School holidays: the growing appeal of “daara” in Dakar
In several districts of Dakar, Koranic schools are experiencing a massive influx of children during this school holiday period. The “daara”, these Koranic schools, often neglected during the school period, suddenly experience record attendance. A summer phenomenon which questions both religious fervor and the educational realities of Senegal.
In Dakar as elsewhere in Senegal, students have deserted the classrooms to invade the playgrounds. But for some, a trend is gaining momentum: the growing appeal of “daara” (Koranic schools) which are seeing their numbers suddenly swell. This is the case in Ouakam and Ouest-Foire. About fifty meters from the great mosque of Ouakam, the loud recitals, unanimous, but scattered, of the learners are heard. The Quranic teacher recites the verse first, and the children follow, chanting the divine words after him. The voices which do not always keep the chord, respond to each other in a chaotic, but powerful melody. Usually, at this time (10 a.m.), the “daara” were struggling to refuel. But today, during this holiday period, it’s bustling. Oustaz Ismaïl Gning’s “daara” is located on the first floor of a R+3 building backed by a mosque still under construction. Access is via a narrow iron staircase which seems to dance under the hasty footsteps of the talibés. The ground floor already bears the scars of this rush. A small space is set up for ablutions, but it is the children’s shoes, scattered here and there, which catch the visitor’s attention. The impeccably kept toilets are followed by an unmistakable detail: life here is now punctuated by the breath of youth.
Sitting quietly on a prayer mat, Oustaz Gning, a slim-bodied forty-year-old from the Louga region, contemplates his talibés with an eye that is both proud and vigilant. Her sky blue boubou and red cap give her a modest presence. He receives his students with a welcoming smile. “During this holiday period, my “daara” is in great demand by residents of the neighborhood, particularly those of Cité Avion. They come to register their children for these three months of vacation,” he explains. Registrations are set at 2,000 FCfa as is the monthly payment. However, the Koranic master wants to clarify that it is not a question of money. The objective, he says, is to have these children memorize the Koran. “Many parents, especially those who live nearby, entrust their children to me without giving me anything in return,” he said.
Two kilometers away, in a completely different setting, nestles the Alhourane “daara” of Oustaz Thierno Mansour Baro. There is no modern building here: a cramped courtyard, rusty zinc sheets with holes serving as a roof, worm-eaten wooden benches. But faith is intact. Surrounded by around 150 talibés, a figure he gives without having taken the time to count. This, he said, will be reduced to 70 talibés after the start of the school year. Oustaz Baro, white hair, fixes his gaze on the sacred book he holds in his hands. The ambient noise is deafening. The recitals that flow from all sides seem to be the natural song of the place, even if novices sometimes lose their bearings.
The former “talibés” in support
“After each rain, the space becomes impassable. But whatever, for me, the main thing is to teach,” he confides. Dressed in a well-ironed yellow boubou and a cap that he takes off from time to time, he nevertheless wishes to point out “that in two or three months, a child under ten years old cannot assimilate much of the Koran”, emphasizing that learning is slow and requires great caution. “However, many parents only think about it on vacation,” said the Koranic master. Also with him, the price is set at 2,000 FCfa for registration, as well as for the monthly payment. Our interlocutor deplores the fact that most often, at the end of three months, the child abandons everything until the next vacation. “It’s really regrettable,” he said.
To cope with the influx, Thierno does not hesitate to call former students, whom he has made into accomplished connoisseurs of the Koran, to help him manage the tide. “See this man, it was I who taught him the Quran until he memorized it. In these times, I do not hesitate to call on him to help me with supervision,” says Oustaz.
As he speaks, a figure sneaks up: Ndèye Astou Dioum, mother of one of the learners, comes to bring her child a meal. She couldn’t keep herself from speaking. “For me, there is no question of relegating the Koran to second place. Even during the school year, my children come to learn on Wednesday afternoons, Saturdays and Sundays,” she said. A way of reminding us that for many, the French school and the Koranic school are not contradictory, but complementary.
Another stop at the large mosque of Ouest-Foire, where imam Khadim Guèye holds his structure. On site, however, its shadow is discreet. It is the oldest talibés who ensure management in his absence. The adage “When the cat is not there, the mice dance” takes on its full meaning: children scream, laugh out loud and go to the toilet in an incessant back and forth. “Who are you looking for, Oustaz? He is at home, in the building near the mosque,” says a talibé. Khadim Guèye, in his thirties, can be heard from afar. He inherited the management of the “daara”, formerly run by his father. “Currently, all the “daara” are crowded, that’s the trend. Here, the financial conditions are much higher. Registration is 15,000 FCfa and the monthly payment is 10,000,” he confides.
Oustaz Guèye, in a teasing tone, suggests that as a Koranic master, he welcomes anyone wishing to acquire Koranic knowledge even if, he says, this fervor has a price. He claims to have reorganized his program to be able to integrate “vacationers”. “The resident talibés, who live there, now get up earlier to beg and return at 9 a.m. to start learning with the new arrivals,” he said. An adaptation imposed by the new situation. For our interlocutor, this seemingly heterogeneous picture outlines the contours of a complex social and religious phenomenon. On the one hand, a rush for the “daara”, driven by parents anxious not to see their offspring lose the link with the Koran, even if it means making it a summer “course”. On the other, Koranic masters torn between the pride of transmitting, economic reality and the imperative of educational quality.
By Aziz Méthiour NDIAYE (Intern)
