4/30/05

Any respect I may have had for Livana's father, Dounplata, has evaporated. Looking at him now I feel nothing but contempt, which may sound a little extreme, but knowing the way he's worked to sabotage his family's future, it's hard not to.

I'm talking with Amos the other night, and the subject of money comes up. This is always a tricky issue, as I have enough here to live a comfortable lifestyle, especially compared to my friends and neighbors. It isn't all that much, roughly $350 US per month, but by contrast Marc might pull in $100, and he's supporting five children, three cousins, his mother and a wife. Amos is talking to me about his plans to go on to university after he passes the BAC, the national exam for graduating from lycée. He's worried about the money.

"It's so expensive," he tells me.

"How much?" I ask.

"30,000 FCFA per year," he says, "plus rent and food."

Just to put this in perspective again, 30,000 FCFA is roughly $60, once a year, with rent and food coming to maybe another $30 per month. It still amazes me that an amount this small can be the difference in whether someone has the opportunity to be educated or not. The application fee for most colleges in the States is more than a year's tuition in N'Djamena. I haven't told him this yet, naturally, but if Amos does earn his BAC and get accepted into university, and money is still a problem, he may just find a 30,000 FCFA scholarship, courtesy of the US Peace Corps' representative in Gounou-Gaya.

For the moment though, Amos is still in high school, but what about Janvier, Dounplata's oldest son, who graduated last year. He's currently teaching at the private Lutheran middle school next door, but wants to go to university- again, it's a question of money.

"Janvier almost didn’t get to go to lycée," Amos says. "He was only able to because the American missionary, and then Marc paid for his school fees."

"Why didn't Dounplata pay for him?" I ask. "He has a job." Dounplata works Monday-Friday at the Prefect's office, doing some sort of secretarial work, I believe. Amos' answer startles me.

"He tried to divorce Janvier's mother, and he says he wants her to suffer. He doesn't want to see his kids succeed, and refuses to pay" He tells me.

If Dounplata didn't have the money, I could understand. God knows life is tough for most Chadians, and if it was simply a question of money, I'd consider it a valid reason, although not necessarily an insurmountable obstacle. After all, Janvier is working for a pittance now, about $40/month, and saving up for university. But for Dounplata to deliberately sabotage his son's future like that (as well as his brothers, Livana and Toksouna), is absolutely inexcusable. Although Marc is by no means perfect (who is?), the fact that he took it upon himself to ensure his nephews had an education says a lot about his character. It's men like Dounplata, on the other hand, who ensure that Chad is going nowhere fast.

This isn't only the situation for Janvier and his brothers though- Dounplata's daughter Yvonne, who's about 12, was going to school until last year. Again, Dounplata is refusing to pay, so she's stuck.

"She wants to go to school," Marc tells me, "but he won't let her- he thinks it's a waste of money."

As he tells me this, I remember the last time I talked with Hannah, my 11-year old sister, and she asked me about what kids in Chad do.

"What grade would I be in if I lived in Chad?" She asks. In the States, she goes to a school for the gifted, and does work far beyond her age level. If she was Chadian, I tell her, she'd be lucky to be in school in the first place.

"Wow, that's really terrible," she says. Of course it is, and it's something I'd thought about , but it didn't really sink in until I had the concrete example of Yvonne, living not 50 feet from me. The reality though, is that I may just be able to do something about it.

The next night, I'm talking to Marc, and I summarize my conversation with Amos the night before.

"If Yvonne wants to go to school, I want her to be able to," I tell him. "Do you think it'd be a good idea if I offered to pay for her next year?"

Marc thinks it's a great idea, although I can see that he wishes his brother would do the right thing and invest in his children's future. Although I worry this may set a precedent of me being the bank, I couldn't live with myself knowing that I had the opportunity to make a real and positive difference in someone's life, but chose to stand on principle for the price of a new shirt. I'm not here as a financial resource for Chad, but theoretically, I'm a development worker- with that in mind, I'm going to do whatever I can.

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