One of the most notable urban characteristics of Dakar, Senegal is its language, which divides its inhabitants, the Dakarois, into social, religious, and ethnic categories. Wolof, the most commonly spoken ethnic language in Dakar, traces back to pre-colonial histories of the city and is more representative of the Dakarois than French, the colonial language and legacy. French gives the impression of an elitist language throughout the city, representing a privileged access to higher education and politics as well as an aura of “civilization.” Wolof, on the other hand, in its various forms could be either an indicator of rural poverty, Murid religion, or Dakarois identity. In the context of the city, the French colonial legacy stands out in the language of public schooling and government dealings, whereas Wolof is seen more in colloquial situations—at street markets and in local businesses. When looking at the post-colonial status of the city, both French and Wolof appear to carry their own colonial legacies. Yet the rise of “Urban Wolof” and code switching indicate that French and Wolof are not mutually exclusive, but can be spoken in the same conversation and even used in the same sentences. French and Wolof are not only colonial legacies, but they also contribute to the unique components of Urban Wolof and continue to shape the politicized linguistics of the city.
Before the French colony was created in Senegal, Wolof was simply another means of expression amongst the various ethnic groups in Senegal. Wolof is one of six recognized ethnic languages in Senegal, which include Serer, Mandinka, Pulaar, Diola, and Soninke. Each ethnic group’s language is extremely important in defining ethnicity and cultural difference. These respective ethnic languages corresponded to the various ethnic groups, which were dispersed throughout the country. Wolof contains lexicon that are borrowed from many different languages and cultures, the oldest being Arabic, which dates back to West African Islamicization in the 11th century. [1] This also led to the establishment of Koranic schools during the 14th century, further spreading the knowledge and practice of Arabic in Senegal, as well as establishing the backbones of some of the first Senegalese urban settlements such as Ndakaru, or what is known today as Dakar. Arabic is still recognizable in Wolof today, particularly in the Wolof greeting “Salaam aleikum.” In addition to Arabic, English influenced Wolof during the 17th and 18th centuries when Senegalese individuals were exposed to English speakers while taking jobs in the British colony of Senegambia. However, the language that holds the strongest influence over Wolof is that of its colonizer.
The French influence on Senegalese culture is undeniable, particularly when looking at language and language politics. The French arrived in Senegal during the 17th century as a result of French commercial trade along the river Senegal, and shortly after began colonizing the country. Many methods of assimilation were put in place, including the establishment of French schools, which were meant to wipe out the “primitive” and “unsophisticated” ethnic language. This assimilation process “was designed to make local people use only French as their major means of communication and at the same time feel grateful to have the ‘favor’ of speaking the ‘super-language’ of the ‘civilized masters.’”[2] This newly-introduced lingual system represented an elitist educated class, which can also be seen in the preferable status of les originaires, Senegalese inhabitants of the main French colonial cities in Senegal who attained French citizenship. French schooling also introduced the roman alphabet in Senegalese society, which created another level of exclusion; not only were many Senegalese unfamiliar with French, they were also illiterate in the roman alphabet, which only furthered the distance between the educated and uneducated.
In addition to French, Wolof is ironically a colonial legacy as well. There are several different ethnic groups and ethnic languages in Senegal, but only Wolof spread so rapidly across the country, a result of the impact of the colonial state. This phenomenon traces back to the French colony, where the major colonial towns were built on Wolof territory.[3] When the country became independent in 1960, these post-colonial towns became centers of urban activity with prospects of employment, housing, education and community. Thus, the population of Senegal flocked to areas that were previously Wolof territories and where Wolof was the primary ethnic language spoken.
Wolof’s other moment in the spotlight occurred during the crux of the Murid movement lead by Sheikh Amadou Bamba, who used language as a way to fight back against the French colonial rule and stay true to his Muslim religion. Sheikh Amadou Bamba ensured the victory of Muridism over the French’s attempt at assimilation by demystifying French colonial authority: “In recognizing no other authority than that of God, [Bamba] destroyed the foundational base of the colonial domination.”[4] As one of the only religious brotherhoods in Senegal to survive the assimilation of colonization, the religious and linguistic behaviors of Murids continue to be “anti-imperialist symbols and means of assertion of Murid African identity.”[5] In this light, the persistent use of code switching between deep Wolof, a native version of the tribal language associated with tribal tradition and rural poverty, and Arabic Wolof is seen as religious empowerment and imperial resistance. French is seen as a culture eraser that the Murid community strived to keep away from, and ultimately succeeded in keeping their culture unbroken. Although the Murids eventually adopted French, their religious texts hold on to the histories and traditions that are carried through Wolof and Arabic.
