Becoming somebody: Bissau-Guinean talibés in Senegal

Abstract

Parents of trafficked children are mostly ignored or represented in mass media and reports published by international institution and NGOs as desperately poor, ignorant or indifferent. This article gives voice to Bissau-Guinean Fula parents who are descendants of former slaves aiming to raise their social status by sending sons to Quran schools in Senegal. No parent argued they did so because of poverty. Concerned with discrimination, they sent their favourite son abroad hoping he would ‘become somebody’. At the same time, parents mentioned the importance of religious commitment, piety and serving Allah. To their outrage, global institutions and NGOs classify the practice of sending boys to Quran schools in Senegal as child trafficking. Anti-trafficking activities are ongoing, including repatriation of boys from Senegal, something seen as degrading and criminalising. Repatriation of their chosen son is seen as the worst outcome and proof of discrimination. Nonetheless, the parents are resistant and continue to send their sons to Senegal to seek knowledge and ‘fight ignorance’ through religious education.

Keywords:

• trafficking
• Senegal
• Guinea-Bissau
• parents
• religious education

Introduction

In 1947 the Executive Board of the American Association of Anthropology (AAA) rejected endorsing what would become the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UNDHR).¹ In a statement it was claimed that ‘man, biologically, is one. Homo sapiens is a single species, no matter how individuals may differ in their aptitudes, their abilities, their interests.’² The final words of the statement claim that

Only when a statement of the right of men to live in terms of their own traditions is incorporated into the proposed Declaration, then, can the next step of defining the rights and duties of human groups as regards each other be set upon the firm foundation of the present-day scientific knowledge of Man.³

Engle, professor of law and specialist in international human rights, argues that ever since 1947 the statement has embarrassed anthropologists. Anthropological dedication in combatting colonialism and racism has nonetheless continued unabated, and finally in 1999 the AAA embraced human rights law; however, it was ‘filled with doubts’.⁴ Although contesting claims of embarrassment, Goodale agrees that anthropologists had for too long ambiguous relations with human rights, and argues that it was in the 1990s that anthropologists began to constructively engage with the issue.⁵ He maintains that it was in the early1990s that anthropologists first began to explore ‘which anthropological knowledge could contribute to expanded articulations of human rights’.⁶ According to Goodale, that engagement is characterised by two trends; one includes direct involvement in promotion of human rights while the other is empirically based and takes human rights practices as a legitimate theme of ethnographic inquiry.⁷

The prolonged absence of anthropological involvement in human rights research and activism is debated. In a review of the issue, Messer argues against the assumption that anthropologists did not engage in human rights theory and practice, allegedly due to the ‘burden’ of cultural relativism.⁸ She outlines how ‘anthropologists have prevailed in broadening the international discourses on human rights, which now includes collective and indigenous rights and details more specific content for social, economic, and cultural rights’.⁹ Messer laments that the perspectives of many anthropologists, who truly contributed to human rights, ‘remain marginal to the writings of Goodale and colleagues’.¹⁰ Schirmer also regards Goodale’s account of anthropological engagement with human rights as ‘incomplete’, and she claims that, although implicitly, anthropologists have addressed human rights. Most importantly they have contextualised human rights and human rights practice.

The judgement of anthropological engagement in human rights hinges on the definition; while Goodale excludes as valid implicit involvement in human rights related issues,¹¹ his critics lean towards a more encompassing concept of human rights engagement. The boundaries between ethical concerns and human rights are for instance at times blurred. Since the early twentieth century the AAA has been confronted with a series of ethical controversies. The first Code of Ethics was adopted in 1967, and the issues addressed include espionage, counterinsurgencies, involvement in war-related activities, use of research data and research ethics.¹² Later, in 1992, the AAA established the Commission on Human Rights and its tasks have been manifold.¹³

The list of human rights-related endeavours in which anthropologists have participated is long; it includes child rights,¹⁴ the topic of this article. Here, we aim to understand how child trafficking discourses and anti-trafficking activities impinge on local communities in Guinea-Bissau.¹⁵ We are committed to both of the perspectives identified by Goodale; while embracing enhancement of human rights, we argue that critical exploration of human rights practices is also required. Our approach is in line with Merry, who argues for the exploration of ‘the practice of human rights, focusing on where and how human rights concepts and institutions are produced, how they circulate, and how they shape everyday lives and actions’.¹⁶ Such an approach is concerned with questions of ‘inequalities in wealth and power’ and does not aim to scrutinise ‘the universality of human rights or the theoretical opposition between culture and rights’.¹⁷ We take notice of Hart, who argues that ‘[r]esearch that focuses solely or primarily on children’s experience in relation to specific issues (i.e. “lifeworlds”), such as exploitative labor, extreme poverty or child military recruitment, may be helpful for bringing to light systematised suffering’.¹⁸ While useful for ‘local-level advocacy efforts aimed at changing attitudes and behaviour’, such research alone does not contest ‘the institutions and processes – local and global – that underwrite inequity and exploitation’.¹⁹ For such an effort, n historical, political economy perspective is needed. Finally, Hart warns against depoliticisation of child rights activism and its emphasis on the ‘culture’ of the poor as a main challenge to enhancement of children’s rights.

Since 2009, we have conducted research on Bissau-Guinean Muslim boys, called talibés,²⁰ who are sent to Quran schools, referred to as daaras in Senegal, where they beg on behalf of their teachers, called marabouts.²¹ In line with the anthropological tradition, we explore the practice in n historical context and from the point of view of those involved, including representatives of non-governmental organisations (NGOs) engaged in promotion of human rights, local government officials within the child protection services, current and former talibés, the marabouts, and not least the parents, who are in focus in this article. How do Bissau-Guinean parents explain their reasons for sending their sons to study the Quran in Senegal, an act they know is classified as child trafficking? How do the parents react to the anti-trafficking activities? After presenting the setting and methodology, we pay attention to the international trafficking discourses on parents of talibés, both in news reportages and reports published by NGOs and institutions concerned with the issue. Then we present the parents’ point of view, and in the discussion, their stories and concerns are explored in the light of the trafficking discourses. Finally, we discuss our findings and draw some final conclusions.

Setting

The great majority of the Bissau-Guinean boys sent for Quran studies in Senegal are of Fula origin (alternative names include Fulani, Fulfulde, Fulbe and Peul), currently the most numerous ethnic group in Guinea-Bissau, comprising about 28% of the total population.²² Within the country, the Fula are divided into two main groups: the Fula of Gabu (also referred to as Kaabu), and the Fula originating from the Futa Djallon in Guinea, known as Futa Fula. Based on historical grounds, the Fula of Gabu are divided into two groups. In the late fifteenth century, Fula herdsmen, the Fula Rimbe (Fula: noble), moved into the Gabu state of the Mandinga, and with time local populations became fulanised and referred to as Fula Diabe (Fula: captured) or Fula Preto (Kriol: black). In 1867, with support from Fula in North Senegal and East Guinea, the Fula conquered the Gabu state.²³ Although joining their forces in their common war against the Mandinga, a few years later the inter-ethnic relations within the Fula of Gabu ‘had once again been transformed into a class struggle’.²⁴ During the 1880s, the Fula Diabe revolted against their masters and sought protection from the Portuguese, who alternately supported both groups against each other. Finally, they all found themselves within the colonial political and social order, however in opposite positions. The Fula Rimbe maintained their position as the political elite while the Fula Diabe continued to constitute the subordinated group. As earlier, the Mandinga and Futa Fula marabouts were the masters of religion who provided Quranic education at home but were also active in seeking and offering such education in the wider Senegambian region.

