Mohammed: Great cost to go to secondary school 

By Mohammed, a teenage boy living in Mentao refugee camp, Burkina Faso / Through Plan

 

Displaced by the Mali conflict, Mohammed’s family has borrowed all the money they can to send him to school, while they stay in Mentao refugee camp, Burkina Faso.

21 March 2013: I am extremely excited today, like every Friday afternoon. I am going back home to spend the weekend with my family. This is my life now here in Mentao.

Since we arrived in this part of Burkina Faso, fleeing the troubles in Timbuktu, I have been somehow parted from my parents. That was the only solution for me to stay in school. In the Mentao camp, where we live, there are no secondary schools - only primary schools run by Plan. The closest secondary school is in Djibo, about 50 kilometres from the camp.

At the beginning of the school year, we discussed it with my dad. He said I had to go to Djibo to study but that means I would have to become “more independent” and learn to be “on my own”.

Learning to survive

This is so new for me. With dad and other parents of the camps, we found a house to rent in Djibo. There are 6 of us in this small 3 bed house. The rent is paid by our parents and there is a woman from the camp who is coming once or twice a week to cook for us.

When we started living on our own, I just thought, ‘this is great, this is what I have always wanted to have - my own place’. Over the past months, I have learnt that there are strings attached to this gift.

The simple things I was not bothered to think about are now all mine. From turning the light off while leaving the house, to making sure doors are locked, taking care of bills and liaising between the landlord and my parents.

Education cost

My dad said it is a learning curve and that it is how I learn to become adult. Perhaps he is right. I don’t care that much because I strangely discovered a new passion for my studies here in Mentao.

I have always been quite good in school. But now I have a strong reason to be studious. My dad has paid over 140 000 FCFA (US$254) to get me and my brother into the private school I am attending. There was no place left in the overcrowded government-owned Lycée provincial in Djibo.

My parents sold a lot of our belongings and borrowed money from friends and relatives to make it happen. I feel there is an extra pressure on me to perform. I have been reading my lessons and doing my homework every day without failing.

So proud

I was so proud when I brought my first term results and I had so many good marks. I think my dad was relieved too. I heard my dad talk about next year and his worries about his ability to keep us in school, because of the high fees. I am worried too.

Many of my friends in Mentao camp don’t go to school anymore. They have dropped-out because there is no secondary school in the camp and their parents cannot afford the fees of the private schools in Djibo, plus the rent.

They spend all their days doing nothing in the camp. That is really sad. I know I am lucky. I often share my school experiences with them and I can see they envy me somehow. We all hope things will get better and all of us will be able to attend school.

Plan support

Like many secondary school teenagers in Mentao, my brother Abdul and I have applied for a bursary with Plan. We are praying we will receive the money to help our parents, who are clearly struggling to make ends meet.

My friend Muhammed, is hoping this bursary will help him go back to school - he hates staying at home all day long doing nothing.

The other day we were discussing about this school thing during our weekend stay in Mentao. A friend said he overheard his parents talking about a Plan project to build a new school building in the government owned Lycée provincial in Djibo, so that there are spaces for all of us.

Things are looking great thanks to all these projects going on. I now envy my friends who are enjoying a gap year in Mentao camp and will certainly be back to school when the new school year starts in October next year.

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A mother waits in exile to return to her village in Mali

By Hugo Reichenberger / UNHCR / in Mentao Camp, Burkina Faso

Aicha is suffering: she is far from her home in the central Malian district of Mopti and she has caught a pulmonary infection, which is compounded by the harmattan, the dusty trade wind that sweeps from the Sahara to the Atlantic coast from November to March.

The 45-year-old and her four children arrived in Mentao Refugee Camp in north-west Burkina Faso less than two weeks after the start on January 11 of the French military intervention in Mali to push back anti-government militants. At first, the fast-evolving situation in Mali raised hopes that many displaced people would be able to go back to their homes soon. But the reality is that thousands have since fled to neighbouring countries – mainly Burkina Faso and Mauritania – to escape the fighting or from fear of reprisals. They need help.

In Burkina Faso, many of those who have fled across the border are ethnic Tuareg and Arab women and children, like Aicha and her young. Their menfolk are staying behind to take care of their cattle, indicating that people are increasingly fleeing out of desperation. New arrivals are met at the border by mobile teams from UNHCR or its partners, and transported to Mentao or Goudebou refugee camps, where they receive assistance, such as hot meals upon arrival and traditional shelter kits, and are individually registered. More than 6,000 have arrived since the French intervention in January.

Aicha's journey to Mentao was not so straightforward. She had resisted earlier chances to flee from her central Mali village, Boni, despite the deteriorating social and economic situation. She felt she had too much to lose.

 

© UNHCR/H.Reichenberger
Aicha (in green) shelters from the sun with relatives in their shelter in Mentao Camp, Burkina Faso.

 

"We are simple people, all we have is our animals and our friends, nothing else, nothing more," Aicha said of her life. But over the past year, things became even harder as war engulfed the country and rebels took over the north and much of the centre of the country. "Our worst fears have now become reality. We left our animals and our friends. We feel we have only fear, no more life," she said, explaining her situation.

The developments in Mali last year took thousands of farming folk like Aicha and her husband by surprise, although inequality between the sub-Saharan people of the south and the Tuareg and Arabs of the north had led to separatist conflict in 1990 and 2007. Most of Aicha's Arab relatives fled to Burkina Faso or Mauritania soon after the fighting first erupted between government soldiers and Tuareg rebels in January last year.

The victorious Tuareg rebels were followed by militants, who imposed strict Islamic law in areas under their control in the north and centre, including Boni. Aicha was not used to such an austere lifestyle, such as having to wear a veil. "Life was difficult in 2012, but it was bearable," she noted. "I would wake up and prepare food for my children before they went out to look after our livestock. I would spend time with my friends when my husband went to Boni to sell some animals. It was correct."

In January, the fighting swung back to the region as the French-backed Malian army advanced north against the militants. Aicha could hear the sounds of war rumbling closer and decided she must flee to save her children. Other villagers were thinking the same and the men clubbed together to hire a truck to take their wives and children to nearby northern Burkina Faso and then on to Mentao, a camp of 11,000 located about 80 kilometres from the border. Some of the villagers of Boni already had relatives there.

But instead of taking them to Mentao, the drivers duped the group of 20 women and children, leaving them at a village 60kms short of their destination after a long and uncomfortable journey without food and water. Luckily, the locals took pity on the refugees and took them by donkey to Mentao.

In response to the spike in new arrivals, UNHCR staff based in the nearby town of Djibo opened a transit centre where refugees stay for two days in newly erected tents (for up to 500 people) before being moved to the camps. More latrines and bathing facilities were built in the transit centre to cope with the extra population.

Aicha and her group, after being stopped by police near Mentao, were taken by UNHCR protection staff to this transit centre, where they were interviewed and registered. "This is a particularly important time for those in categories regarded as most vulnerable, such as female-headed households, said UNHCR Protection Officer Euphrasie Oubda. "They can tell us about things like health problems and trauma and then we can give them the proper care," either directly or through humanitarian aid partners.

Aicha was then moved to Mentao Camp and her own space, where she receives regular visits from UNHCR community services staff. After a week there she felt safe but missed home. There is a small silver living: her four children will go to school for the first time.

"My oldest son, who is 10, has never been to school: he has been a shepherd most of his life," she told visitors. "Although life in Mentao has been better than I thought, life as a refugee is still not a correct life such as the one I had back home," she added, poignantly.

 

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