Wayward Travels: Language in Senegal

Once again, I’ll be writing about another vacation. This time, however, it is the week long Fall Break in the CIEE program. It hit the two-month mark for the other students, who were itching for an adventure and a change of scenery. Sound familiar? While most of the other students took buses, ndiaye-ndiayes, boats, and sept-places to the far corners of Senegal and Gambia, I decided to stay in Dakar. Mostly, it was a matter of money. I’d already spend two weeks traveling around the Casamance and the Gambia, and I will be traveling for my month off between the Fall and Spring terms anyway. Saving money sounded like a good plan.

I stayed with my host family, and went on small excursions with Aloura or Nadia, which turned into a week-long three-wheeled date. We took the time to shop for fabric, get clothes made at Senegalese tailors, explore districts of Dakar, and sleep A LOT. My goal was to do some serious family bonding, since it was the last week of summer for by brother and sister. As it turns out, some cousins had the same idea, and the house was full of people from 10 years old to 25, all intent on paying their respects to my Grandmother before they went back to their respective homes. I’ve gotten into the habit of leaving my door unlocked/open at all times so my family doesn’t feel like I’m shutting myself away. The result…my cousins and I ended up getting pretty familiar, to the point they would just walk into my room and throw themselves on my bed for a good nap. But we had a good time, reenacting American music videos we watched on TV, and generally invading personal space.

One night, Aloura, Nadia and I decided to have an expensive date night at one of the best restaurants in Dakar. It was located at a hotel, right on the beach, and was the epitome of “where are all the white people at?” We drew attention to ourselves by refusing to speak French with our waiter, and instead spoke Wolof. Between the three of us, and our combined knowledge, we managed quite well. It was satisfying to see looks of incomprehension on the faces of the French elites sitting around us. Which…brings me to a travel rant!!!

The issue of language here in Senegal is complicated and wrought with both post-colonial and ethnic themes. French is the administrative language, the lingua franca that is hardly spoken in the home and learned in school from the age of 7 or so. Wolof is spoken by 80% of the people, as the Wolof ethnic group comprises 40% of the population. However, Senegal still has 6 official national languages (Wolof, Soninke, Seereer-Sin, Fula, Mandinka, and Diola), with a total of 20 native languages spoken. Despite the fact that more people speak Wolof than French, that does not mean that the school system, the government, or the businesses are in Wolof. Even though it is an oral language, it has been adapted to be written in roman characters, regardless of the fact that sounds appear in Wolof that do not exist in English. That means that I can write Wolof better than 95% of the people in this country, even though it is their native language. This also means that their entire education system is based on a language that they didn’t learn growing up. It would be like all of the United States speaking English at home, growing up with Engish, then learning Chinese in school (and being expected to speak Chinese for the rest of their career). Imagine, at the beginning of their studies, how students start school without knowing the language.

The issue of choosing a national language is sensitive because of the importance and identity of surrounding ethnic groups. To choose one would be to imply that it is superior to the other ethnic groups/languages. Yes, Wolof is the logical choice because it is already a lingua franca for most of the Senegalese population, and some would rather have an administrative language which is actually African, and speaks to their identity, rather than French. French is sometimes perceived as a constant reminder of colonial superiority. However, Pulaar (Fula) is spoken widely throughout West Africa, if not specifically in Senegal. In a sense of regional politics, Pulaar is the best choice. However, French is spoken by chance, not by choice. After talking with a lot of Senegalese, from farmers in Northern Senegal, to wealthy businessmen/women in Dakar, and restaurant owners in the Casamance, it is clear the French is spoken out of necessity, and if they Senegalese had their choice, they wouldn't speak it at all.

In terms of foreigners and Wolof…Very, very, very few French speakers try and learn Wolof. For them, learning Wolof is pointless if they already speak the “official” language. Unfortunately, this does not endear them to the Senegalese, and who see it as something like a superiority complex. One of the reasons Senegalese can immediately tell I’m American is because I speak, or try to, Wolof with them. When I tell them that I came here to study their language they ask me why. Why did I choose to study a language that will allow me to go nowhere but within their own country? But I already speak some Spanish, French and English, three languages which are spoken worldwide and give rise to many opportunities. My choice to learn Wolof is based on respect, the respect of learning someone’s maternal language and the implied respect for their culture and African identity. Besides, none of the children can speak French, and they are my favorites to talk with.