The participation of the Fula Diabe in the liberation war against the Portuguese, initiated in 1963 and resulting in the independence of Guinea-Bissau in 1974, contributed in a decisive way to their emancipation.²⁵ At the same time, the position of the Fula Rimbe, who had collaborated with the Portuguese colonial masters, was weakened. During the second half of the twentieth century, the Fula Diabe, who traditionally did not have access to Quranic education, began to send their sons for religious studies in Senegal. With time they established Quranic schools in the country, institutions that have been classified as sites of child trafficking.²⁶

In Senegal the absolute majority, or roughly 90%, of the population adhere to Sunni Islam whose Sufi orders are guided by their religious leaders, the marabouts. In the 1980s, the Islamic ‘revival’ reached the country and has contributed to divisions within the Senegalese Muslim community. The reformist ‘Islamism’ is at times divided into two groups; one aims primarily to correct traditional religious practice, while the other has a more outspoken political agenda.²⁷ According to Leichtman, the ‘Reformist Islamic movements, including Senegalese converts to Shi‘i Islam, are able to counter and escape Sufi dominance through promoting an alternative – and for them more comprehensive – interpretation of Islam’, however without cutting their connection with the Sufi orders.²⁸ Aiming for modernisation, not Westernisation, they gain legitimacy through the establishment of NGOs that work for development. Together with local intellectuals, including authors and artists, Islamic reformers tend to treat the Quran schools, daaras, as obsolete.²⁹

When UNICEF established the five-year programme Reinstating the Rights of the Talibes in the early 1990s in Senegal, it was based on former local debates on the issue and guided by Senegalese directors.³⁰ The programme aimed to benefit the talibés, often in collaboration with the marabouts, but it was rapidly reformulated for ‘international legibility’ using terms such as ‘street children’ and ‘forced begging’. The programme became politically sensitive and was not extended. Since this time, local and international NGOs, guided by the global human rights ideology and financed by international networks, have taken over the talibé issue. According to Perry, these aim to cut off the relationship the talibés have with the marabouts through direct support in drop-in centres, scholarship programmes, and reintegration with their families. Through strategic structuralist discourse, the NGOs highlight macro factors, including poverty and population growth, that force the parents ‘portrayed as either ignorant traditionalists or economic victims’ to send away their children.³¹ In contrast, according to Perry, the parents were concerned with religious, spiritual and moral considerations, and they argued the marabout would prepare their sons for the harsh conditions of life.

Rescuing the talibés from the Quran schools (daaras) is still high on the agenda of current child rights activism. As pointed out by Ware, to understand the endurance of these it is not enough to listen to the NGOs, rather ‘we must hear and comprehend why parents have continued to choose the daara for the education of their children’.³² In this article we aim to present the views of Bissau-Guinean parents who send their sons to such schools in Senegal.

Methodology

We, the authors of this article, are both trained anthropologist. One is an Icelandic citizen with decades of research experience in Guinea-Bissau and the other is a native Fula speaker with Bissau-Guinean and Senegalese citizenship. After completing a study commissioned by UNICEF in 2009 on child trafficking in Guinea-Bissau, including the practice of sending boys to study the Quran in Senegal, we decided to continue the research on the issue.³³

Knowing that child trafficking was a sensitive issue, during the fieldwork in 2009 we used the Kriol expression mininu mandadu, which means ‘child running errands’, to explain our role. We told villagers that we ‘were running errands’ for UNICEF, an expression that underlines the innocence or impartiality of the messenger. Thus we urged them to honestly express their point of view with the purpose of incorporating it into our report. After such an introduction, lively discussions broke out on what the villagers referred to as ‘the so-called child trafficking’ (Kriol: kilo ke elis i ta fala i trafigu di meninu). They were highly concerned that global institutions such as UNICEF and local NGOs³⁴ had classified their ‘attempts to give their sons a religious education’ as child trafficking.

Since 2009, we have continued the research on the talibés in Guinea-Bissau and Senegal. It includes fieldwork conducted in early 2013 in the eastern regions of Guinea-Bissau aimed to deepen our knowledge on the motives of, in particular, the Fula Diabe mothers and fathers who have sent their sons to Senegal. We also wanted to hear their views on the ongoing anti-trafficking activities. This time we introduced ourselves as the authors of ‘the trafficking report’ based on our fieldwork in 2009. Aware of the report’s conclusions, the village leaders were pleased that community members would be given an opportunity to express their opinions. In addition to informal discussions with individuals and groups of people we systematically interviewed separately 15 mothers and 15 fathers.

In what follows, the discourses of parents of talibés as presented in news reportage and reports are summarised. Thereafter, we forward the parents’ points of view based on data from our research since 2009 and later, while data from the fieldwork in 2013 constitutes the pillar of the description.

Parental images

The talibés in Senegal have been the focus of abundant media coverage,³⁵ while their parents are mostly ignored. The influential report ‘Off the Backs of the Children’ – Forced Begging and Other Abuses against Talibés in Senegal published by Human Right Watch (2010) is an exception.³⁶ It informs us that most of the parents live in the poorest rural areas in Senegal and Guinea-Bissau, and that most of the Senegalese parents sent their sons to stay with marabouts because they wanted them ‘to memorize the Quran’. According to the report, based on extensive interviews with those involved, many parents did so because of poverty; in fact their child stayed with the marabout without any support or payment. Some parents explained that the marabout had ‘demanded’ to have their child, and as the marabout was ‘an authority figure – often an elder, respected relative or community member’ they were forced to accept.³⁷ In the report, many of the parents claimed to be unaware of abuse, and some had become shocked to know about their sons’ mistreatment when they were returned home by a NGO. Others claimed to have knowledge of their sons’ conditions of life and justified long begging hours with the need to pay for food and housing. When the children ran away, a common event, parents often sent them back to their marabouts, and ‘in some instances the parents even further beat the child for having run away’.³⁸ The report concludes that ‘the Senegalese and Bissau-Guinean governments, Islamic authorities under whose auspices the schools operate, and parents have all failed to protect these children’.³⁹

The 2012 Trafficking in Persons (TIP)⁴⁰ report for Guinea-Bissau underlines parental responsibility, as does that by Human Rights Watch. The TIP report notes that Bissau-Guinean parents of talibés ‘remained unwilling to press charges against suspected traffickers’ and it urges the authorities to ‘ensure that efforts to hold parents criminally liable for sending their children with abusive marabouts’ are enforced.⁴¹ However, the blaming of parents and the emphasis on their criminalisation varies. Reports and news reportage on the talibés tend to highlight that the marabouts lure the parents. In a recent news report, a representative for an NGO in Guinea-Bissau which is responsible for the repatriation of the boys and reunion with their families, explains that the marabouts ‘come to villages and take advantage of the lack of education and opportunities’.⁴² According to the NGO representative, the marabouts take with them ‘two or three talibés who they have trained to sing one of the Quran surahs’ to convince the parents that their children could learn these as well. Thereafter, the parents accept the idea of sending their children to Senegal from where the lucky ones are rescued either at the borders to Senegal or by NGOs in Senegal.

