You May Now Kiss the Brides

Before leaving for Senegal, the aspect of my future life in the Peace Corps that most interested my students – besides the left hand as toilet paper phenomenon – was the fact that men could have more than one wife. Up to four, in fact, according to the Koran. “Americans seem to have an inexhaustible interest in polygamy,” anthropologist Paul Bohannan states in his fascinating, if slightly outdated, book Africa and Africans.

Gettin my groove on at a wedding.

 

Senegalese film-maker Ousmane Sembene must have known this when he filmed the movie Xala. The film opens with a government official of a newly-independent Senegal preparing for his third wedding. The first two wives, unsure of each other, are even more unsure about the prospect of a third co-wife.

Mamboy, the wife of my co-worker at the health post, was one day teasing another woman about being the second wife of her husband. “What’s wrong with that?” I asked, rather obtusely. “Would you want to be someone’s second wife?” Mamboy responded. I admitted that the idea wasn’t particularly appealing. She continued her defense: “When you’re the first wife, you get to be the queen.” Point taken. Mamboy, in any case, doesn’t have too much to worry about. When I asked her husband about his future marriage plans, he laughed. “Deux femmes, deux problèmes.”

 

The queen of my co-worker.

 

“Polygamy is part of your religious patrimony!” the foolish, and not altogether blameless, protagonist of Xala proclaims. Sembene sets the scene well. And while he’s pulling the viewer into the dramatic (yet often comical) scenes of shared domestic disputes, he’s meanwhile weaving a complex metaphor regarding the manner in which Senegal is being governed. In this case, to use Mamboy’s analogy – France is like the queen, ruling over the household of Senegal with a dominant and authoritative self-righteousness. The queen doesn’t share power very well, but when she has to (i.e. when Senegal becomes independent and demands self-rule), it is begrudgingly and with an air of superiority. And in the film, France, like the first wife, eventually has to pick up her belongings and leave.

Most of the men in my compound are all in some various state of trying to obtain a second wife. My host father, Sina, for example has a first wife living with him (my mom and namesake, Fatoumata). Sina’s second wife is Mahamba, and though they have a child together, she doesn’t yet live with us. (Her dowry hasn’t fully been paid yet.) I heard through the gossip mill that when my mom’s father moved to Paris, he and my mom were working hard to help Sina obtain the necessary papers to also live in France. But when Sina took a second wife, his jealous first wife got mad and put an end to the paper work. An outside source has described my mom as a lion – she’s intimidating and fierce and often gets her way. (Which is perhaps why Mahamba doesn’t yet live with us.)

To continue Sembene’s metaphor, Senegal marries a second wife. A group of (most likely French-) educated leaders assume the rôle of governing Senegal. This is a difficult position to be in – they must prove they are worthy of the rôle while simultaneously paying homage to the old vanguard. In fact, in Xala, the old vanguard never completely goes away. In every scene where there is a gathering of officials, there is always the brooding and watchful Frenchman in the background, influencing their every move. According to Sembene, the first wife is self-righteous and assuming, whereas #2 is jealous and easily influenced.

In my Senegalese family, I have three grandmothers. My grandfather, may his soul rest in peace, was an energetic fellow. Not only did he marry three women, he also founded the village in which I live. His first wife, Hawa, became blind the day before her husband, Soma, married his second wife, so she has never actually laid eyes on any of her co-spouses. Mama Hawa may be blind and toothless, but she’s not without her share of sass. “Soma accused me of going blind so I wouldn’t have to do any more work,” she told me one day with a big grin on her face. I was sitting next to her on her bed. “Did you agree with Soma’s decision to take two more wives?” I asked her. If Mama Hawa had eyes that worked, I’m sure she would’ve rolled them at me. “If I hadn’t agreed, do you think he would’ve done it?” she responded. Touché.

Sassy Mama Hawa

Now, perhaps, Sembene is looking to the third wife to know where the future of Senegal lies. In Xala, this future is bleak. Our unfortunate protagonist is left broke and alone after a curse renders him impotent. We hardly get to meet the third wife before their marriage is called off. Is Senegal also left impotent after bouts of outside (mis)rule and civil disputes? Who will lift the curse and lead our protagonist – and his country – to domestic bliss?