Koranic journey ends on streets

DAKAR, Senegal — Sitting on an empty tomato-paste can on the sidewalk, arms folded around his head to shield from the blistering sun, a boy named Abou is trying to catch up on sleep.

His day started well before dawn, with a 90-minute hike to the center of Senegal’s capital, Dakar. The frail and malnourished child, dressed in dirt-blackened rags, has walked barefoot all morning on baking roads, begging for food and a few coins to take back to his teacher and guardian.

“This is my life. I have no choice,” Abou said. Then, to a concert of honking horns, he rushes across the road to pick up a coin thrown from a car window.

Like the other children with whom he begs, Abou was put in the care of spiritual guides, or marabouts, to be taught Islam and its holy book, the Koran.

Abou has a mother and father, but was turned over to the religious school too young to remember them. He doesn’t know his age, but looks 9 at most.

These tens of thousands of boys, some as young as 5, are known as talibe, meaning disciple in Arabic. They come mostly from families in Senegal’s arid countryside struggling to feed too many children.

Koranic schools are a tradition in Muslim West Africa, appearing in the 11th century in Senegal’s northern Fouta region. Until Senegal’s independence from France in 1960, the schools were held in esteem. Many of the country’s leaders graduated from the schools.

About 95 percent of Senegal’s 10.5 million people are Muslim, living under a constitution that defines the nation as a secular state.

Today, urban sprawl, population growth and rural poverty mean that Senegal has more of the schools than ever — but comparatively fewer giving the boys a future in exchange for their childhood.

Marabouts increasingly are using the children as their work force — legions laboring for the teachers at the unskilled job of begging, in the name of learning humility.

“How can I possibly take care of all of them?” asks Pape Seck, a 25-year-old marabout at a religious school on the outskirts of Dakar, kicking a boy of about 4 in the head when the exhausted child dozes off during morning Koran study.

“Their parents keep sending them to me even though they know I can’t afford to look after them,” Mr. Seck complained. He has a rubber whip slung over the shoulder.

Every day, Abou and the roughly 30 other boys under Mr. Seck’s care must beg at least 300 francs for the marabout. That is about 50 cents, roughly enough for two loaves of bread.

From dawn to dusk, the boys stand at streetlights, traffic jams, market stalls and restaurant entrances, imploring passers-by for coins or scraps of food.

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