In one of its news reportages, UNICEF presents a Bissau-Guinean boy with the name Amandou who was rescued at the borders to Senegal. His resentful father cried when meeting his son and promised he would never ‘send a child away like this again’. A child trafficker had tricked him. According to the news reportage,

the trafficker will approach the boy’s parents in the guise of a religious teacher offering their child a free education. Amandou’s father believed he was doing the right thing by sending his son off to a free religious school. He was unaware that the stranger’s true intention was not to educate Amandou, but to force him to beg on the streets of Senegal for the trafficker’s own profit.

In the news reportage, UNICEF maintained that parents like Amandou’s, living ‘below the poverty line,’ are ‘highly susceptible to being duped by false promises of a free education for their child’. Further, UNICEF aimed to raise awareness about child trafficking and thereby ‘provide parents with better tools to defend themselves against those who prey upon their children – and, in time, drive traffickers out of business for good’.⁴³

Recent news reportage confirms that it has become difficult to halt the flow of Bissau-Guinean children to Senegal for religious studies.⁴⁴ A UNICEF representative interviewed maintains that parents’ inability to pay for ‘formal education’ allows ‘the predators’ – identified as Bissau-Guinean marabouts residing in Senegal – to lure them into sending their children for religious studies in Senegal. Yet, at the same time there is mention of an ongoing ‘(c)ollusion between parents and marabouts’ that ‘spur the cross-border move’. In the news reportage, a traditional leader laments that the Bissau-Guinean government is unwilling to support the Quran schools, something that would keep them at home. Finally, a Bissau-Guinean NGO representative informs that the communities are poor and the families big, thus parents send their children away to have fewer mouths to feed. The representative highlights that since 2006 about 600 talibés have been repatriated from Senegal to Guinea-Bissau, though ‘difficulties faced by repatriated children in resuming life back at home are hampering efforts to ease the situation for talibés’.⁴⁵

These above-cited accounts of alternatively desperately poor, ignorant, naïve, or negligent parents beg the question: Are their opinions and concerns given honest attention?

Results

The NGO discourses underline that the parents are lured into sending their sons to Senegal or they are obliged by poverty. They are also assumed to be ignorant about their conditions of life or indifferent towards their suffering. Thus, during our discussions with parents we aimed to understand how and why the decisions to send boys to Senegal for religious education were taken. We also focused the discussions with parents on suffering, begging and punishment, as well as the ongoing anti-trafficking activities and the NGOs involved. In what follows we present their responses.

Initiative and choice of marabout

Considering claims that the parents were lured into sending their sons to Senegal, we took care to ask parents about the initiative and the choice of a marabout for their son. Fathers who themselves held a solid religious education, which they most often had received in the Fuuta Tooro region in northern Senegal, preferred to send their sons in their own footsteps. Thus, a number of boys who studied in Fuuta Tooro stayed with the same marabouts as their fathers did once upon a time. Sporadically, boys who had initiated Quran studies in their village went to stay with the marabout of their village marabout. Otherwise, in all the cases the boys stayed with a relative of the family or somebody who originated from their home village or a neighbouring village.

Apparently, most often the initiative to send young sons to study in Senegal came from the father, but mothers also expressed their eagerness to have their sons study the Quran. Sometimes adolescent sons, the village marabout, or occasionally others, might propose such studies. For instance, a father in his fifties explained that after his son had studied the Quran in the home village, he had sent him to Fuuta after his brother’s son had suggested they should leave together. Also there were examples of young men who suggested that their younger brothers should study with a particular marabout. For instance, one father explained that one of his sons had studied the Quran in the Casamance Region in southern Senegal since he was six years of age with his brother’s son who was born in the same village. His older son, who had completed religious studies in Fuuta Tooro, had suggested he should take his younger brother to his cousin for religious education.

Fighting ignorance

We visited villages that had no regularly functioning Quran schools, and for that matter villages without any school. In these villages most of the children did not attend school at all, while a few, mostly boys, walked an hour or two each way every day to the nearest public school. Some of the boys attended Quran schools in Senegal, or they resided with marabouts elsewhere in Guinea-Bissau. The parents themselves had little or no formal education, neither a Quranic education nor the public one.

After driving a particularly bad road, we rested in the shadow of a tree waiting for the village leader to arrive. A little girl hid behind the tree and moaned: ‘Now the car is here, now the nurses have come, now they will stick us’. She apparently expected to be vaccinated, as that is what usually happened when a car entered her village. After having introduced our mission, one of the men said: ‘Oh, when we hear a car coming, we start thinking that elections are up-coming’. Then the villagers had a good time making fun of politicians, coming one after another asking for their votes and promising to open a public school. Nothing would happen until the next election, when they would return in their cars with the same promises. Even so, one complained that the politicians only constructed schools in their own villages or those of their family and friends. The state and UNICEF should open a school in our village, a middle-aged father argued: ‘They should remember that many villages are invisible from the paved road.’

Some of the villagers had sent their sons to study the Quran in Senegal and a few had made efforts to find them a place to study within their country. A father had sent a son at nine years of age to study the Quran in Casamance. He stayed with a teacher, ‘a trustworthy and great marabout’ who was a relative. Like many other men without religious education, the father aimed to ‘fight ignorance within his family’. He found himself lucky and proud to have a son studying the Quran in Senegal. The fathers without religious education lamented their own ignorance and argued they did not want their sons to inherit their ‘lack of knowledge’. The mothers also aimed to ‘fight ignorance’ and they argued they wanted their sons to ‘become somebody’.

The aims and economics of Quran studies

Throughout our fieldwork we have discussed the objectives of Quran education. The comments of the parents were quite consistent. Independent of their access to religious education in their village, fathers and mothers alike spontaneously expressed their wish that their sons would ‘become somebody’. They wanted their sons to become respected citizens, good Muslims and dedicated Quran teachers. Typically, a mother described that she had noted the respect given to the marabouts in their community, and she wanted her son to become respected in the same manner. A father maintained his own marabout in Senegal was a great one and he had taken notice of the respect shown to him. Thus, he wanted his son to be educated by that very same teacher. ‘I want my son to become like him’, he said.

