The Panegyric of the Champion: How Wolof Wrestlers Borrowed from Female Oral Genres to Win In and Outside the Arena
Marame Gueye
Traditional wrestling is a transnational phenomenon in Senegal and is considered the country’s national sport. But, làmb (traditional Senegalese wrestling) is no longer the same amateur and folkloric pastime. It is a professional sport in which wrestlers earn millions, and one would not know that there existed within làmb a Wolof panegyric genre of poetry and performance called bàkku. Bàkku was a performance in which a Wolof wrestler recited a reflexive poem and executed an exuberant dance at the end. In the 1990s, Camara and Mitsch were already lamenting the loss of originality in bàkku because wrestlers no longer displayed the verbal creativity that made bàkku a rich oral narrative of the self (‘A’jami Literature in Senegal: The Example of Sëriñ Muusa Ka’ 172). As traditional wrestling progressed into a capitalist mega sport with promoters pouring millions into matches, enticing young people who struggle with unemployment to see wrestling as a lucrative professional career, bàkku performances gradually disappeared. Some wrestlers tried to resurrect bàkku but soon realized they did not have the poetic talent of orators like Abdourahmane Ndiaye Falang, Ndiouga Tine, or Mame Gorgui Ndiaye who remain some of the greatest bàkkukat (performers of bàkku) in the history of traditional Senegalese wrestling. It is worth noting that Senegalese musicians like hip-hop singers still adopt bàkku aesthetics, which they consider closely related to the rap battle. While traditional Senegalese wrestling is increasingly the subject of scholarship, bàkku remains understudied because it does not fit into the oral genres performed by Wolof griots. Scholars primarily define bàkku as a genre in which wrestlers boast about their physical strength and self-aggrandize to impress the public and intimidate opponents. Babacar Mbaye views bàkku as an extroverted verbal performance in which the Wolof wrestler transgresses traditional caste hierarchy and embodies griot attributes by singing his own praises, therefore becoming his own griot (Mbaye 189). My examination of bàkku aligns with these definitions but argues that bàkku also borrowed from female genres like xaxar (verbal battles between women in a polygamous context) and taasu, reflexive poems women perform at family ceremonies in which they self-aggrandize. I use my work on xaxar and Lisa McNee’s theoretical approach to taasu to read bàkku as a gift to oneself and others. Within this gift economy, the wrestler poet denigrates opponents while entering a transaction relationship with audiences for their mutual benefit in and outside the arena. He gifts fans with a bàkku performance and in return, receives gifts of money and material goods. I use an interview I conducted with Mame Gorgui Ndiaye in 2014 in which he told me: ‘Bàkku taasu la rekk’ [Bàkku is just taasu], as well as one of his bàkku to demonstrate that bàkku adopted female oral aesthetics to taunt opponents, reward fans, and reinforce social relations outside the arena. In the second part of the article, I discuss how Mame Gorgui leveraged bàkku for economic gains.
TRADITIONAL SENEGALESE WRESTLING
As early as the 1960s, traditional wrestling was considered the national sport of Senegal, and today, it is still a vibrant subculture with a transnational fandom. Paulin Soumanou Vyera’s short documentary Làmb shows how newly independent Senegalese of all ages congregated at weekend wrestling events. Wrestling clubs, called ‘stables’, were often created along ethnic and locality lines. Aminata Sow Fall’s 1982 novel L’Appel de arènes [The Call of the Arenas] also shows the centrality of wrestling in Senegalese folklore. Today, there are several ecuries or wrestling schools around the country, comparable to riding stables, to which each wrestler is affiliated and pledges allegiance. These are often along ethnic lines. For example, there is the ecurie at Fass where Mame Gorgui belonged, populated mostly by the Wolof who live in and around the neighbourhood of Fass in Dakar. At any rate, these wrestlers have become mega-stars who sign multi-million CFA-franc contracts for a single match, significantly transforming the cultural institution as a result of this transactional capitalist approach.