A notable moment of French resistance and Wolof reclamation occurred during the Wolofisation movement that reached its peak between 1967 and 1971, only a decade after Senegalese independence. The movement had many goals, including making Wolof the official language, as Wolof was more linguistically accessible than French and unrelated to the French colonial state. The movement’s primary leader was Cheikh Antia Diop, a scholar and politician who fought for literate Wolof in universities; Wolof was not taught as a written language in any level of schooling, and its presence was extremely limited in the world of academia. Cheikh Antia Diop argued that “what you could write in French you could write just as well in Valaf,” and believed transcribing important texts in Wolof so that they could be more accessible.[6] Diop’s proposition was especially popular in Dakar at the time as President Leopold Senghor embraced the language and culture of the French, which for many Senegalese citizens contradicted Senegal’s political independence from France, the people’s long-term oppressor and vehemently resented colonizer. The choice of French as an official formalized language contrasts with the popular use of Wolof both in and outside of the home. Wolof is a first language for many, and the Wolof ethnic group is spreading in congruence with its language.[7] In addition, Wolof is commonly used as the language of commerce in Dakar, and can be found in situations of commercial peanut agriculture, sale and trade in Dakar markets, and Muridism. In “The Shadow Politics of Wolofisation,” Donald Cruise O’Brien describes this phenomenon as a way for Senegalese individuals to take advantage of the economic and social system in Senegal’s urban spaces, including Dakar and Touba: “As a Tukulor becomes a Wolof by going to town to sell cloth, so a Serer becomes a Wolof by turning over his fields to groundnut farming or by looking to Mouride saintly leadership.”[8] And although French is the official language of the state, Wolof makes its way into state conversations as well. French is the “language of authority and of instruction, the language in which the orders are given,” while “Wolof is the language of collusion and of evasion, the language in which the orders are most effectively circumvented.” Thus, even with a formalized and institutionalized use of French in the state, the language of the Dakarois community still makes its way into government buildings and official meetings. “A Wolof language lead in the corridors of state power can be traced back to colonial times,” O’Brien points out, “with state recruitment among the ethnic Wolof around the colonial capitals of St Louis and Dakar,” which further strengthens the case to be made for Wolof’s colonial legacy.[9]
Because of all of these common occurrences of Wolof in private, public, and official spaces, Cheikh Antia Diop made the argument that Wolof deserves to be formalized in parallel with French at universities and schools. However, in order to achieve this, supporters of Wolofisation had to convince President Senghor of the language’s value and deserved formality. Ironically, “the most ardent advocates of written Wolofisation were often those who had already been through the best of French-language instruction, some of the more prominent of them were French nationals.”[10] They were privileged enough to rebuke the French education that they were privileged to, whilst “most Wolof speakers … wanted to see more and better French-language instruction, as a passport to occupational and geographical mobility for their children,” a desire that was understood by Senghor. Many parents were worried that if Wolof were institutionalized in schools, their children would lose the opportunity to learn French and thus would give up the prospects that came with the language. But the strongest argument against the official Wolofization of academic institutions related to Senghor personally, and that was his own Serer ethnicity. In 1971, the Senegalese government officially recognized all six ethnic national languages in no particular order, reminding the Wolof “that they were neither alone nor recognized as pre-eminent.”[11] Nonetheless, despite the valid proclamation that Senegal has more than one ethnic group that deserves recognition, Wolof is the most popularly used, studied, and widespread language that only continues to expand its territory. And yet, the existence of French appears to settle the friction among other ethnic groups in Dakar in that it exists as a language outside of Senegalese culture, and thus does not favor one group over another. Furthermore, the use of French in Senegalese society opens many new and exciting linguistic and cultural doors.