The parents wanted their sons to become religious leaders in their village and to teach the local children to read the Quran. Thus, their education was assumed to benefit both the individual and the whole community. Some talibés had returned and opened Quran schools, however only for a short period of time. Due to difficulties with food for the resident students, the marabouts either started to rotate with their students between the home village and Senegal, or they moved permanently to Senegal. Although the parents preferred to have a Quranic school in their village, they agreed it was easier to feed the students in Senegal than at home. The parents did not have to pay in kind or cash for the Quran education in Senegal, which they appreciated. Nevertheless, not a single parent hinted that the decision to send their son to stay with a marabout in Senegal, or elsewhere, was due to poverty, or to have fewer mouths to feed. Having their sons away meant their labour was lost for the family, a fact highlighted by some fathers. The fathers preferred therefore at times to send one son after another rather than to simultaneously have them all away.

No less than fathers, mothers mentioned the positive aspects of Quran studies for the community, and they were also keen to mention that such studies had a value for the parents. One mother said the studies would allow her son to secure her a livelihood, and at the same time he would serve his community through teaching. An additional argument for educating their sons in the Quran had to do with parental responsibility, a question of fulfilling one’s duty. Some fathers and mothers emphasised that the Quran obliged the parents to educate their children. God would reward those who worked for the perpetuation of the religion, and at death the parents would be allowed to enter the better place, Gloria.

Senegal: site of religious knowledge

Difficulties in running Quran schools in Guinea-Bissau were not the only reason for sending sons to Senegal. Senegal is respected for its religious studies, and most of the active Fula marabouts in Guinea-Bissau have studied there. In addition, some mothers and fathers argued that sending children far away for studies was in line with the teachings of the Quran. They cited Prophet Mohammed’s words: ‘Look for knowledge as far as China.’ Quran studies were assumed to shape the personality of the student. Thus, for some fathers with education in the Quran, it meant a stay away from the family and spending time in solitude, which contributed to piety, humbleness and introspection.

Many parents argued that children who stayed far away from home would become more dedicated to their studies. In the village they tended to become distracted with other activities and play around. This was the reason why some boys, in particular those belonging to families with a reputation for religious knowledge, were sent earlier to Senegal than anticipated. A few parents complained that their sons were playing around far too much. For instance, a father said that his son was playing football all the time. His marabout would educate him: ‘He will control my son. My son will suffer but you will not prosper without suffering.’ Mothers were also concerned with their sons’ behaviour. One argued that in Quran schools in Senegal there was an emphasis on concentration on the studies and more rigid discipline, something she appreciated.

What son to send?

The parents were asked to identify the character of a son whom they would send for religious studies in Senegal, in case they could only send one. While most of the parents had no problems answering such a hypothetical question, a few claimed that they would prefer to send all of them. The most often mentioned selection criteria were trustworthiness, intelligence and birth-order.

Most fathers and mothers said they would choose the son who was the most trustworthy, or as one of the fathers responded: ‘the one you have most faith in’. A father, who had studied the Quran, argued: ‘You send the one you trust best. Thereafter he will inherit the family.’ He added that only sons who completed their Quran studies would inherit from their fathers. Many mentioned that intelligence was also crucial. ‘He must be intelligent, because he has to study a lot’, a mother argued. A father explained that, of course he wanted all of his sons to become educated in religion, but in case he had to choose one he would select his brightest son. ‘I would send a son who was the trickiest one (Kriol: buli)’, one of fathers explained. ‘Those who are stubborn (Kriol: risu kabesa) are active and quicker to learn than those who are calm.’ Another father said he had visited a diviner to find out which of his sons to send to a Quran school and who should attend the public school.

Some fathers and a few of the mothers said they would choose the firstborn son, because he would inherit from his father. Religious education would add to his status as a respected citizen and a head of the household. One of the mothers pragmatically argued that she would choose her firstborn son, and then he would return and teach his younger brothers and sisters. A few mothers said they preferred to send their lastborn son (Kriol: kode) to study the Quran, because he paid most attention to his mother. ‘Kode is closest to his mother. He is her favorite’, one of the mothers revealed.

At times parents were concerned about the age at which their sons would begin their religious education. A father maintained: ‘When you are old it is too late to fight back and gain knowledge.’ It was easiest to mould the child’s personality at a young age, a few reasoned. In contrast, one of the mothers said she would not like her son to be too young at the time of departure, and he had to be strong and healthy to sustain all of the suffering that religious education implied. Indeed, when parents considered sending their sons far away to study the Quran it was the timing and site of the education that occasionally caused their disagreement.

Suffering

Both mothers and fathers were concerned about their sons’ suffering while staying in Senegal. All the parents agreed that gaining knowledge implied suffering, or as one of the fathers reasoned: ‘You have to work hard for knowledge.’ Suffering and knowledge are intertwined, as some fathers maintained. ‘You can have money without suffering, for example by winning in a lottery. But, you cannot have knowledge without suffering’, one of them reasoned, and concluded: ‘Knowledge does not come for free.’

Almost all of the mothers and a few of the fathers expressed their emotional distress at having their sons stay for years far away from home. They were not only worried about material scarcity. A mother, whose son was on his way to Fuuta, was worried because her son would be living in a country he did not know, and he would be staying far away from his family. The mothers missed their sons. Some boys had sent photographs to their mothers, something highly valued. Mobile communication had dramatically changed the possibilities to contact far-away family members. At times the sons phoned the parents, or vice versa. A mother argued the mobile was great to ease one’s fears: ‘You can always phone to hear what is going on.’

The parents were asked if they worried that their sons would suffer from harsh corporal punishment in case they misbehaved. They reasoned that disobedient and lazy children should be disciplined. It was appropriate that their sons were punished in case they did something wrong or did not study hard enough. One of the mothers said: ‘It is good if my son is beaten, if that was needed for him to do what is the right thing to do.’ Corporal punishment was considered normal in the home villages as well, even at the public school. While some believed corporal punishment was harsher in the village, others reasoned for the contrary. A few parents mentioned their sons were not hit at all by their marabouts, either because they studied properly and behaved well, or because their marabouts did not have the custom of beating the students.

Begging was a hotly debated and sensitive issue, and for many of the parents it was the reason for classifying their sons’ stay in Senegal as child trafficking. Many Bissau-Guineans do not accept begging, except in particular cases. Most commonly, begging is only justified for disabled and elderly people without support from family members, and mothers of twins. An individual, an adult or a child, able to work should not beg. Most fathers and mothers maintained that in places where agriculture was difficult, as often was the case in Senegal, there was no other way ‘to help the marabout’. Of course the students had to support their marabout in one way or another. At the same time, parents were worried about too much time spent begging at the cost of studies, and that the marabout took all of the alms the students collected. Only fathers who were educated in the Quran argued that begging would teach the students humility.

While many frankly expressed their general opinions about begging, some were unwilling to answer questions about the begging of their sons: Does your son beg? Do you fear he is beaten harshly because he does not manage to collect a certain amount of money or other items? Some parents answered the first question with ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I have not asked him.’ Others pointed out that their son did not beg because he lived with a family that offered him food. Some explained that begging was something only the young students did, and their son was already too old for that. Most parents ignored the second question. No parent reasoned it was justified to punish a boy for not having managed to collect the required amount of alms. Few parents argued it was unfair to punish for something ‘outside of one’s control’. Whatever opinion the parents had on the rightfulness of begging, they praised the kindness of the Senegalese population who were generous and helped Bissau-Guinean Quran students by giving them alms and other support.

