Throughout eight days during the month of Ramadan I would wake up every morning to the pitch black of a house without electricity. Ramadan proved to be a financial strain on my family who chose to sacrifice electricity for an indefinite amount of time so as to provide food to those who are in need. Although not a word was spoken on the subject matter there was an understanding in the house: giving is more important that having. Every day around 6 o’clock we would sit in the gray light of dusk, spread baguettes with chocolate and butter and make coffee and milk for the mosque. We ate dinner under the light of the closest street lamp. When there were power outages for the entire neighborhood we would eat on the roof under the stars. We showered in the dark. We spent time together in the dark. We lived in the dark. The absence of electricity added to the dream-like quality of the entire month. All of this so other people, whom we did not know and most likely never will as we only saw them from a distance, could eat a meal they might otherwise miss. The food that we sent across the street, for which we were never thanked, was eaten by talibes who are, or at one point were, students of the Koran. Talibes are the most striking and apparent qualities of Senegalese culture. The streets are literally covered with them. Perhaps they are the most appropriate manifestation of the squalor that exists here. They sit on the side of the road in their rags, each with a tomato can, and beg for hours a day. They are the face of Africa we are all so familiar with. Malnourished, some frighteningly skinny and others with disintended stomachs, poorly dressed, dirty and generally sickly looking. At first it felt good to give to the talibes but I quickly noticed that they’re expression would never change upon receiving money. I grappled with my feelings about this for a long time. If I’m going to give my money to someone I want them to be visibly grateful for my contribution. But if that is the case then who is giving really about? Clearly my concept of giving and the concept that exists in Senegal is different. My host brother explained to me that when one gives the least important person in the equation is the giver. As a Senegalese Muslim he believes that he is doing gods work by giving. In fact, the giver himself is not actually giving as he is simply a vehicle through which gods graces may be distributed. But this act of selflessness, modesty and spirituality is very different from the egocentric giving that I’m used to in the United States. If I go without electricity for eight days I’d like the satisfaction of watching the faces of those who are benefiting from my loss while the eat. In fact I’d like to be thanked. I’m not proud of these sentiments. I’ve come to admire the spirituality that guides life here but I also struggle with it tremendously.

Take, for instance, the topic of begging through the lens of development in Senegal. First let me say that I don’t believe in development. That is, I don’t believe the development as it is so rigidly defined by the Western world. Development is not a monolithic ideology. Development is not a race to a single finish line in which the United States and all the other countries that share the dated title of “first world” are so clearly winning. Development is specific to every country but if we were to try to define development on a global level I’d say that development is any movement, cultural characteristic or idea that increases the quality of life. Thus one could argue that there are development qualities of spirituality through the lens of giving in Senegal. One person makes a personal sacrifice to help someone who is in need thus increasing, no matter how minute, their quality of life. If any of my friends or family at home were to see the faces of the children I walk by on my way to school they would understand why giving has become such a pillar of Senegalese society. But without an understanding of this process, the increasing popularity of both giving and begging in Senegal, nobody would be able to make an accurate assessment if this form of spirituality is really in the spirit of development. When I arrived I gave every day. After nearly two months I don’t give any more. In fact, I deplore the act of giving in the case of the talibes. Perhaps, with a brief overview of the topic of begging in Senegal, I can convince you that my frustration with spirituality isn’t born from an atheistic hatred of God but rather from an education and experience that isn’t communicated in the photos of poverty we see in Africa. At the very least I can render you more able to make your individual assessments on the matter.

The leaders of Koranic schools are called marabouts. Each town has a marabout who takes in children from the street and teaches them the Koran, thus offering them a more spiritually fulfilling and generally increased quality of life. This has been going on ever since Islam came to Senegal and for a long time I think it was a very positive thing for the country. The marabout would provide the basic amenities for the children but relied on the children to provide their own food for themselves. Thus during one hour the children would go from house to house, asking for food that they brought back to the marabout. All the food was brought together and then shared by the talibes. It was the ultimate show of the solidarity that is so readily obvious in Senegal. The marabout sacrificed a potential life of wealth and family so as to teach the talibes, the talibes sacrificed their lives and themselves to god and the community would support this entire process by giving food to the talibes, thus sacrificing personal wealth. Forty years ago spirituality was an innate part of culture but also a sign of development (this in itself is a very interesting idea that I may explore in a later entry). However, in the 1970’s a terrible and extended drought descended upon West Africa. Senegal was particularly affected. With a national economy concentrated on agriculture, a process of urbanization commenced as people started searching for alternative modes of work. Without a surplus of food a crucial equation was missing in the relationship among public, talibes and marabout. Unable to provide for themselves, many talibes and marabouts moved to the cities. Here the communal quality of the process was lost. In an impersonal, capitalistic world that was severely lacking agricultural produce the marabouts started asking for money rather than food. At a time when everyone was financially suffering the talibes were forced to stay in the streets for hours every day just to collect enough money to bring to the marabouts. It is here that I believe the process and system became corrupt. Marabouts were able to live in the amininity of the large cities and soon began to see the process as a means of making money. They would set an amount that each talibe had to return with each day. If they failed to collect enough they’re housing privileges would be rescinded, they would be forced into debt and often times there was physical punishment. The spirituality of the citizens was taken advantage of. The process was exploited. Known for its relative wealth and giving culture, Senegal became a key destination for immigrants. People from Mali, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau and other parts of West Africa would come to Senegal and, with no means of making money, enroll in Koranic schools. To this day nearly twenty percent of the Senegalese population is Guinean. With an increasing number of talibes they were forced to work more and more and received less and less of an education. Instead of tens hours in the class room and an hour in the street they would spend all day and night in the street and potentially an hour in the classroom of the now corrupt marabouts saw it fit to provide them with one. Very much the same way that I imagine the talibes see a dollar (or rather Central African Franc) sign when they looked at me, the marabout saw the children as a means of making money. Neo slavery is how I like to think about it. Thus every time a talibe is given money a corrupt system is being exploited. There are ways around this, such as giving food, but generally the process continues unquestioned. President Wade tried to make a statement by arresting seven marabout a week ago. Their punishment is that they are not allowed to “teach” for six months. Clearly this is a process that is going to continue. If development is simply a means of increasing the quality of life then can the marabout-talibe relationship in Senegal be seen as a form of development? Not anymore. At one time yes. But now the general quality of life for both talibe and marabout has been decreased. This is interesting if we think about this in the perspective of the global community. In innate part of Senegalese culture, the solidarity that exists here, once ameliorated the quality of life. In this sense giving in Senegalese culture was innately developing. However after a natural disaster and the very unnatural disaster that was colonization, the process has been reversed. Our good graces, our civilizing mission, our desire to spread capitalism to parts of the globe where it simply doesn’t belong, our desire to “develop” those barbaric African is doing the opposite. Next time you see a commercial with a montage of African children with fly covered faces who look like they’re on the brink of death and you reach for the phone to make a donation think twice, because it may be that call that kills them. That was a bit too dramatic but seriously, this thing isn’t cut and dry. Giving isn’t always good. Giving isn’t always about someone else.