Open house

On Saturday the junior high in my town held an ‘ouverture du foyer,’ which as near as I can figure translates to what we would call an open house. They had tentatively scheduled it for the end of April a month or two ago, but in the end it was somewhat hastily thrown together, left to the last minute because they weren’t sure until the last whether the school would be able to afford to pay for the event. Major expenditures included rental of two tents for shade, a large mat for a stage, beignets and bissap juice or snacks for guests, lunch for about forty invitees, and some of the students, and above all the rental of a major stereo system to beckon the entire village at large to come to see what all the noise was about.

Having been invited by the director of the school and told events would be starting at nine, I foolishly showed up at nine thirty. I had originally planned to show up even later than that, but around nine fifteen, I suddenly started worrying that this was going to be the one time Senegalese people were going to actually show up on time and if I went too late I would miss something important. Turns out I should have followed my instincts and dawdled a bit more, because even after showing up a half hour late I ended up sitting around for two hours having my ears blasted out by Senegalese pop music used playing on giant speakers to herald the townspeople.

Things finally got started a little before eleven thirty. The event commenced with a welcome song by a group of students, followed by a series of short speeches by various guests and officials. There were so many speeches, in fact, that I began to grow worried that all the guests were expected to give one, including me. I hastily began composing a speech in French in my head, hoping I wouldn’t forget to thank the director of the school for inviting me or commit another gaffe like omitting to greet any of the various officials in attendance, but fortunately it didn’t come to that and they proceeded to the student presentations without testing my extemporaneous speech-making skills.

The first presentation was by the English Club, and as I had helped them rehearse for the event, I felt a vested interest in their success. There were two poems and two songs planned and I have to say a group of about fifteen boys spontaneously rushing the stage to dance along with one of their classmates singing that Senegalese favorite, ‘My African Queen,’ narrowly beat out as the highlight a grinning seventeen year old decked out in navy dress pants blazer over a pink and white plaid shirt with a blue and yellow striped tie, topped off with a pair of brown and tan dress shoes, reciting a poem about the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.
The Literature Club followed this act with a theater sketch on the more sober topic of forced marriage. The story centered around a girl whose father wanted her to marry a rich friend of his. She tells him she doesn’t want to marry an old man. She is at the top of her class and doesn’t want to quit school. He threatens to kick her out of the house if she doesn’t do as he says. The girl tells the teachers at her school of her plight and they assure her they will intervene on her behalf, ultimately convincing her father that allowing her to continue her studies will be a good investment for the future- when she finishes school she will be able to get a good job and help support the whole family.

This hopeful ending was undercut by a sad parallel in reality. Two teachers were discussing the theater sketch over lunch and deploring the existence of forced marriages in general when a composed young woman politely interrupted and asked if she might comment. Her situation eerily mirrored the drama played out by the students. She, too, was a top student- in fact, she was one of two students sent to the Sinthiou Garba exposition as representatives of their school in another town. She told us her father wanted her to marry a friend of his in Dakar, and when she refused, he kicked her out of the house; she is now living with her grandmother so she can continue going to school. Her voice was steady throughout this narration, but partway through, tears started spilling down her cheeks, belying her apparent calm.

This was not the first time I have encountered a story like this, but fortunately the other instance I am thinking of had a happier ending. My neighbor, Louga, went crying to her teacher because her family had suddenly sent her to live with her husband, to whom she had been promised since she was a little girl. She told her teacher she did not want to be married yet, she wanted to continue her studies. Her teacher talked to her family, and Louga ultimately came home and went back to school. Even in this case, all hope is not lost- the teachers told her to talk to her school director and ask the teachers at her school to intervene on her behalf. They told her there was a law prohibiting forced marriages enacted specifically to prevent this kind of situation from occurring, so her father is technically legally bound to support her if she chooses to continue her schooling.

Later in the afternoon, as I watched an inter-class academic competition, another skit, and a presentation by the ‘Sinthiou Garba Dance Troupe,’ my mind kept straying to the girl with the poised air and sad story. I find the occurrence of forced marriages and girls being pulled out of school to start having kids at fifteen alarming and upsetting, but the teachers told me it is a dying practice that would soon disappear. I can only hope they are right.