For the parents, suffering was a means to an end, and only acceptable when it resulted in something positive, such as the acquirement of knowledge. The same applied to begging. The worst scenario for a boy was apparently not to suffer or be obliged to beg, but rather to become repatriated by an NGO.⁴⁶

The worst scenario

According to the parents, most of the repatriated boys were ‘captured’ by Senegalese NGOs roaming the streets of Dakar. Previously, the boys were sent by airplane to Bissau, and thereafter repatriated by a local Bissau-Guinean NGO. Currently, the boys travel by car from Senegal to Bissau and from there they are transported to their respective regions. Occasionally, the boys are transported directly to their respective regions.

The parents described the repatriation process as degrading. First, the names of the boy and his family were announced on the radio. All the parents heard the announcements. One of the fathers said ‘these announcements are annoying’ (Kriol: kansera garandi) for the child and their family: ‘When you listen to these announcements you really do not want to hear your name or the name of your son.’ Some expressed their pity for parents whose names they heard on the radio: ‘They have done nothing wrong, they only wanted their children to gain knowledge.’

After arriving in their region, the repatriated boys were assembled in ‘that house in Gabu’ from where the parents were supposed to fetch them. First, they had to sign a piece of paper declaring them responsible in case their son would leave the village once again. Then, fathers had to pay to get their sons out. Stories about fathers who had paid to get their repatriated sons ‘out of that house’ circulated in the villages. After the boys were back in the village a representative of the NGO would visit his household to see if he was still there. Therefore the boy ‘cannot return to Senegal to complete his studies, or whatever he might prefer to do’, a father complained. If the boy had left, the father would be jailed, and as one of them speculated, he would ‘leave the prison only when somebody would remember to let him out’. In addition, the father would be fined. The parents felt degraded and the son was shamed. The boy did not accomplish what he was sent out to do, i.e. to complete his religious studies; he had failed and ‘become captured by that NGO people in Dakar’.

What most parents lamented was that the repatriated boy would lose the possibility to advance through studies; he would stay in the village and only work in agriculture. One of the fathers referred to repatriation as ‘abuse of power on behalf of the NGOs’. He argued that ‘those who are repatriated only sit or do some agricultural labour. They will not learn any profession.’ Another father said repatriation would ‘leave them without knowledge, and ignorance would be sustained’. A mother claimed that repatriation would destroy children because ‘they do nothing and their life halts’ (Kriol: fika paradu).

The local NGOs working with the anti-trafficking activities were not held in high esteem. A father proposed that these NGOs should ‘leave us alone’. They only caused trouble. One local NGO was reported to drive around in Senegal and pick up Bissau-Guinean boys and take them to their centre in Guinea-Bissau. That NGO was accused of moving the same children back and forth between Senegal and Guinea-Bissau to fill up the centre with ‘trafficked children’. Without children the NGO would not be able to justify its activities and reclaim its costs from the donors. Some parents argued that donors, on behalf of Western societies, did not want their children to study the Quran. They also hinted that the real motive of the NGOs was to fight Islam, not to help children. ‘Those people send their own children to whatever country in the world for studies, and when they return they get good work’, a father said: ‘Then, they obstruct our children from studying in Senegal. Here we have no school. This is truly discrimination.’ Parents openly expressed their outrage against the local NGOs and others – countrymen and foreigners – who fought against ‘what they call child trafficking’. They argued that if ‘these people’ truly cared about the well-being and future of their children they should give the money spent on the NGOs to their community and use it to run schools in the villages, both for religious education and the official curriculum of the public schools. The parents also recognised that building schools, however important, is not enough. Teachers who do not get their salaries tend to strike.

Discussion

In this article we are concerned with human right practice, more precisely children’s rights. Our aim is to understand the practice of sending boys from Guinea-Bissau to Koran schools in Senegal, a practice classified as child trafficking. In our research, we embrace anthropological approaches to human rights as outlined by Goodale⁴⁷; we aim to understand the rationale behind the practice and enhance the precarious situation of the boys. We strive to understand how diverse groups of people take a stance, deal with and are impacted by the contested classification of the boys as victims of child trafficking and the consequent anti-trafficking activities. Here the views of the parents on the issue, their rationale for choosing to send their sons to Senegal as talibés are presented. In line with Ware,⁴⁸ we present the parents’ rationale for sending their sons as talibés to Senegal. Basically, there are two competing sides of the story: one is created by the global civil society and it is widely spread through mass media and the internet. The other story is that of the parents, who do not have access to social media and little means to make their views heard.

The main reasons Human Right Watch highlights for Senegalese boys becoming talibés are their parents’ wish to have them memorise the Quran, poverty, and parental fear of the marabouts.⁴⁹ These reasons mostly match those NGOs give for Bissau-Guinean parents sending their sons as talibés in Senegal. First, the parents are assumed to want fewer mouths to feed, and second, they are lured with a promise of free religious education for their children.⁵⁰ The parents consciously accept their responsibility in having their sons stay with marabouts in Senegal who are relatives or known to the family. While valuing access to free education, no parent mentioned poverty as a reason for sending a son away. In contrast, some fathers recognised that sending them away meant loss of labour, and to succeed on behalf of the family, the most qualified son was chosen to become a talibé.

The reasons given by Bissau-Guinean parents for their decision to send sons away for religious studies in Senegal vary. These include individual and group enhancement of social status, economic benefits in the long term, as well as religious and spiritual enrichment. Although scarce, ethnographic data on parents’ reasons for sending their children to Quran schools in West Africa support our findings. In contrast to the findings of Human Right Watch, Perry argues that the Senegalese Wolof farmers ‘explicitly denied that they sent their children to live with marabouts because they did not love them, could not care for them, or did not need their labor’.⁵¹ Instead, they emphasised spiritual and moral training as well as the importance of belonging to a Muslim community. Based on data from the 1960s, Cruise O’Brien argues that Senegalese parents sent their sons to stay with a marabout to establish a relationship with an influential brotherhood.⁵² Saul, who conducted fieldwork in Burkina Faso (former Upper Volta) in the early 1980s, claims that fathers wanted their sons to have a Quranic education to become professional marabouts, but also to extend their social network.⁵³

The Bissau-Guinean Fula Diabe parents, who are the descendants of former slaves, are concerned with their own discrimination within their ethnic group, national state, and as Muslims in the world. They wanted their sons to study beyond memorising the Quran and ‘become somebody’. The most desirable and respectable outcome was their son returning to become a marabout and teach the Quran in their home village. This is in line with Easton and Peach, whose research found that ‘the most prominent career destination of accomplished Quranic students is to become themselves marabouts or imams’.⁵⁴ While the parents underlined somewhat pragmatically their sacrifices and that they wanted their sons to ‘become somebody’ they also mentioned the importance of piety, religious commitment and serving Allah. Their concerns were global in scope; without religious education there would be no Muslims in the world, an argument that corresponds with that of the Senegalese Wolof farmers interviewed by Perry who argued, ‘[t]hey sacrificed their son’s labor to demonstrate their membership in an emerging Islam’.⁵⁵ None of the Bissau-Guinean parents argued that religious education would help their sons cope with scarcity, like the Wolof farmers did, rather they believed it might reduce economic constraints.