Traditional Senegalese wrestling was an art form that combined physical prowess, music, dance, and poetry. All these aspects were essential to what made wrestling a rich community gathering. Wrestling matches were youth festivals that originated from farming communities such as the Séreer, who organized wrestling events called mbàppat at the end of harvest. Villages took turns hosting mbàppat, and each crowned a champion who later competed with winners from other towns in a general event called làmb sarale (Cissé, Parole chantée et communication sociale chez les Wolof du Sénégal 137). The form of wrestling at mbàppat is now called bëré simple (simple wrestling) because no hitting is allowed. Wrestlers prided themselves on their elegance of movement and agility. Scholars credit a Frenchman named Maurice Jacquin for introducing boxing into traditional wrestling. This form of wrestling is now called làmb, after a type of drum played by griots (Tang, Masters of the Sabar: Wolof Griot Percussionists of Senegal 37). Wrestlers still use some of the techniques of simple wrestling, but boxing moves are predominant in làmb.
Even when wrestling moved to arenas in urban areas, music, dance, and poetry continued to be quintessential components, and everyone participated in these performances. Griots sang to entice opponents to engage with each other. These songs are woyi làmb (wrestling songs), which still exist in wrestling. Griots also enunciated a bàkk to sing the praises of one particular wrestler, mostly deceased ones, to remind opponents of great champions who came before them. Drummers created bàkk, beats dedicated to a wrestler. Even fans participated in this rhythmic ambience as they danced on their way to mbàppat. This was called lagg (to hurry). During lagg, a group of fans or a wrestler and his entourage danced acrobatically towards the venue. New wrestlers also emerged from this entourage through active participation in the folklore of làmb.
MAME GORGUI NDIAYE
Mame Gorgui learned wrestling at mbàppat in his teens. He finished high school but did not pass his final exams, so his father took him out of school and sent him to apprentice as a mechanic. It was during that time that he started attending mbàppat. He learned his fighting skills at mbàppat where wrestlers used their wit to bring down opponents. To him, this was his most significant advantage when he entered ‘arena’ wrestling where hitting was allowed. However, his most important talent was his mastery of bàkku, which he says he learned by imitating Sassou Ndiaye, a senior wrestler who was also a skilled bàkkukat. Ndiaye noted that he honed his bàkku skills by listening to taasu that women performed at family gatherings.
Mame Gorgui Ndiaye was born in 1939. I met him at his home in Fass, a neighbourhood in Dakar where he has always lived. Fass is the wrestling hub where one of Senegal’s most prominent wrestlers, Mbaye Gueye, nicknamed Le Tigre de Fass (The Tiger of Fass), and his brother, Moustapha Gueye, lived (‘Touss ak Eladji Mame Gorgui Ndiaye dans l’oeil du tigre’.). He was not the strongest or most outstanding wrestler of his time, with a record of 101 wins, twenty-nine ties, and twenty-two losses spread over a career of twenty-seven years; but he was one the greatest bàkkukat. He was primarily known as ‘L’enfant chèri de Dakar’ (the Darling Child of Dakar), a nickname coined by Alassane Ndiaye Alou, a reputed Senegalese sports reporter who was also his elementary school teacher. He was also called ‘the wrestler poet’ by poet and first Senegalese President, Leopold Sedar Senghor. Ndiaye prides himself on being invited by President Senghor to perform for former Tunisian President Habib Bourguiba, who visited Senegal in 1965 (‘Le Voyage du President Bourguiba en Afrique: Le Senegal’). He also told of an anecdote in which he and other wrestlers met with Senghor, and the President performed one of Ndiaye’s bàkku.
