Berkley Center

It was once said that Senegalese are “95 percent Muslim, 5 percent Christian, and 100 percent animist.” After only a month here I can definitely vouch that this is true. On the surface, Senegal has all the hallmarks of an Islamic country. Five times a day, the call to prayer sounds out loudly from various mosques, men walk around fingering prayer beads, and expressions such as "As-salamu alaykum" and "Alhamdulillah" are part of everyday vernacular. Yet this also is a country where baobab trees are sacred, everyone wears protection charms known as gris-gris, and mysticism is alive and kicking.

A professor during class here commented that Islam is a river whose current is always the same, but whose color reflects the rocks over which it passes. Islam has crept slowly into West Africa since the twelfth century, allowing for Islam to blend with the indigenous religion, animism, to create a culture that is distinctly West African. Senegalese Muslims are not divided into Sunnis and Shi'ites, but rather into various brotherhoods that associate themselves with a religious leader and his teachings. There are several in Senegal; the most numerous is the Tijaniyya, but the most powerful is the Mouride brotherhood. 

Brotherhood allegiance is inherited by birth, and they provide more than just religious guidance. Every day when I walk to school, I see large white vans stuffed with people lumbering along the streets of Yoff, the suburb of Dakar that I live in. They are subsidized transportation provided by the Mouride brotherhood for all the people of Dakar. Routes are nonexistent, and so a good knowledge of the area is needed for their use, but they represent an important benefit that the brotherhoods provide for their people. 

A pilgrimage to Mecca is one of the five pillars of Islam and once again makes it their own. While the pilgrimage to Mecca is still of utmost importance, tomorrow over two million of Dakar’'s 11 million people will travel to Touba, the birthplace of Mouride Brotherhood founder Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba. Today the area is full of talk of those traveling to Touba, a city of about 500,000 people two and a half hours from Dakar. Business and most forms of transportation are slowed or completely closed as a fifth of the population goes to make homage to the memory of this spiritual leader. 

The brotherhoods are led by religious scholars known as marabouts, and I would be remiss to not discuss their effects. While wandering through Dakar, one cannot help but notice the scores of young boys wandering the streets carrying empty tomato sauce cans and begging for money. These are the talibé, boys entrusted into the marabou’ts care for Islamic instruction. To instill humility (so they say), the talibé beg for survival, and the community often responds in kind. Every day after lunch my host mother heaps piles of leftover lunch in a talibé’'s waiting can. Support for the poor, often encouraged by religion, is strong in Senegalese society. 

In addition to raising scores of talibé, the marabouts perform another function most clearly show the dynamic of Islamic and animism. The marabouts are responsible for the creation of gris-gris, protection charms made specifically for a person. Consisting of pieces of Qur'an in tiny pouches, most Senegalese wear them in a sort of belt underneath their clothing to protect themselves from danger and bring good luck. Even baby Abdou, my one-month-old host brother, has his gris-gris securely around his waist at all times. The marabout is strictly trained in the Qur'an, but he also ventures on his own to learn of animist mysticism which he incorporates into his gris-gris. The gris-gris without the mysticism is not possible, just as the verses are needed as well. These charms are not limited to Muslims; Dakar’'s Catholic minority gets theirs as well—only theirs contains Bible verses instead of ones from the Qur'an.

The gris-gris, brotherhoods, and talibé scratch at the surface of the way that religion penetrates into life here. Although religion here is palpable, it is not intrusive. It fits into the hum of life as naturally as the sun and the sand. Senegalese Islam, and indeed religion in Senegal, is interconnected and complex, but only if you choose to look beyond the surface. In my one month here I have just begun to scratch the surface and discover traditions, beliefs, and customs. I am looking forward to spending the next three months exploring the uniqueness of Senegal.