For parents, and in particular fathers without religious education, a fundamental aim of sending sons to Quran schools was to ‘fight ignorance’ within their family and community. The importance of religious education for descendants of former slaves is well-documented. According to Schmitz, in the Senegal River Valley ‘“[l]ack of Islam” is at the heart of the negative characterisation of the slave as belonging to the world of impiousness and pagan ignorance’.⁵⁶ With reference to fieldwork among Pulaar speakers (Fulbe or Fula) in Senegal, Dilley argues that ‘[i]gnorance is … a precondition of a hierarchical social system that is based on the exclusive, hereditary transmission of learning within bounded social groups’.⁵⁷ Based on data from 1961 to 1999, Last found that former Hausa slaves in Nigeria wanted in particular to send their children to marabouts because their education was prestigious and enhanced their status.⁵⁸ Likewise, as documented by Botte, descendants of former slaves in Fuuta Djallon considered religious education, formerly restricted to the elite, to be emancipatory.⁵⁹

According to Ware, for at least 500 years the daara has been the source of religious education and ‘Senegambian Muslims came to define their identities – and their faith – in reference to the men who possessed knowledge of the Word of God’.⁶⁰ Their hierarchical society did not give everybody access to that knowledge, and ‘[p]eople of low status – especially women, slaves, and the casted – were unable to fully claim Muslim identities’.⁶¹ With colonial rule, the Sufi orders emerged as sites of resistance and groups formerly excluded from the daara were given access to religious education. The Fula Diabe have taken advantage of this opportunity, and use religious education of their sons in the struggle to gain respect and power within the Fula ethnic group and beyond. As Ware maintains, seeking religious knowledge is of central value, and ‘[f]or the descendants of slaves and other low-status persons, it has long been a claim to dignity’.⁶² Thus, the parents, in collaboration with their marabouts, aim to secure the religious education of the next generation with all the means at their disposal, despite associated suffering. In silence, they will continue to ‘fight ignorance’, regardless of the anti-trafficking activities of global institutions and NGOs.

The parents do not hold the local NGOs directly involved in anti-trafficking activities in high esteem, and they cite Western countries and global institutions, including UNICEF, as the financial sources for these NGOs. The worst scenario was to have their sons ‘captured’ and repatriated, something regarded as shameful, demeaning and costly. Further, some parents argued it ‘destroyed’ children. Repatriation was the end of a dream for a better and respectful future for their chosen son. The parents felt criminalised and humiliated in the process, both as individuals and as a community. Indeed, parents of allegedly trafficked children are increasingly seen as complicit in the crime, and their punishment is increasingly demanded.⁶³ Lawrance and Andrew, who explore legislation on child trafficking in Africa, maintain that ‘[t]he centrality of parental consent and coercion in evolving legislative responses to trafficking is becoming increasingly clear to legislators and social justice activists alike’.⁶⁴ They pay attention to concerns about the eventual contradiction between penalisation of parents and the ‘best interests of the child’, which should always guide action, in line with the UN Convention of the Rights of the Child (CRC). The parents argued they acted in the best interest of their children, and as Bissau-Guinean citizens they had the right to claim a public school from their own state, as well as support to run Quran schools locally.

Current NGO discourses, widely communicated, ignore the parents’ points of view, and instead treat them as neglectful or helpless victims of poverty and ignorance. It is in line with Schirmer’s observation that ‘the ability of various groups and claims to be heard and heeded is not equal’.⁶⁵ Why are the voices of the Bissau-Guinean parents themselves not heard? First, the reasons the parents give for sending their sons to Quran schools in Senegal contradict the poverty argument, which is the dominant NGO discourse on the issue. The poverty argument sells, there is no culprit to be identified and it simplifies and depoliticises a complicated and controversial issue. To take into consideration that religious education enhances individual and group social status and contributes to economic success challenges the poverty paradigm. Second, accepting the parents’ arguments that it would be more relevant to give funds allocated to the NGOs directly to their communities threatens the existence of the very same NGOs. Third, current and former talibés state that they have a better life in Quran schools in Senegal than in their home villages,⁶⁶ which calls for a revision of the strategy of the NGOs. Kielland highlights this contradiction, reflected in the fact that children who move from worse conditions to bad ones may ‘insist on staying in situations that seem fundamentally intolerable to the Western eye’.⁶⁷ NGOs concerned with the best interests of children must find ways to deal with such complexity.

We embrace the anthropological approaches to human rights identified by Goodale.⁶⁸ Through our ethnographic fieldwork and efforts to build a relationship of trust within the communities, we sense a severe divide between the parents and those who aim to ‘rescue’ their children. Merry argues that rights ‘inevitably disappoint both activists and scholars unless their possibilities and limitations are recognized’.⁶⁹ Rights can help individuals recognise their entitlements ‘but do not deal as well with violations that are systemic and require structural change’. Rights do not tackle economic inequality. Nonetheless, Merry points out, ‘activists, faced with a lack of alternatives, pragmatically try to use rights in places where the framework is not compatible with the problem’.⁷⁰ Here we deal with a context in which the alleged victims of rights violations and the perpetrators belong to a group that perceives itself as discriminated against locally, within the state, and globally. The children’s rights proponents, whose success rests on collaboration with that very same state and global institutions and organisations, neither engages in dialogue with the parents nor supports activities that address their social and economic conditions. In contrast, their practice contributes to humiliation and criminalisation of the parents. Such a practice is in urgent need of comprehensive revision with due respect given to the context in which the NGOs work. Our research on the parents’ points of view is a contribution to that challenging task.

Conclusion

Human rights practice is at the centre of our research. It explores the ongoing power struggle between global institutions, NGOs and local communities to define what is a morally acceptable upbringing and education of children classified as victims of trafficking. In this article we juxtapose the images presented of Bissau-Guinean parents of allegedly trafficked boys by those who aim to rescue their sons with the parents’ own points of view. Although living under disadvantaged economic conditions, parents’ decision to send their sons to Senegal is not mandated by their ignorance, naivety, or their need to have fewer mouths to feed. The parents want their sons to ‘become somebody’, and concerned with their discrimination locally, nationally and globally consciously aim to enhance the status of their ethnic group through religious education.

Ever more depoliticised, child rights activism is becoming increasingly concerned with the ‘traditions’ and ‘culture’ of those who are poor.⁷¹ Under the all-embracing banner of child trafficking, parental survival strategies are criminalised.⁷² Obviously the conditions under which the Bissau-Guinean talibés live in Senegal are unacceptable. At the same time, they claim to eat better food, dress better and have better access to health care as talibés in Senegal than in their home communities. Unfortunately, huge funds that have been allocated to combat child trafficking in Guinea-Bissau and Senegal have not benefited these children. Instead, they have contributed to criminalisation of their parents, and community members react with silent resistance and bitter anger. Revision of current human rights practices is urgent.