THE ESSENCE OF BÀKKU
The Wolof, particularly the Lebou, a fishing community living in Cap Vert (now the region of Dakar), introduced bàkku into wrestling. During bàkku, the wrestler becomes a poet and praises himself, showing his verbal acumen. Many scholars use the word ‘bàkk’ to refer to bàkku, which undermines the reflexivity conveyed by the ‘u’ at the end. I follow Cissé, Keita (‘L’Auto-louange dans la lutte sénégalaise ou quand le panégyrisé se substitue au panégyriste’), and Rapinecz (‘Senegalese Wrestling Between Nostalgia and Neoliberalism’) in using ‘bàkk’ for the songs dedicated to wrestlers by griots or the drumbeat that a griot drummer creates specifically for a wrestler, and ‘bàkku’ for the reflexive poem performed by the wrestler. Etymologically, bàkku is similar to taasu. Taasu comes from the verb ‘taas’, which means praising or elevating someone by lauding their positive attributes. The ‘u’ at the end of ‘taasu’ reflects the reflexivity whereby a performer lauds her attributes to challenge and provoke rivals without naming them explicitly. Even though women sometimes dedicate a taasu to another person, the essence of taasu is reflexivity. Bàkku comes from bàkk, which means to praise a wrestler or someone who has done something extraordinary. Bàkk can be a poem or a drumbeat dedicated to the wrestler. Another similar oral form is kañ, a song performed during farm work to encourage labourers and cheer them up. When done by a labourer himself, it is called kañu. Therefore, as in taasu and kañu, bàkku is the appropriate term to convey the reflexivity of this oral performance by a wrestler. Taasu, is to taas oneself, kàñu is to kàñ oneself, and bàkku is to bàkk oneself. Mame Gorgui believes that bàkku is a form of taasu that Wolof wrestlers introduced because they were not skilled in njuug, an acrobatic dance that Séreer wrestlers did to greet the audience and display their muscles.
Beyond the etymological and reflexive similarities, bàkku parallels taasu because, as wrestlers self-praise, they also provoke rivals by contrasting their positive attributes to the assumed negative particularities of opponents without naming anyone. Elsewhere, I have shown that, during taasu and xaxar, praise is also a form of criticism because women use the concept of gaaruwaale – a form of criticism or attack in which the speaker does not name their target but offers enough detail for the addressee and audience to recognize who is implied in the speech – to insult a rival by singing their own or someone else’s praises (Gueye: ‘Modern Media and Culture in Senegal’ 2:33). Like taasu, bàkku are usually short poems in which a wrestler exaggerates his abilities and directly or indirectly attacks opponents. Wrestling matches took place on weekends. When a wrestler won, the following Sunday he would come to the arena to perform bàkku. In bàkku, wrestlers often talk about their physique or moral values. For example, they use praise poetry to set themselves apart from opponents. In the following bàkku attributed to Abdourahmane Ndiaye Falang, the speaker talks about how generous and irresistible he is.
Man rafet naa I am handsome
Tabe naa I am generous
Yéwén naa I am charitable
Àttan naa I am able
Lu ma am maye ko I give without limits
Janq man Young women love me
Caga man Divorced women love me
Njagamaar bu ma seen Any young lady who sees me
Dootul Dem Will stop in her tracks
Góor ñi sax Even the men
Da ñu ma xaw nob. Are sort of in love with me.
(Cissé 342)
Beyond the physical strength necessary to win, wrestlers revel in sex appeal. In this bàkku, the wrestler embodies two essential attributes. Not only is he handsome, but he also gives without measure. Wolof society values generosity, especially for men. He flaunts his irresistibility with women and ends the bàkku with a comedic poke at men, his opponents. This is similar to how women self-aggrandize during taasu. A popular taasu goes:
Bayre bi ma Yàlla may The appeal that God has given me
Ma ànd ak moom And that I possess,
Du ma ne rafet naa I am not saying I am beautiful
Waaye ñaawu ma lool. But I am not that ugly, either.
The female speaker highlights her appeal and claims to be modest by not openly saying that she is beautiful, but she does not agree that she is ugly either. This claim to modesty is thwarted by her first statement, in which she boasts about her appeal. This self-praise provokes those who might be jealous of her.
Ndiaye says he is naturally quiet, but his personality during bàkku was different. He used xaxar approaches to become an aggressive and cocky bàkkukat. Even during matches, he used words to ‘diminish’ his opponents’ venom. ‘Before the combat started, I told Babou Njambaan that I would not fight this time.’ But right before the referee blew his whistle, Ndiaye said he insulted Babou Njambaan, and the latter took the bait, furiously charging. Mame Gorgui used that uncalculated move to bring him down.
During bàkku, wrestlers rarely talk about losses because they aim to present a glossy image of themselves. However, sometimes wrestlers use bàkku to justify a loss or get verbal revenge against a winning opponent. Mame Gorgui Ndiaye said that during a fight with Babou Njambaan, he knocked out Njambaan’s tooth, but Njambaan won. So the following Sunday, Ndiaye came to the arena with a monkey perched over his shoulder and performed this bàkku:
Babou ngi nii, Here is Babou,
Baboon na ngi nii. Here is a baboon.
