Karate Can Kick Hopelessness

The night had fallen heavy and thick over Saint-Louis, the streetlights casting pale circles onto the uneven concrete. I trudged back to my daara, my legs sore from the long day. My plastic begging bowl at my side, the few coins and granules of rice I’d managed to collect jingling against each other faintly. It was late—but time wasn’t something I tracked much. My days end when my bowl is full enough of “versement” to avoid a beating, or when exhaustion makes the thought of taking another step impossible. Tonight, it was the latter. The daara loomed ahead, a crumbling building with an open courtyard where we boys sleep shoulder to shoulder. I stealthily slipped through the front door and found my place among the others. The ground was bare, except for the occasional scrap of cardboard or a thin mat someone had scavenged. I didn’t have either tonight. Instead, I lay down on the cold stone, folding my arms tightly across my chest to conserve warmth. Around me, the other talibés whispered or shifted restlessly in their sleep. But I didn’t mind. Tomorrow was the tournament. I turned onto my side, the excitement swelling in my chest in spite of the ache in my empty stomach. Karate. Just the word sent a thrill through me. It was something different, something that made me feel like I was more than just a talibé, more than a boy with a begging bowl. I wasn’t very good at it—not yet—but that didn’t matter. Karate is a chance to move with purpose, to feel my body’s strength, to forget about the daara and the marabout and the streets for a little while. I could already imagine the dojo at Maison de la Gare, with its clean mats and the way the older kids show respect by bowing, my clean white kimono. I love the discipline of it, the precision. Every punch, every kick, every stance made me feel sharp and focused, like I was cutting through the noise of my life. And tomorrow, I'll have a chance to show what I've learned. Even if I don’t win, just being part of the tournament will be something to be proud of. An opportunity to test my skill and be recognized for my progress. Some of the other boys don’t understand. They tease me sometimes, saying karate won’t fill my bowl or earn the marabout’s favour. But they don’t see what I see: a way out, maybe not of the streets, but out of the feeling of being small and powerless. When I practice, I feel big. I feel strong. I close my eyes and try
to picture myself in my uniform, my white belt tied neatly around my waist. I imagine the sound of the crowd, the clap of hands on mats, the sharp bark of the referee calling out commands. My stomach flutters with nerves and excitement. The stone beneath me is unforgiving, and the night air bites through my thin clothes, but I hug my dreams close, letting them warm me.Tomorrow, I won’t be just another talibé, another street kid begging for coins. Tomorrow, I will have the chance to be a champion.

At the end of November, Maison de la Gare presented its seventh annual karate competition, hosted by Canadian founders and sponsors of the karate program in partnership with Sor-Karate’s Sensei Ignéty Bâ. Shortly after Tournament Day dawned, the mats were laid and swept clear of sand. The referees, in their suits and with their flags, were ready. Spectators were gathering. The prize table was heavily laden with donated martial arts themed sweaters, t-shirts and trophies. The two championship cups were displayed as inspiration for the competitors, inscribed with the names of past champions.

By 9am the competitors had arrived, many having walked great distances from their daaras. They were dressed in their gi’s and ready go. No one had woken these boys, if they managed to sleep at all, no alarm clock ensured they would have sufficient time to prepare, no breakfast was served to fuel the long day of competition that lay ahead. Yet, here they all were. On the way to line up, the competitors walked past the prize table, touching The Championship Cup superstitiously, pointing to themselves, vowing theirs would be the next name inscribed.

A karate tournament is a special event. Even more so for the talibés, a chance to be stars for a day, to showcase skill, courage, and power, to feel the respect. Many children watching on the sidelines that day also began to dream, thinking maybe they too could begin to learn karate and be part of something special, to be admired rather than invisible. And the tournament did not disappoint! the white belts competed first. Through kihons and katas, karateka competed in pairs, the winners advancing. The intermediate and advanced groups then took their turns performing their katas. Eventually, after many rounds of eliminations, the top three in each division rose to the top. The finalists would compete for gold and silver in the afternoon. After a midday break for a special meal of thieboudienne prepared by Maison de la Gare, competition resumed.

As sparring began, the crowd of spectators continued to swell. The fighting was fierce, with each competitor doing their best to emerge victorious. Of each pair, there could only be one winner. Yet, after each match and the referees decisions, the competitors embraced. Then, those who failed to advance cheered for those who did, encouraging them, joyous for them. The beauty of martial arts competition. Kata finals for gold and silvertopped off the competition at the end of the afternoon. Prizes were awarded and new champions were revealed.

This year, a new tradition was introduced. The previous year’s champions were presented with The Cup and the Young Guns Cup that they had earned, their names newly inscribed to permanently record their glory. Then the veterans, in turn, presented their Cup to the newly crowned tournament champions. Champions! Evidence that dreams are worth dreaming was plain for all to see. Anything is possible. The future is worth working for. For all who were present, karate competitors and spectators alike.