Thus, that dinner in the fancy restaurant was interesting to experience. Speaking Wolof in an atmosphere which simply dripped Western wealth and French influence was a clashing of two worlds-the Wolof speaking Americans and the friendly staff.

I cannot speak of the language of Senegal without going into detail on the insights it gives on Senegalese culture and their values. So I give you a situation..a young man approaches an older woman who is friends with the family. This is taking place in the middle of a busy place, for instance, on the edge of the sidewalk at rush-hour. Because it does not matter where you are or what you are doing, you always take the time to greet those people you know.

Abdoulaye Diop: younger man

Khadji Ndiaye: older woman

Diop: Asaalaam maalekum!................................ Peace be with you!

Ndiaye: Maalekum Saalaam!.............................. And with you!

Diop: Ndiaye! Na nga def?..................................Ndiaye! How are you?

Ndiaye: Diop! Maa ngi fii. ................................. Diop! I am here. (I'm fine)

Diop: Ndiaye!...................................................... Ndiaye!

Ndiaye: Diop! Naka waa kër ga? ....................... Diop! How is your family?

Diop: Nu nga fa. Ça vas?....................................They are there. (They are fine) How are you?

Ndiaye: Waaw, ça va. Ana waa kër ga?............. Yes, it's fine. Where is your family?

Diop: Nu nga fa. Yaa ngi noos?......................... They are there. You are well?

Ndiaye: Waaw, maa ngi santi yallah. Naka sa yaay?.......Yes, I am thanking God. How is your mother?

Diop: Jámm rekk, alxomdulilay. ....................... In peace only, thanks to God.

Ndiaye: Alxomdulilay. ..................................... Thanks to God.

Now, these exchanges could go on for a up to 10 minutes. The last names are repeated over and over, one to the other, as an expression of respect for one's family and one's roots. As the collective community identity tends to supersede the individual identity, the appreciation of one's family is always of the utmost of importance. When making this kind of the greeting, if you say the other's last name more than them, it's like a sign of more respect. So whoever stops the last name repetition for the "Na nga def" part of the conversation is seen as the less respectful of the pair. Respect being held so high here, you can only imagine how long last names are exchanged. My host mom heads this off at the pass, by rapidly saying the other's last name several times before they can say anything, thus proving her respect and speeding up the conversation at the same time. I also only added two "ça va" exchanges when usually they are between every other sentence. Right when you think you know you're done with the ça va's all over the place, the other person will whip them out again. It's usually always a good fall-back though. If people really know each other well, these greetings can last a long time. They will work their way through all 4 wives and their children if they feel they need to.

To not greet someone is very rude, even just passing in the street. But some mischievous Senegalese use this as a way of drawing you into a conversation when you might now want to, so I've gotten good at the over-the-shoulder "Asaalaam maalekum"s and a big smile to show I don't mean to be completely rude. Greetings are an essential part of life here in Senegal, and no one is spared. Except, of course, for those French who don't speak Wolof and are therefore missing out on this wonderful facet of Senegalese culture. Now, I know I'm going to go home wishing everyone peace and asking about their distant families when I don't even know the person. But it makes a large city feel small, with everyone open to greet you and have a conversation. It also makes me realize how much American culture is merely a layer of bubbles. Each person is rushing between his or her points in life, sometimes without even looking up to see what is around them. I didn't realize how much of myself I internalized until I was forced to tell everyone from the neighborhood guard, my maid, my host-mom, the lady who sells corn on the corner, the boy at the corner boutique, the owner of the pharmacy down the road, or the man washing taxis on the corner how I, my family, and my studies were going. And this is just the walk to school! This culture is so open and welcoming, and it only serves to show me how isolated each person is in American culture, walking past the same people everyday in complete anonymity.

“People travel to faraway places to watch, in fascination, the kind of people they ignore at home.” – Dagobert D. Runes