Fighting through the smog and traffic of peripheral Dakar, I set out on Monday afternoon to go spend some time with the teachers and students at Sinthiou Mbadane. The plan was to leave very early on Tuesday in order to be a part of the entire school day; unfortunately, plans never go exactly as one hopes here in Senegal, West Africa. The taxi driver who was to bring me to this rural school didn’t show up – not at 7h30, not at 8h00, not at 9h00, and still not at 10h00. So, with a quick call to Mounirou, the “head of public relations” at the school, I engaged another driver and we were on our way in minutes.
Of course, being on your way and arriving are two very different accomplishments! I began to wonder if we’d ever achieve the second as I stood next to the beat-up car, stuck for the second time in the sand, and watched horse and donkey-carts fly by with their passengers as a group of men continued to dig sand out from under the tires and then push with manly grunts. Maybe I should ask about a donkey cart for next time?, I thought.
But, soon enough, the driver had dropped me off in the courtyard of Sinthiou Mbadane 1, where Mounirou was waiting eagerly.
“I thought you’d never make it!” he exclaimed. I hadn’t been too sure myself, I confided to him.
The visit, as any visit in Senegal, started with rounds of greetings. We walked together to greet the teachers in their classrooms, often interrupting their lessons, tentatively peeking in until the teacher noticed us and loudly announced that we should enter. And then, the ritual standing of the children and shouted choral greetings of “Bonjour Madame! Bonjour Monsieur!” followed by a decisive thud as 60 pairs of young cheeks sat back down on their respective benches in unison.
Oddly enough, the school director was missing from the scene. Just as I was about to ask for an explanation, the small, puttering rumble of a mobilette grew louder, and the director made his entrance on top of it. He parked in front of the school kitchen, a small cemented space a few feet from the end classroom, and began to unload vegetables from the back, front, and even underside of his bike.
“Sorry I’m late!” he called to me. “I had to go to the market!”
This scene is atypical anywhere, yes; a school director missing on a Tuesday morning, then riding in on his mobilette, and then explaining that he was on a market run for the cafeteria. The explanation, however, was truly one of a kind. Since its creation about 5 years ago, the school lunch program had never missed a day, not a single day, where the students were not provided lunch – until yesterday, when a funeral in the neighboring village occupied the entire village – including the lunch crew, composed of 10 women rotating 2 at a time – and emptied the small local market of any produce or fish. Today, though, the director was determined to not let that situation repeat. He had found two women from a village on the opposite side of the school, and was obligated to take the only easily available means of transport, his mobilette, into town to pick up the lunch supplies at the market, a truly female-dominated scene.
Exceptional, the dedication of this school director, but so too are his staff and students. And, in fact, just as exceptional is the story of the school, which I learned from the director - when he had finished un-wedging carrots from between the exhaust pipe and seat.
No comments:
Post a Comment