Yaa ma teree siiw, You prevented me from being famous,
Maa tax nga jaal! I am the one who caused you to lose your tooth!
Ndiaye used the monkey to make parallels between Babou Ndiambane’s first name, ‘Babou’ and ‘baboon’, indirectly calling him a baboon. This is a narrative strategy used in xaxar. In the following xaxar song, the first wives make fun of a bride by indirectly comparing her to a donkey whose hair is braided:
Ku ci amati mbaam Next time one has a donkey,
Létt ko, Braid its hair,
Séet bi da fa léttu! The bride has braided her hair!
(Gueye 1:161)
Ndiaye said that even though many opponents were physically stronger, they feared his verbal weapon of bàkku. Ndiaye’s bàkku combined effective delivery and comedic entertainment that annoyed his adversaries. Like the first wives do to new brides, Ndiaye used xaxar to verbally take his revenge over Babou Ndiambane and make his disappointed fans happy.
Mame Gorgui also used bàkku to bégal (make someone happy) his fans with the gift of performance. McNee writes that taasu are ‘selfish gifts’ that a performer offers to an audience’ and that ‘the individual persons involved in the exchange matter as much if not more than the exchange itself, which becomes a means for creating a relationship’ (Selfish Gifts: Senegalese Women’s Autobiographical Discourses 41). Bàkku aligns with this gift exchange, with the added difference that a wrestler uses the verbal space to prepare for real physical fights. Like taasu, bàkku is an autobiography and, as McNee argues, the ‘autobiographer initiates a gift exchange that allows her to give of her self. Furthermore, this gift of the self is selfish in another sense, for the biographer receives something from her audience in return’ (130). Bàkku is a performance and a gift of the self to others. Although bàkku shows verbal dexterity and aims at instilling fear in opponents, it is a negotiation of social relations beyond the arena. The Wolof wrestler uses the poetic and performative space to strengthen social and family ties because individual and collective identities are entwined in Wolof communities. During bàkku, the wrestler does not limit himself to listing his victories; he also documents his connections outside the arena. This is evident in the bàkku I analyse here.
BEAT THE DRUMS
Most bàkku do not have a title, and the keyword the wrestler uses the most becomes the title. For example, Mame Gorgui has a bàkku commonly called Jamil because it is dedicated to the religious leader Serigne Moustapha Sy Jamil, and he repeats the name Jamil as a refrain. The bàkku I primarily examine here is called Salar Njiin, because these are the first words that Mame Gorgui utters. But those words also can be a cue for the drummer to start playing since ‘njiin’ is a type of drum, and during taasu and other oral performances, the performer calls on the drummer by ‘rëkkal njiin’ (beat the njiin drum). Mame Gorgui utters the standard Muslim formula for starting an act, ‘bismilahi’ (In the name of Allah). This formula invokes Allah’s blessing and wards off the evil eye. Next, Ndiaye introduces himself to his audience through self-praise.
Mame Gorgui Ndiaye I, Mame Gorgui Ndiaye,
Sëtu’b Mareme Diene The grandchild of Marame Diene,
Baayi Fatou Ndiaye Father of Faty Ndiaye,
Niiróowu maa’k ñoom. I am not like them.
Baayi Mame Mareme Ndiaye Father of Mame Mareme Ndiaye
Réew maa ngi ma’y soow The country is talking about me,
Te ku réew mi’y soow And when the country is talking about you
Bóoba da ngaa siiw. It is because you are famous.
Ndiaye uses tagg, a form of praise poetry in which griots trace the lineage of people, to set himself apart from other wrestlers. This genealogy anchors him as a descendant of a great family, unlike adversaries who might not come from reputed families. Since, in Wolof culture, masculinity is significantly tied to the ability to procreate, praising himself based on fatherhood shows that he is an accomplished man. Furthermore, he highlights his successful career as both a reputed wrestler and an unparalleled bàkkukat.
Ndaanaan laa ñaar i yoon I am a master two times.
Da maa man ci bii boor I am good on this side
Man ci bee boor. I am able on the other side.