Acknowledgements

The authors would like to thank all the participants in the research for their time and dedication. The research was supported financially by The University of Iceland Research Fund and Unicef.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the authors.

Notes on contributors

Jónína Einarsdóttir holds a PhD in Social Anthropology from Stockholm University. Jónína is Professor of Anthropology and responsible for the MA programme in Development Studies at the Faculty of Social and Human Sciences. Main fields of research interests are anthropology of children, medical anthropology and development studies.

Hamadou Boiro holds an MA and DEA (Diplôme d’Etudes Approfondies) in Social Anthropology from the Université Cheikh Anta Diop, Dakar. Hamadou is a researcher at INEP and Director for the Center for History and Anthropology, Instituto Nacional de Estudos e Pesquisa (INEP), Bissau, Guinea-Bissau. Experience of research in Senegal, the Gambia and Guinea-Bissau, and in 2015 conducted research in Guiné on local responses to Ebola on behalf of the WHO.

Notes

1. Mark Goodale, Surrendering to Utopia: An Anthropology of Human Right (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009); Ellen Messer, ‘Anthropology and Human Rights’, Annual Review of Anthropology 22 (1993): 221–9; Carolyn Fluehr-Lobban, ‘Ethics and Anthropology 1890–2000’, in Ethics and the Profession of Anthropology, ed. C. Fluehr-Lobban (Walnut Creek: Altamira, 2003).

2. The Executive Board, American Anthropological Association, ‘Statement on Human Rights’, American Anthropologist 49, no. 4 (1947): 541.

3. Ibid., 543.

4. Karen Engle, ‘From Skepticism to Embrace: Human Rights and the American Anthropological Association from 1947–1999’, Human Rights Quarterly 23, no. 3 (2001): 559.

5. Mark Goodale, ‘Toward a Critical Anthropology of Human Rights’, Current Anthropology 47, no. 3 (2006): 485–511. See also Goodale, Surrendering to Utopia.

6. Goodale, ‘Toward a Critical Anthropology of Human Rights’, 490.

7. Goodale, Surrendering to Utopia.

8. Ellen Messer, ‘Anthropology and Human Rights’, Annual Review of Anthropology (1993): 221–49.

9. Ibid., 222.

10. Ellen Messer, ‘Comments: Toward a Critical Anthropology of Human Rights’, Current Anthropology 47, no. 3 (2006): 503.

11. Goodale, ‘Toward a Critical Anthropology of Human Rights’, 507.

12. Fluehr-Lobban, ‘Ethics and Anthropology 1890–2000’; Carolyn Fluehr-Lobban, ‘Anthropology and Ethics in America's Declining Imperial Age’, Anthropology Today 24, no. 4 (2008): 18–22.

13. Barbara Rose Johnston, ‘American Anthropological Association Committee for Human Rights (CfHR) Five Year Evaluation Report’, 30 January 2001, http://new.aaanet.org/committees/cfhr/ar95-00.htm.

14. Shannon Speed, ‘At the Crossroads of Human Rights and Anthropology: Toward a Critically Engaged Activist Research’, American Anthropologist 108, no. 1 (2006): 66–76; Jason Hart, ‘Saving Children: What Role for Anthropology?’, Anthropology Today 22, no. 1 (2006): 5–8.

15. Jónína Einarsdóttir, Hamadou Boiro, Gunnlaugur Geirsson and Geir Gunnlaugsson, Child Trafficking in Guinea-Bissau: An Explorative Study (Reykjavík/Bissau: Unicef Iceland /Unicef Guinea-Bissau, 2010).

16. Sally Engle Merry, ‘Transnational Human Rights and Local Activism: Mapping the Middle’, American Anthropologist 108, no. 1 (2006): 3.

17. Ibid., 39.

18. Jason Hart, Business as Usual? The Global Political Economy of Childhood Poverty (Oxford: Young Lives, 2008), 10.

19. Ibid., 10.

20. Here we use the Wolof terms, which are normally used in mass media and other publications on the issue; however, each ethnic group has own terms.

21. Einarsdóttir et al., ‘Child Trafficking in Guinea-Bissau’.

22. Ibid.

23. Joye L. Bowman, Ominous Transition: Commerce and Colonial Expansion in the Senegambia and Guinea, 1857–1919 (London: Avebury, 1997); Carols Lopes, ‘O Kaabu e os seus vizinhos: uma leitura espacial e histórica explicativa de conflitos’, Afro-Asia 32 (2005): 9–28.

24. Ibid., 105.

25. Hamadou Boiro and Jónína Einarsdóttir, ‘Inverting Power Relations: The Case of Fula Forros and Fula Pretos in Guinea-Bissau’, African Engagements: On Whose Terms? ECAS 2011 – 4th European Conference on African Studies, Nordic Africa Institute, Uppsala, 15–18 June 2011.

26. In 2004, UNICEF estimated that about 100,000 children, mostly talibés, were begging in Senegal, and according to the head of UNICEF in Guinea-Bissau, ‘most of those child beggars come from Guinea-Bissau’, see IRIN, ‘Guinea-Bissau–Senegal: On the Child Trafficking Route’, 23 November 2007, http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=75485. A study conducted in 2006 estimated that ‘there are over 2,000 child talibes in Guinea-Bissau, and the majority of the estimated 120,000 talibes children in Dakar, Senegal are from Guinea-Bissau’, see UNICEF, UNICEF Bissau Country Programme 2008–2012, http://www.unicef.org/wcaro/wcaro_bissau_CPPres08-12.pdf. Another study conducted in 2007 in the region of Dakar found that 58% of begging talibés in the city were from Senegal, 30% were from Guinea-Bissau, and 10% were from Guinea, see UCW, ‘Enfants Mendiants dans la Région de Dakar. Understanding Children’s Work’, 2007, 37–8.

27. Leonardo Villalon, ‘ARS Focus: Islamism in West-Africa. Senegal’, African Studies Review 47, no. 2 (2004): 61–71.

28. Mara Leichtman, ‘Shi ‘i Islamic Cosmopolitanism and the Transformation of Religious Authority in Senegal’, Contemporary Islam 8 (2014): 279–80.

29. Donna L. Perry, ‘Muslim Child Disciples, Global Civil Society, and Children's Rights in Senegal: The Discourses of Strategic Structuralism’, Anthropological Quarterly 77, no. 1 (2004): 47–86; Rudolph Treanor Ware, ‘Knowledge, Faith, and Power: A History of Qur’anic Schooling in Twentieth Century Senegal’. (PhD diss., University of Pennsylvania, 2004)

30. Perry, ‘Muslim Child Disciples’, 47–86.

31. Ibid., 73.

32. Ware, ‘Knowledge, Faith, and Power’, 322.

33. Einarsdóttir et al., ‘Child Trafficking in Guinea-Bissau’.

34. Ibid., 45–51.

35. See M. Misha Hussain, ‘Senegalese Children Forced to Beg by Renegade Teachers’ Betrayal of Principle’, theguardian [online], 11 December 2012, http://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2012/dec/11/senegalese-children-forced-beg-renegade-teachers; IRIN, ‘Senegal: Why the ‘Talibe’ Problem Won’t Go Away’, 3 January 2008, http://www.irinnews.org/report/76080/senegal-why-the-talibe-problem-won-t-go-away; IRIN, ‘Guinea-Bissau–Senegal: On the Child Trafficking Route’, 23 November 2007, http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=75485.

