me in her arms for a long time, and I left with dad to a village near the big road.
There we took a 'car rapide'(minibus) and after many hours of bouncing up and down, we arrived in Kaolack, a chaotic town full of cars and scooters.
It has been three years, I'm learning to grow up. Although, sometimes I feel lonely.
The marabout’s house was there. There were also other children there. Dad said goodbye, to be good and always obey the marabout. He must be proud of me.
I spent the night with the other children on mats on the ground in the courtyard of the house. And the next day we left with the marabout and the other children for Dakar.
In the last three years I have learned a lot of things, I already know almost the whole Koran by heart and I can write many verses. My father will be proud of me.
But I also learned many other things from life on the street. I learned how to cross the most dangerous streets full of cars, how to count the money I earned and how to divide it between us. I also learned how to defend myself when someone wants to take something from me and not to cry when I am beaten or when I am cold or hungry.
I learned to share with the other talibés and the friendship between us is beautiful.
I have learnt to recognise the people who are likely to give me something from those who will chase me away. There are "mamans" who smile at me and give me food and when I am sad I can go to them. There are "monsieurs" who every morning stop by with their car to give us coins to share. There is a "tangana" (small shop) where I know that the "maman" will always find a piece of bread or something else for me to eat or drink.
But there are also days when I don't meet any of those people and my stomach hurts from hunger. I'm so scared because I couldn't find the 500 Fr that the marabout asked us to bring every day.
IThis is the money to keep the Daara going, to pay our Koranic teachers and to buy the food for us. In some Daaras, the children who don't bring the money are beaten. In our daraa we are not beaten, but the marabout won't be happy. Also, I know it's my duty because that's the only way we can support ourselves.
But this year there's great news!!!
The marabout told us that some of us, with permission from our parents, will not only be able to learn the Koran, but will also be able to go to school instead of spending our days on the streets begging. There is a school nearby, where we used to go to ask for water to drink. They now welcome us in their classes thanks to an Italo-Senegalese association, Janghi. Janghi pays our school fees and provides our daraa with food so that we don’t have to beg for it.
It feels like a dream.....
I know it will be hard because I will have to study so much, but I know that my present and future life will change. And I'm going to try hard, because I want to become a doctor!
