It's the last day of actor Tom Hiddleston's trip with UNICEF UK to Guinea in West Africa. Read his first, second, third and fourth posts, or follow Tom on Twitter at #tom_UNICEFUK and @twhiddleston.
Tom visiting children
at Ecole Layiya, in the Kankan region of Guinea © UNICEF/Harry
Borden/2013
Day five is the day we drive. We drive west. We are in Kankan. We have a plane
to catch tomorrow, and Conakry is just under 400 miles away. There's no three-lane freeway or
motorway. It's the same old road. The dirt, red road. We drive.
We talk, we listen, we look. Along the way we make various
stops. We stop at a town to stretch our legs. We stop to sit under a tree for
some shade, for bread and vache qui rit.
We stop just after recrossing the river Niger, when Julien spots something on
the roadside. It's a monument, inscribed with this message:
ICI.
Le 6 Novembre 1999.
Les femmes ont librement
solennellement
et definitivement deposé
le couteau de l'excision.
"Here. On 6 November 1999, the women freely
personally and definitively put down the knife of cutting (of mutilation)".
Interesting, says Julien. The monument was erected in 1999. And yet we heard
about it extensively two days ago at the radio station in Bissikirima. Female genital mutilation (FGM) isn't over. It isn't over in Guinea.
It isn't over in many countries, all over the world. It isn't over.
Then we're back on the road.
Tom tries to learn the names of the children at Ecole Layiya © UNICEF/Harry Borden/2013
Our next stop is a joyful one. With the river some
115 km behind us, we pull in to a school in Kouroussa – L'École Primaire Layiya – on the edge of the National Park of the
Upper Niger, which is still in the region of Kankan. It's greener here than before, the
land is less arid and the trees are full. It smells fresh.
It's worth bearing in mind that 74% of boys and girls
in Guinea enrol in primary school, but only 63% make it to their final year. At Layiya,
there are approximately one hundred and thirty children, learning how to read
and write, learning French, learning maths. Their education is their freedom. I
think back to those children I saw on my first night in Conakry, reading by the
electric light of the car park by the airport. In Guinea, children want to learn.
Education is power.
We are introduced to several classes of the most
well-behaved, quiet, attentive and sweet children I've seen since I've arrived.
A little girl, in a red-checked school dress and braids in her hair, is so shy
and smiley that she can't even tell me her name. I must look like an alien to
her. Some brave souls volunteer how old they are, and what they've been
studying. An even braver soul at the back tells me what he wants to do when he
grows up: "Après avoir terminé mes études,
je veux devenir enseignant." He wants to be a teacher. It gets a round of
applause.
It's 12:30pm. It's almost time to break for lunch.
Julien asks who wants to play football outside before break. There are instant
smiles. One young man at the front puts his hand up immediately. There is a
spark in his eyes. He's almost embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, but he
couldn't hide if he tried. This young man loves
football. And he's the smallest boy in the room.
It turns out he's a firework. I thought we were going to
play a game, but for the moment it's clearly just him and me. He runs rings
around me like Lionel Messi. He makes me feel like an ogre (I am an ogre). He's
amazing.
Tom in the midst of a football game at Ecole Layiya © UNICEF/Harry Borden/2013
But then it's time for a real game. Captains are appointed
(he's one of them). Teams are picked. The entire class is huddled in a group in
the small crescent yard outside the school. Everyone is in: boys and girls. Julien and I are the last to
be picked. On opposing teams. All as it should be.
It's so fun. It's just like any other game of football in
any other school anywhere in the world: frantic, breathless, playful. The
scuffling of shoes, the groaning when you miss, the laughing when you fall
over. Dust rises in the yard, so thick that you can't see the ball. It's baking
hot. And these children run like lightning. In a fitting end, Julien scores the
winner as a result of terrible defending by me and an abject failure to clear
my own goal line. For them it's time for lunch. For us, it's time to go.
Tom keeps up with the football game at Ecole Layiya © UNICEF/Harry Borden/2013
Later in the afternoon, closer to Conakry, we stop to visit the École Moriakhory, in prefecture of Kindia. We are introduced to Gervais, the education officer here. A kindlier man I may never meet. The École Moriakhory,
using funds from UNICEF Guinea, became a pilot for the scheme before the
grant for the FTI programme began. The Programme Sector of Education in Guinea was
adopted in 2008, but due to the suspension of foreign aid by major donors, its
implementation was greatly hampered. Following a plea for funding, the Fast
Track Initiative was established. UNICEF became a supervising entity and
operator. The Fast Track Initiative has helped construct 991 classes in 300
school buildings and equip them with latrines and water points. The latrines
are a work in progress. The initial design employed a separation system of
liquids and solids, but it depended on human agency to clear the solids and use
them as fertiliser for crops. The job was unpractical and unpleasant. So it's
back to the drawing board. But they will
find something that works. That's what UNICEF do. The Fast Track Initiative is
also replacing the old school tables and lecterns, too high and heavy for
children to move themselves, with lighter, more durable desks, benches and
chairs. Slowly but surely, the facilities in these schools are rapidly
improving. The Fast Track Initiative has also built 60 pre-school classes.
These schools contribute to the literacy of 50,000 children across Guinea.
The children in École
Moriakhory are obedient and alert. I enter one classroom and there's no
teacher in there. But they're all sitting quietly. It occurs to me that it was
never like that when I was at school in England. If the teacher left the
room, there'd be a riot. Here, children want to learn. There's a poem on the
blackboard. It's about Guinea.
Can we all recite the poem together, Julien asks. And we do. The lyrics are
beautiful. I wish I could remember them. I wish I'd taken a photograph of the
blackboard. The poem was about their country. La Guinée est un beau pays. Un
beau pays. Something like that.
As we pull away I feel glad that on my last day I saw such a
joyful example of UNICEF's work in Guinea. The country has many
difficulties, and I have faced them in all their stark reality this week. But
to see healthy children, in love with learning, and happy in their play is
restorative and invigorating. It gives me a sense of balance.
Un beau pays.
* * *
Thanks for reading Tom's blogs on this trip. Your support has been fantastic. Don't forget, you can also follow Tom at #tom_UNICEFUK and @twhiddleston. If you'd like to donate to support UNICEF's work for children around the world, you can visit this page. Thank you!
Tom outside Ecole Layiya with the pupils © UNICEF/Harry Borden/2013