Most wrestlers are strong hitters either with their right hand or left. Ndiaye is strong on both. Many of his opponents talk about the strength of his blows. He uses the space of the bàkku to locate himself in time and let those who might have forgotten him know that he is still a champion. This mastery of two ‘sides’ can also be a reference to him being both an accomplished wrestler and an excellent bàkkukat.
Ndiaye continues to praise himself using his social status by highlighting his wives’ attributes.
Maa ka baax i jeeg! Oh how lovely my ladies are!
Soo demee Faas When you go to Fass
Binta nga fa’y baax. Bineta is there being nice.
Masculinity is also about being able to marry and support women. Mame Gorgui shows that he is a successful man with many virtuous wives. Establishing that his wives are excellent and honourable tells his opponents that he has a great support system of women behind him. Ndiaye’s emphasis on his wives’ virtues serves several purposes. It suggests that he is a successful male whose masculinity is proven by his three wives and many children, but also, because his wives are good women, he has all the chances to win over his opponents. He echoes his predecessor Falang Ndiaye, one of the greatest bàkkukat of all time.
Yaari jongoma ma’y yafal Two women at a ripe age feed me,
Te laaju ñu lenn ci man And they require of me no work,
Ludul nelaw. But only sleep.
Likewise, in his bàkku, Ndiaye shows that three good women care for him. The praise for his wives is also a display of fairness.
| Ndeye Fall and Penda Fall, |
| Whomever you say is the nicest, |
| She is the one you like the most. |
Waaye ñoom ñépp a saxoo baax. | But they’re all bred in goodness! |
As a polygamous man, he is supposed to treat all his wives equally. As he uses bàkku to brag about his many good wives, he communicates his love and admiration to them. He shows that he is a fair husband, even instructing the audience to assess his wives’ characters objectively.
Women play an essential role in the career of the wrestler. The ngemb, the bottom attire that wrestlers wear, is made of a light cloth which is usually the wrapper of their wife or mother. But it must be a woman that the wrestler believes to be virtuous. It is thought that the wrapper of a woman who is not virtuous brings bad luck. Women also provide the twelve pieces of wrappers that the wrestler going to the arena to perform a bàkku pins around his waist, creating a pompous swirling effect as he moves. Women trusted by the wrestler and his entourage also cook the meals he eats before a fight lest someone puts spells in the food.
Next, Ndiaye talks about his relationship with Serigne Mbacke Sokhna Lo, a leader of the Mourid brotherhood at the time.
Serigne Mbacke Sokhna Lo Serigne Mbacke Sokhna Lo,
Mag i Abdou Fata Mbacke Older brother of Abdou Fata Mbacke
Ak Abdourahmane And Abdourakhmane
Abdou Fata Abdou Fata,
Abdou Khar Abdou Khar,
Aliou ak Galas Aliou and Galas.
Yéen na ma safoo lool You are the ones who are very fond of me.
Man Ndiaye ma safoo leen I, Ndiaye, am fond of you,
Bëgg leen, I love you,
Naw leen. I esteem you.
Mysticism plays a massive part in traditional Senegalese wrestling. There is a spectacular and performative display of the use of the mystic to help win over opponents. Wrestlers come to games with their mystical coach, who concocts spells openly before and during matches. Wrestlers use live animal sacrifices in front of audience members and their opponents. Beyond this public display of traditional mysticism, wrestlers also use spells and prayers from Muslim clerics. Clerics are known to back wrestlers and sometimes openly state that their favoured wrestlers will not be defeated as long as the wrestler is their disciple. It was the case of Mouhamed Ndaw, aka ‘Tyson’, who claimed never to use anything other than the prayers of his Cheikh Abdoulaye Niasse, the leader of the Niassene brotherhood.
This section of Ndiaye’s bàkku is fascinating because Ndiaye is not a member of the Mourid brotherhood, led at the time by Serigne Mbacke Sokhna Lo. In one of his most famous bàkku, commonly called Jamil, Ndiaye asserts his devotion to the Tijani brotherhood, by singing the praises of Serigne Moustapha Sy Jamil. In Jamil, he pledges allegiance to the latter and states:
Maa ngi ci yaw I am with you
Aduna’k Alaaxira! On earth and in heaven!