The use of Urban Wolof in Dakar is so common that an encounter with pure Wolof or pure French is jarring and noticeable. Deep Wolof in Dakar is associated with rural communities and a lack of modernism. “To be linguistically pure … is to be out of touch,” and individuals who speak pure Wolof are called kawkaw or hicks.[22] On the other hand, the use of pure French in an excessive manner categorizes the speaker as “a perhaps too willing victim of the French civilizing mission.”[23] Thus, code switching in Dakar provides complexity, subtlety, and excitement in Dakarois language politics.
Code switching creates harmony between the linguistic colonial and historical legacies in post-colonial Dakar. 21st century Griots, traditional West African storytelling-performers, take advantage of code switching and various lexicons, and use Wolof, Arabic, and French to enhance their performances with added effect. “[Wolof] is the language of performance and is the culture carrier; Arabic is the language of the Islamic faith; and French is the medium of modernity.”[24] Author Kofi Anyidoho commends the Griot in using oral literature “to update the past, to make the past alive and relevant to the present, and…project the present into the future.”[25] In addition, Griots use certain written codes to keep themselves aware of certain transitions and places of importance in their oral epics. The Wolof Griot primarily writes in Arabic and writes down Wolof words in Arabic (known as Wolofal). This is because of how the Qur’an heavily influences the Wolof epic, as well as “Arab and Islamic lore and folklore.”[26] French is not exempt from this equation and carries additional importance in the Wolof epic. French presents itself as a superior European language to that of African Wolof, and “is perceived as a world language, a modern tool of communication, and…a written language, having a written grammar and dictionary.”[27] Because of these Francophone advantages, the Wolof Griot takes advantage of this social and structural superiority by borrowing French words to incorporate into epics. Many Senegalese Griots still find French to be alienating and elitist, especially as it appears to threaten their “native culture and identity.” However, they are aware that “French is the language of education [and] modernity.”[28] Each language plays a crucial role in traditional Senegalese Griot performances, and thus each has an important place in social and political fabrics in Dakar.
Dakar Wolof presents itself as a crucial player in the city’s language politics. When structural adjustment programs were introduced in 1981, the public education system lost funding and practically collapsed, which left many without a proper French linguistic education, in addition to infrastructural calamity throughout other institutions in Dakar. The Set-Setal movement is seen as a strong reaction to the neoliberalisation of the state, and the movement was historically known for its participatory youth acting in an “aesthetic revolution…carried out in the streets and on the walls of Dakar.”[29] Set-Setal, literally translating to “clean” and “clean up,” was a reactionary social movement responding to the lack of sanitation in the city by Dakar’s youths. Although Set-Setal’s highlighted accomplishments relate to physical and structural changes in the city’s cleanliness and waste infrastructures, there was another more subtle linguistic movement at bay. The movement’s songs and comics, commonly used to transmit information and attitudes, are peppered with Wolof and Urban Wolof. This representation of urban identity clashed with Leopold Sanghor’s desire for “people to speak French ‘comme (des) bourgeois de Paris’” and reinforced Wolof’s place in contemporary Senegalese urban societies.[30] Boy Dakar and Ass et Oussou, comics that was published in congruence with the movement, also achieved a published and literate version of roman Urban Wolof that was previously unavailable. Set-Setal legitimized the “urban language by committing it to written form,” which additionally legitimized the urban identity of those living post-colonial Dakar; the “Wolofone” country in which they lived was anything but formally recognized—Wolof is not understood as culturally significant to Senegal outside of the sphere of the tribal language’s reach— but the Toubab (tourist, white, or Western) borrowings contribute to the unique urban identity that is vibrant and evolving in Dakar.[31] The Set-Setal movement marks a strong public expression of the identity of Urban Wolof and how it is valued in the context of Dakar.
