t was a Saturday afternoon –July 7, 2018, to be precise. I was on my way to my brother’s house for lunch and I was running late due to the terrible traffic in Colobane and the industrial road leading to Hann Marinas. I noticed a few cars making a detour to the right but the cab driver decided to continue. I asked him to do a U-turn and follow the cars that took the detour, which he grudgingly did, and so we trailed along in an unbeaten path that I was hoping would lead to a connection point to the Main Street. I pulled my camera out; I had been taking pictures of the waste in Dakar and surrounding areas for a few weeks. I just decided one morning, while working out on the corniche, to start taking pictures of things that bothered me in my beloved country.
After a few pictures, I came across this kid sitting in the middle of a waste pile. My heart sunk, as I zoomed the camera and realized that he was reading.I put the camera down, feeling sad. I wanted to ask the cab driver to stop but I couldn’t utter a word. I felt compelled to do something; the image troubled me, yet I didn’t stop. By the time I arrived at my brother’s house, I was filled with anger.
I must have looked at the picture at least 20 times. Searching, as if the picture was going to give me answers. The boy in the middle of a waste pile looked so focused that I wondered if he could actually read; maybe he was just looking at the images? Why was he sitting alone and not playing with the other kids?I was then working for the IFC and had a mission to the US that same evening. I decided that upon my return, I would go back and try to find the boy. I thought about how I could help him, perhaps pay for his education? Then, I started to think beyond that one boy: How many other kids do not have a safe place to read, escape, imagine and dream, this magical place called “a library”, which so many kids around the world take for granted? What if we could have libraries in poor neighborhoods, even inside a tent? I thought about the cost; would there be funding available, are there already NGOs working on this?
In any case, ten days later I decided to go back to the place where I saw the boy and I asked a colleague and friend of mine to join me.
We took a taxi; I was excited and anxious to meet the boy and find out about his situation.We took the same right turn off the main road. I remembered the road, the landmarks, and I remember wondering, “how will I find the boy?” Maybe he will be playing in the waste, or I might have to show his picture to a few people before someone recognized him. The cab driver arrived at the exact place I took the picture and the view took my breath away.
Everything was gone; vanished. The precarious habitat was gone, the waste was gone and what I saw was what looked like the beginning of the work from the train.
We got off the cab and started asking questions to two men nearby. They informed us that everyone had left after being compensated. Everything happened very quickly and they couldn’t tell us where they were relocated to. “My” boy was gone… Of course, I blamed myself, if only I had stopped right then and there… To be continued.