Jamil was a gift to his spiritual leader. During our conversation, Ndiaye shared that besides being his spiritual leader, Serigne Moustapha Sy Jamil was his friend, who had done much for him. He told a story in which one of his wives had a complicated pregnancy, and when she was about to deliver, the doctors could not do much for her. According to Ndiaye, Serigne Moustapha Sy Jamil gave him a potion for his wife, and when she drank it, she gave birth immediately without complications. It could be that after Jamil, Ndiaye became aware that his public allegiance to the Tijani brotherhood could alienate his Mourid fans. In our conversation, he shared that Serigne Mbacke Sokhna Lo was one of his fans. Serigne Mbacke Sokhla was also known to be one of the most reconciliatory Mourid spiritual leaders. Therefore, Ndiaye’s gift of bàkku to him could be a way to create connections with his fans across Muslim brotherhood affiliations.
Beyond having a spiritual leader, a wrestler must also have a good drummer with whom he is rhythmically and mystically connected. The relationship between the drummer and the wrestler is very close and is very important to a wrestler’s success. Ndiaye dedicates a portion of the bàkku to his drummer Vieux Seng Seng Faye.
Géwél ndaanaan na ma’y jiin. | It is a master drummer who serenades me. |
| You are not a drummer who brings bad luck. |
Ndiaye’s relationship with his drummer spanned his whole wrestling career, and they continued this close relationship until Vieux Seng Faye died in 2015. Like Ndiaye, Vieux Seng Faye or Seng Seng was a champion drummer. Seng Seng Faye came from a long line of griot drummers from Dakar, and even today, his children are some of the best drummers in Senegal. He was the father of Mbaye Dieye Faye, Youssou N’Dour’s famed drummer and long-time companion. Seng Seng and Ndiaye were age mates and lived in the same neighbourhood. His drumming was essential to Ndiaye’s performances, allowing the two to collaborate in the delivery.
Abdourahmane Ndiaye Falang also had the same close relationship with his drummer, Baye Bouna Bass. In Wolof culture, rhythm and mysticism go together as the Wolof consider the drum the propriety of jiins, spirits with whom the drummer must be in tune to excel in his art. Every great wrestler should possess the ability to move to the sound of the drum.
| How I recognize the cries of the nder drum |
| How I am in tune with the cries of the nder drum. |
The connection between a wrestler and the drum is evident in tuus, the moment when a wrestler announces his arrival in the arena by making incantations and facing the four cardinal points. The wrestler listens to the drums and performs an intricate dance guided by the bàkk, a beat specifically created for him by the master drummer, which is sometimes a tonal rendition of verbal incantations.
In the same careful manner that wrestlers choose the women whose wrappers they wear, they select their drummers. Trust and collaboration are essential as some spells and prayers are placed on the drums. When challenging opponents and looking for future combats, the wrestler uses the master drum and stands it in the middle of the wrestling ring. Any other wrestler who wants to take on the challenge would knock down the drum. The wrestler’s bàkk often become popular dance tunes that other musicians adopt. Many drummers became famous because of a bàkk they created. For example, wrestler Mouhamed Ndaw Tyson’s drummer, Bada Seck, became famous in the late 1990s when he produced a bàkk for Tyson. He became a recording artist, leveraging his association with Tyson through bàkk. Ndiaye’s gift of bàkku to his drummer reverts the roles because now he is the one who serenades Seng Seng.
Wrestlers also directly made fun of each other as women do during xaxar. This is usually done at the end of the bàkku when they list their wins and tactics to bring the opponent down. After using his social relations to praise himself, Ndiaye jubilates.
Boy Bambara Boy Bambara,
Ba ma’y bëre’k moom When I was wrestling with him,
Sandang laa ko dóor I hit him with a sandang
Bàyyi ko mu’y jéex And left him searching randomly,
Mu’y waràmbiic He was doing that waràmbic dance,
Ma dóor ko mu toog. I hit him, and he sat down.
Wrestling is about masculinity and being able to dominate an opponent physically. In this part of the bàkku, Mame Gorgui uses direct speech to poke fun at those he defeated. He boasts about Boy Bambara’s disorientation under his blows and compares him to a woman twerking. The bàkku continues in this manner until all his wins are listed.