Urban Wolof is exemplary of how multilingual cities are places of linguistic harmony and not necessarily friction. In the case of Dakar, Urban Wolof provides a unique and specialized identity to the city’s inhabitants, and elevates the language used with aspects of modernity. In addition, the existence of both French and Wolof provide multiple advantages to urban life. Although one would expect that the Senegalese would resent the language of their colonizer and attempt to eradicate its influence and presence in their verbal and written exchanges, “language attitudes and practices on the ground are in fact far more complex and subtle, and, of these, code switching is an informative and exciting embodiment.”[32] But what remains an obstacle is a lingua franca versus an official language. In many conversations that I had with various Dakarois, they expressed their resentment to French’s present day existence as an official and formalized language in the city. Their concerns relate to the fact that French is spoken but not understood by all, a problem that extends to the Senegalese national anthem- a French anthem that many cannot translate. Thus, the main solutions lie either in the formalization of Wolof or improving the accessibility of French. Urban Wolof is a place where the two languages can exist in harmony, but it still exists as informal and illegitimate in comparison to its colonial influencer. A compromising solution could be to literarily or academically formalize Urban Wolof and legitimize the language that carries so much identity and pride in Dakar. Until then, Wolof operates in the informal sphere, like much of Dakar’s rich and identifying characteristics, and hopefully a day will come when the hybrid language can leave the shadows and enter the spotlight of legitimacy.
***
Samantha Asher graduated from Gallatin in May 2017 with a concentration in the displacement of humans from the natural world and a minor in French. This essay was written after a trip to Dakar, Senegal in the summer of 2016, and it was one of her favorite written pieces of her undergraduate career! Although most of her studies covered environmental issues and philosophies, she has always loved the French language, and she was excited to explore its relationship with Senegalese culture.
Photos were taken by the author and were originally displayed at the 2017 Gallatin Arts Festival.
[1] Ngom, F. (2002). Linguistic borrowing as evidence of the social history of the Senegalese speech community, 158, 37–51.
[2] Ngom, F. (2002). Linguistic borrowing as evidence of the social history of the Senegalese speech community
[3] Brien, D. C. O. (2016). The shadow-politics of Wolofisation
[4] Ngom, F. (2016). Linguistic Resistance in the Murid Speech Community in Senegal
[5] ibid
[6] Ngom, F. (2016). Linguistic Resistance in the Murid Speech Community in Senegal
[7] Brien, D. C. O. (2016). The shadow-politics of Wolofisation
[8] ibid
[9] ibid
[10] ibid
[11] ibid
[12] ibid
[13] Ngom, F. (2002). Linguistic borrowing as evidence of the social history of the Senegalese speech community
[14] France, P. U. De. (2016). Code Switching in Dakar Author ( s ): Jill Taylor Published by : Presses Universitaires de France Stable 15 : 36 UTC 31(1995), 63–78.
[15] Swigart, L. (2016). Two codes or one ? The insider’s view and the description of codeswitching in Dakar
[16] Ibid
[17] ibid
[18] France, P. U. De. (2016). Code Switching in Dakar Author ( s ): Jill Taylor
[19] Brien, D. C. O. (2016). The shadow-politics of Wolofisation,
[20] Swigart, L. (2016). Two codes or one ? The insiders ’ view and the description of codeswitching in Dakar
[21] Laughlin, F. M. C., & Mclaughlin, F. (2001). Dakar Wolof and the configuration of an urban identity, 14(2), 153–172.
[22] Brien, D. C. O. (2016). The shadow-politics of Wolofisation, 36(01), 25–46.
[23] L. Swigart, ‘Cultural Creolisation and language use in post-colonial Africa: the case of Senegal’, in Africa 64, 2 (1994), 176.
[24] Diop, S. (2006). The Wolof Epic: From Spoken Word to Written Text. Research in African Literatures, 37(3), 120–132.
[25] Anyidoho, Kofi. “Mythmaker and Mythbreaker: The Oral Poet as Earwitness.” African Literature in its Social and Political Dimensions. Ed. Eileen Julien et al. Washington, DC: Three Continents P, 1986. 5-13
[26] Diop, S. (2006). The Wolof Epic: From Spoken Word to Written Text.
[27] ibid
[28] ibid
[29] Laughlin, F. M. C., & Mclaughlin, F. (2001). Dakar Wolof and the configuration of an urban identity,
[30] ibid
[31] ibid
[32] France, P. U. De. (2016). Code Switching in Dakar Author ( s ): Jill Taylor