Uncle Wolof

The Wolof have a tradition in story telling. When they reach the end of the story, they announce the moral by stating "Uncle Wolof says..."

And so it was when I went to visit fellow PCV Rin at her site, her host father shared a story with us after dinner.



Rin taking a stroll through the bush.

 A lizard lived in the house of an old woman. Every time the lizard tried to leave the house, a snake would appear and try to eat the lizard. This would cause a bit of commotion, which concerned a neighboring pigeon. One day this pigeon decided to ask for outside help in the struggle between snake and lizard. The pigeon went to the horse.

Horse, can you help quell the fighting between snake and lizard? the pigeon asked. The horse responded, it's not my problem.

Then the pigeon went to the cow. Cow, can you help calm the struggle between snake and lizard? The cow replied, it's not my problem.

So the pigeon, frustrated, went to the chickens. Chickens, please help me end the fighting between snake and lizard. Nope, the chickens replied, it's not our problem.

And so the pigeon returned home disheartened. And then one day, the situation worsened. The lizard once again tried to leave the house. And once again the snake tried to eat him. They fought in the tree, wrapped themselves around each other, struggled, and finally fell through the roof of the old woman's house and into the furnace she had lit to stay warm. The commotion caused the fire to flare up, catching all in it. Sadly, the old woman died in the fire.

Funeral preparations were made. The horse was harnessed and ridden from house to house to announce the sad news. He was worked so hard and so long, that by the end of the day, he keeled over, dead.

The cow was slaughtered to provide food for the funeral attendees.

In all the busy-ness of the funeral preparations, the extended family forgot to feed the chickens, and they died.

Uncle Wolof says, in a community we all play a part. We have a responsibility to help each other out.



The Wolof word for tamarind - dakar - was borrowed to name the
capital of Senegal. And like the seed, Dakar is a sour, hard place.

I must admit that one of the reasons I wanted to visit Rin in her village is to discover the reason why the Wolofs have such a bad reputation amongst the other ethnic groups. If you ask my villagers, they will tell you the Wolofs are greedy cheats. Harsh words, indeed.

The question begs to be asked - why do other ethnic groups have such a strong negative reaction to the Wolof? It was this question I sought to answer by visiting Rin's village of Sakhange. When I posed this to Rin, she voiced many of the same complaints most Peace Corps Volunteers have - a laid back attitude towards work that sometimes gets confused for laziness, and a sense of humor and mirth towards life, which is sometimes directed towards newcomers trying to learn their language. Nothing new there.

When I posed this question, a bit more diplomatically, to the Wolof teacher in my village, he looked at me with kind, searching eyes and asked "In what regards do people have these reactions to us?" I wasn't sure how to answer. This particular teacher is one of the kindest people I've met here in Senegal. In fact, most of the Wolof teachers in my village are. When my villagers refer to "those dishonest Wolof," it is in regards to the merchants in the market in Kedougou, the outsiders who are trying to establish a home here.

Perhaps a better question to be asked is "What are the various ethnic groups' concepts of 'foreigner'?" The majority of my own negative interactions with the Wolof were all in Dakar, and we can't overlook the sometimes destructive consequences of urbanization. Also, let's keep in mind that I don't speak Wolof. This hugely alters my interaction with them.

So what does Uncle Wolof have to say about all this? He would say it's much more complex than writing off those "bad Wolof." Just judging by my stay with Rin, they are lovely and hospitable and entertaining and generous.

A Rare Breed

Eat butthole!

I was a bit shocked when my PCV friend Bill translated this for me. Apparently, it is a common Sereer expression, directed towards kids who are acting up.

I had gone to visit Bill in his village of Sambande. I wanted to understand the Sereer, an ethnic group that exists only in Senegal, and is not the majority anywhere except in tiny villages. Like Sambande. But to understand the Sereer, a member of the Pulaar language family, one has to understand the lens through which I observed them.

Bill Dyer is known by some as an eccentric musician from South Carolina, by others as a fiercely independent wanderer. He is the type of person to sit in his hut for hours, staring at the corner deep in thought, i.e. the perfect volunteer. It's no wonder Peace Corps placed Bill with the Sereers, a group independent in their own right.

When Islam swept through West Africa, they had a fairly easy time converting the various ethnic groups. The Muslims were less successful, however, with the Sereers. Some converted, some didn't. When the French colonized many hundreds of years later, they had a special place in their hearts for the Sereers. Without the religious and cultural ties to Islam, the Sereers were more susceptible to French influence. The first two presidents of independent Senegal were Sereer (and Senegal has only had four presidents, total).

Other famous Sereers, Bill was eager to point out: Youssouf N'Dour (Senegal's most well-known musician) and Yekini (the wrestler).

That night, over our dinner of millet couscous and milk, the kids crowded around. They had become accustomed to Bill and his strange mannerisms, but two toubabs were a real oddity for them.

Bill was quick to put them in their place.

"Eat butthole!"