MATERIAL VALUE OF BÀKKU
Bàkku also gave wrestlers economic opportunities outside the arena. Mame Gorgui told me that bàkku gave him more than physical wrestling did. Even after he retired from wrestling, he was invited to matches and on the radio to perform bàkku, and people considered him first as a bàkkukat. Ndiaye also completed the pilgrimage to Mecca thanks to fans who saw him as a national treasure because of his mastery of bàkku. He performed the following bàkku to commemorate his trip to Mecca:
Yegg naa, I have gone
Yegg naa I have gone
Yegg naa I have gone
Yegg naa ba ca biir Kaaba nga Inside the Kaaba
Julli fa, Performed by prayers there,
Fasifa fa I said my prayers there,
Coow la jolli! The rumour spread!
The melody and some of the words of this bàkku are not initially his, but he inserted himself and his experiences into it. It is the case for most bàkku as wrestlers borrow from each other, incorporating their experiences into existing narratives. Women also borrow from each other during taasu or xaxar. In this bàkku, Ndiaye boasts about his pilgrimage and the people who made it possible; however, according to him, many do not know the intended meaning of ‘The rumour spread.’ When Ndiaye went to Mecca that year, it was falsely rumoured that he had died there. He performed this bàkku to memorialize his pilgrimage, a prestigious accomplishment for Muslims, and respond to the rumours of his presumed death.
Ndiaye’s ultimate leveraging of bàkku outside the arena was earlier in his career. Until the 1990s, wrestlers had jobs, and wrestling was just a passion or a side hustle that did not earn them lots of money. The documentary Làmb refers to wrestlers as farmers, herders, and fishermen (vyera). For example, Double Less, one of the most prominent champions of Senegalese wrestling, was a public transportation driver. Mame Gorgui proudly tells how he leveraged his bàkku skills to secure a job. In the late 1950s, right before Senegal’s independence from France, one of Ndiaye’s friends who worked at the water company, SONES (Societé National des Eaux du Senegal), invited him to perform at a celebration at work. The director of SONES then, a Frenchman, was so dazzled with Ndiaye’s bàkku performance that he videotaped it.
Later, Ndiaye says that the director invited him to watch the tape in his office. He gave Ndiaye 25,000 CFA francs (approximately US$41–$45 in 2023 currency) as a token of his appreciation, but Mame Gorgui refused the money. ‘I said to him, I do not want money; I want a job.’ Ndiaye had already received his driver’s licence, which was rare for Senegalese local Africans at that time. The Frenchman hired him on a three-month probation. One day, one of the comptrollers was out, and the company was short-staffed; when the director found out that Ndiaye could read and write, he asked him to take the absent comptroller’s place. Ndiaye was later hired permanently and moved up the ranks. Thanks to bàkku and the socio-economic networks it opened for him, Ndiaye enjoyed a long and fulfilling career at the Senegalese Water Company, from where he retired in the 2000s. With a smile, Mame Gorgui told me, ‘life is like a wrestling game; you need to know when to make a move’. Because he knew wrestling was not a sustainable career, he used the networking opportunities from bàkku and created a professional future for himself.
CONCLUSION
Bàkku is a male genre as it was performed in wrestling. But wrestlers were inspired by female oral forms like taasu and xaxar, which use reflexivity and comedic performance to engage in a transactions with the audiences. In the bàkku discussed in this article, which he performed at the end of his career, Mame Gorgui Ndiaye lists his victories and shows what made him a champion wrestler. Beyond documenting his illustrious career, Ndiaye shows that he indeed was a master on two fronts: he is a wrestler and an orator. This bàkku demonstrates his skills as an orator and shows that bàkku was an essential part of wrestling. The text indicates that wrestling is not just a physical sport; it is a sport that involves having social connections, wit, and a strong persona. A champion wrestler must come from a great family, have virtuous wives, a great Serigne, a trusted master drummer, and have strong social ties. Furthermore, bàkku had economic value outside the arena, as wrestlers could use their mastery of bàkku to entertain patrons and get material compensation for their performance, as do women skilled in taasu.
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