2023-12-12 15:12:00
A joyfully MAboule festival
As soon as we call, he goes to get some headphones and settles down in the shade of a cashew tree, happily chatting up the image on his smartphone. Sensitive hearts refrain… Especially since what follows is extremely moving.
Hit with a cross key
”I didn’t know the daara. My parents surprised me. They left me there and the great marabout gave me the Koran to study. I wanted to go home, to find my parents. I was too stubborn. He hit me with a cross key. So, I was forced to obey. The next day, I wanted to run, but the marabout caught me and chained me. It took me three months to adapt to this place and to try to forget my parents. Then, the marabout gave me a pot of tomatoes so that I could go to town every morning to ask for rice or something to eat. I had to bring in 1000 francs every day and 2000 on Friday. When we don’t bring back the requested amount, he hits hard… One day, he smashed my skull. I didn’t know how to walk well, but he made me go begging. I only won 300 francs. I hurt everywhere. So, I decided to run away and sleep on the street. I left with someone older than me, who had already run away and who knew where to sleep. Sometimes we couldn’t find anything to eat. They looked for us for months. One day, we found 600,000 CFA on the ground. We wanted to go to another city, but we met a marabout who saw us and caught us both. We offered to leave us and, in exchange, to give him the money so that he would forgive us. He agreed at first, then he took the money and caught us. We shouted but the ladies we met in the street told us to go back to the daara to learn the Koran. They didn’t know what was going on there. When we arrived at the daara, they locked us in a windowless cell. We couldn’t tell day from night. We couldn’t even stand up. We were on all fours and had to do our business on the floor. We stayed there six months. Until worms entered the ear of the other young person, who died! They didn’t believe us when they said he was dead. In the cell it really started to stink. We broke through the wall. We went out around 2 a.m. We ran to a small village. We saw police officers who arrested us. We had handcuffs on our hands. We showed them that we were being mistreated. When the policeman arrived at the daara, the great marabout had disappeared…”
The “fake talibés”, these child slaves who are the shame of Senegal
The meeting with Djarama
Following this, Adama was able to return to his village but his father had died. He went to school then went to his older brother who advised him to become a mechanic. He experienced new adventures. His big brother kicked him out. He went to Dakar where he met other street children. “We created a mafia. They also had drugs but I didn’t do drugs. One of us was killed. Finally, I came across a team called Pilot Villages which welcomes street children and who presented their project to me”.
MAboule Festival: “Petit bout de bois”, the scandal of talibé children at the heart of a Senegalese puppet show
Adama waited several months before following them, then he understood the meaning of their projects, stopped running away and doing stupid things, remained a fighter for a long time, changed his name, learned welding, carpentry, mechanics and kitchen. He was then 14 years old and had known the street for seven years.
Then came the meeting with the non-profit organization Djarama, thanks to which he was able to begin artistic training.
”I would also like to come and follow the master of puppetry in Belgium, in Mons Conservatory to improve. I perform in a lot of shows. I like it and I want to make it my job.”
When he thinks of his childhood, his face darkens. He plans to write a book about what he experienced.
Theater on the sand for street children in Senegal
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