Reading and writing in the village is difficult. Every time I take out paper and pencil to write or draw, or a book to study bamanankan, everyone around is very curious about what I am doing. And its hard to write or study much bamanankan from the book because the subject becomes literacy. That I can read and write. Almost no one in the village can. Only one man can read and write and speak educated French.
There is a Koranic school in the village which some children attend and a gov’t school in Farako, 7 km away, but no-one sends their children. Since there’s no transportation, the kids would have to live in Farako.

Alima is watching me write. She understands. Amazing what an issue literacy is . Bahumu sits very close and I want to give her the paper but I dare not with Bôh here. Bahumu can barely contain herself when she sees the books in the morning. At these times, Bahumu pulls her chair or stool right next to me, practically on my lap. It would be okay with me if she did sit on my lap, but I think its not appropriate. I think a child as old as 4 or so is considered too old for that kind of babyish attention.

Gradually I tried to get Bahumu to take the pencil, to make marks. First she made little timid sketchy marks and then I tried to teach her to make bolder marks, holding the pencil and bearing down hard. She’s only take the pencil when we were alone or at least when her father or grandmother, Bôh are not around. Yes, I gave Bahumu the paper with Bôh here and showed her that Bahumu could write. I tried to show Bahumu to press hard, she’s very timid with her marks.

I wanted to show Bahumu that these marks on paper could be used for things other than letters, since she will never go to school or learn to read or write. So one morning, I traced her hand onto a sheet of paper in my notebook with a colored pencil , wrote her name on it and tore it out and gave it to her. She was thrilled. She danced around with it and brought her sister for me to do this for her as well, which I was thrilled to do. And the next morning she brought many of the kids for me to trace their hands as well. All this was communicated in sign language and mutual good will and curiosity. At the end of my stay, two months later Bahumu asked me to trace her hand and everyone else’s hand again.

Amadou Kane is watching me write. He is a very bright little boy, the son of Miriam, Bôh’s daughter. He has his own paper and pencils and pens. He show s me that he too can write. He goes to the Koranic school in the village and can write Arabic. He is trying to teach me some words in Arabic. I kept trying to tell him that it is bamanankan that I am struggling to learn.