36. Human Rights Watch, ‘Off the Backs of the Children’ – Forced Begging and Other Abuses against Talibés in Senegal (HRW, 2010).

37. Ibid., 85.

38. Ibid., 87.

39. Ibid., 87.

40. Since 2001, The Trafficking in Persons Report has been published by the United States Department of State. It summarises the situation of human trafficking globally and ranks governments in line with their efforts to combat trafficking.

41. US Department of State, Trafficking in Persons Report 2012, http://www.state.gov/j/tip/rls/tiprpt/2012/192367.htm.

42. Marc-Andre Boisvery, ‘Senegal's “Religious Schools' – Places of Exploitation’, Inter Press Service News Agency, 11 June 2013, http://www.ipsnews.net/2013/06/senegals-religious-schools-places-of-exploitation/.

43. UNICEF, ‘Guinea-Bissau Works to Put Child Traffickers Out of Business’, 23 March 2008, http://www.unicef.org/infobycountry/guineabissau_43391.html.

44. IRIN, ‘Guinea-Bissau Officials Urge Step-change on Talibés', 28 May 2013, http://www.ecoi.net/local_link/248682/359011_en.html.

45. IRIN, ‘Guinea-Bissau Still Way Behind on Education’, 20 May 2013, http://www.irinnews.org/report/98129/guinea-bissau-still-way-behind-on-education.

46. In 2009, some parents claimed they preferred to send their children to Dakar rather than elsewhere because the city was attractive with ‘many things' and electricity. Due to an increased risk of becoming repatriated, five years later parents of boys in Dakar expressed their intentions to move them to Fuuta Tooro.

47. Goodale, Surrendering to Utopia.

48. Ware, ‘Knowledge, Faith, and Power’, 322.

49. Human Rights Watch, ‘Off the Backs of the Children’.

50. Marc-Andre Boisvery, ‘Senegal's “Religious Schools” – Places of Exploitation’; IRIN, ‘Guinea-Bissau Officials Urge Step-change on Talibés’.

51. Perry, ‘Muslim Child Disciples’, 59.

52. Donal Cruise O’Brien, The Mourides of Senegal: The Political and Economic Organization of an Islamic Brotherhood (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971).

53. Mahir Saul, ‘The Quranic School Farm and Child Labour in Upper Volta’, Africa 54, no. 2 (1984): 82–3.

54. Peter Easton and Mark Peach, The Practical Applications of Quranic Learning in West Africa (Center for Policy Studies in Education, 1997), http://pdf.usaid.gov/pdf_docs/PNACJ812.pdf, 18.

55. Perry, ‘Muslim Child Disciples’, 59.

56. Jean Schmitz, ‘Islamic Patronage and Republican Emancipation: The Slaves of the Almaami in the Senegal River Valley’, in Reconfiguring Slavery: West African Trajectories, ed. Benedetta Rossi (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2009), 94.

57. Roy Dilley, ‘Reflections on Knowledge Practices and the Problem of Ignorance’, Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 16, no. 1 (2010): S183.

58. Murray Last, ‘Children and the Experience of Violence: Contrasting Cultures of Punishment in Northern Nigeria’, Africa 70, no. 3 (2000): 359–93.

59. Roger Botte, ‘Stigmates sociaux et discriminations religieuses: l’ancienne classe servile au Fuuta Jaloo’ [Social Stigmata and Religious Discrimination: Former Slaves in the Fuuta Jalloo], Cahiers d’études africaines 34, no. 133–5 (1994): 109–36. For strategies to override former slave status in West Africa see also François Manchuelle, ‘Slavery, Emancipation and Labour Migration in West Africa: The Case of the Soninke’, The Journal of African History 30, no. 1 (1989): 89–106; Mirjam de Bruijn and Lotte Pelckmans, ‘Facing Dilemmas: Former Fulbe Slaves in Modern Mali’, Canadian Journal of African Studies 39, no. 1 (2005): 69–95; Lotte Pelckmans, ‘Moving Memories of Slavery among West African Migrants in Urban Contexts (Bamako, Paris)’, Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales 29, no. 1 (2013): 45–67; Lotte Pelckmans, ‘Slavery in the City? Travelling Hierarchies among West African Migrants in the Cities of Paris and Bamako’, Working Papers Series 38 (Paris: Fondation Maison des sciences de l’homme, 2013); Benedetta Rossi, Reconfiguring Slavery: West African Trajectories (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2009); Benedetta Rossi, ‘Migration and Emancipation in West Africa's Labour History: The Missing Links’, Slavery and Abolition (2013), doi:10.1080/0144039X.2013.796108.

60. Rudolph Treanor Ware, ‘The Longue Durée of Quran Schooling, Society, and State in Senegambia’, in New Perspectives on Islam in Senegal: Conversion, Migration, Wealth, Power, and Femininity, ed. M. Diouf and M. Leichtman (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 36.

61. Ibid., 36.

62. Ibid., 322.

63. US Department of State, ‘Trafficking in Persons Report 2012’.

64. Benjamin N. Lawrance and Ruby P Andrew, ‘A “Neo-Abolitionist Trend” in Sub-Saharan Africa? Regional Anti-Trafficking Patterns and a Preliminary Legislative Taxonomy’, Seattle Journal for Social Justice 9, no. 2 (2011): 656.

65. Schirmer, ‘Comments: Toward a Critical Anthropology of Human Rights’, 505.

66. Hamadou Boiro and Jónína Einarsdóttir, ‘Bissau-Guinean Koran School Students in Senegal: Experiences and Identity’, in Collaboration, Intimacy & Revolution – Innovation and Continuity in an Interconnected World, 13th EASA Biennial Conference, Tallinn University, 31 July–3 August 2014.

67. Ibid., 162.

68. Goodale, Surrendering to Utopia.

69. Sally Engle Merry, ‘Inequality and Rights: Commentary on Michael McCann's “The Unbearable Lightness of Rights”’, Law & Society Review 48, no. 2 (2014): 285.

70. Ibid., 292.

71. Hart, Business as Usual?; Michele Poretti, Karl Hanson, Frédéric Darbellay, and André Berchtold, ‘The Rise and Fall of Icons of ‘Stolen Childhood'Since the Adoption of the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child’, Childhood 21, no. 1 (2014): 22–38.

72. Jónína Einarsdóttir and Hamadou Boiro, ‘The Palermo Protocol: Trafficking Takes it All’, Icelandic Review of Politics & Administration 10, no. 2 (2014): 387–98; Anne Kielland, ‘The Exploitation Equation: Distinguishing Child Trafficking from other Types of Child Mobility in West Africa’, in Human Trafficking: Interdisciplinary Perspectives, ed. M.C. Burke (London: Routledge, 2013), 149–82.