Senegal's Traditional Wrestling Evolves
Senegal's Traditional Wrestling Evolves:
In New Senegal, No Holds Barred
Migration Changes Face of Ancient Sport:
By Emily Wax
"DAKAR, Senegal -- In his dark, concrete room in a congested Dakar neighborhood, Lamine Mane, a professional wrestler, and several friends huddled over a bundle of faded photographs.
The frayed stack of old pictures showed some of the traditional wrestlers who generations ago performed on the soft green grass in villages across West Africa. On those family-filled evenings, peasant children would drop their mundane chores to watch their fathers achieve glory in a five-minute match.
There were no headlocks. No hitting. No biting. At the end of the match, a team of wise elders announced the winner. Women sang praises to the loser to heal his disappointment, then everyone feasted on succulent goat and rice.
In the village where Mane grew up, 500 miles south of Dakar, only single men were allowed to wrestle, as a ritual of courtship. Girls with neatly braided hair sashayed around the ring, flirting with potential suitors. The wrestlers were believed to have mystic powers, and they served as the community's private military.
But today, any man who trains and finds a manager can wrestle. Competitors punch and bite, and some end up in the hospital. They want to win cash and contracts for fast-food endorsements, not roasted goat. No one sings to the loser. Romance happens at dance clubs, not at the ring.
...
The movement of people from rural areas to cities is changing elements of culture from birth to burial rites, dating to divorce, and even one of West Africa's oldest traditions and most popular sports.
"In the village, the wrestlers were representing the community. Now we've left the soil, found the city, and it's all about the individual," said Abdoul Wahid Kane, a professor of sports sociology at the National Higher Institute for Popular Education and Sport at Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar. "The changes in wrestling represent the changes in African society. Yet sometimes I wonder: How modern, how individualistic, do we really want to become?"
...
Mane stood out for his determination. But he continued hanging out with a crowd of wild, jobless boys who drank at discos and roared around the city on mopeds. One day, Mane crashed and ended up with a sprained shoulder and a missing tooth. The next day, in the hospital, he dreamed he was dying alone in a ditch, with only his moped at his side.
"In the dream, my ancestors said to me, 'What is your destiny? You are just 18, and you are spoiling your opportunities,' " he recalled.
His older brother, a mid-level boxer with bulging arms, had found meaning in his life through training for the sport. "There is something so good in my brother," said Boubaccar Mane, 34. "I thought L.A. could really make it as a wrestler, so I led him that way."
...
In a sandy lot at a school in the neighborhood, Mane and 30 other hard-bodied wrestlers work out with 90 minutes of sprints, leg bends, squats and sit-ups. Their dark faces become covered with dust as they lock bodies and try to pin each other to the ground.
Boys from the neighborhood watch practice from the concrete veranda around the school, sometimes imitating the wrestlers' movements.
"Living in the city, you can't just rest and live on the ancestors' land like before," said Mane, panting after practice. "Where you start out shouldn't be where you end. I know that. But the pressure is there. It's not just fun and romance. This is survival in the big city. This means something."
...
Before the match, the wrestlers and their inner circle strutted around outside the ring, performing a four-row line dance. Each man lifted a foot and stomped it down, then shimmied forward in time with the drumming. Fans whooped and danced in the stands, holding up signs for their favorites.
...
Senegalese are avid sports fans in general. A strong fitness culture makes joggers a common site on the streets of Dakar. In the homeland of international star El Hadji Diouf, soccer matches draw crowds to every television.
But wrestling is 'more interesting than soccer, because it's ours,' said Ousseynou Diakhate, a 22-year-old wrestler in the northern Senegalese town of Louga, who has been fighting professionally for three years.
Even in the provinces, wrestlers make up to $400 per match, but Diakhate insists they don't do it for profit. 'It's the traditions that nourish us,' he said. 'But if we make some money from it, all the better.'
The origins of this national sport lie in the rhythms of village life.
'If the harvest is good, young men come together to measure their strength, and girls watch to see who they want to marry,' said Youssou Mbargane Mbaye, wrestling historian and head of an association of traditional praise singers."
The pomp and pageantry of traditional wrestling is nearly as important as the fight itself. Wrestlers and their entourages dance wildly around the ring to the beat of drums and traditional flutes, while women chant songs of heroism and strength. The beginning of the fight is signaled when one wrestler places a drum in the middle of the ring, and the challenger overturns it.
...
Each fight is preceded by days of spiritual preparation. Marabouts, leaders of mystical Muslim brotherhoods, fashion amulets and talismans for the fighters. These tokens can include Quranic verses, plant derivatives or goat bones for fighters to bite as they step into the ring.
Mbaye said that in Dakar, however, the focus is increasingly on money. Cash prizes began to be offered in the 1960s, replacing the traditional offering of a sack of rice or a cow. Since then the purses have grown.
The dynamics of wrestling in Dakar also changed with the introduction of a new set of rules that allow wrestlers to punch each other.
"It's a foreign element. It comes from boxing," said Mbaye, who said that the more violent the game is, the more paying spectators it draws. "Now the only thing the young men care about is the amount of money they make."
Yakhya Diop Ndoye, a 14-year-old spectator at a Dakar match, says he wrestles at home with his friends in the traditional style without hitting but that he dreams of becoming a professional athlete who can bloody his opponent with impunity.
"When they hit each other, they get more money," he said.
He and his friends hoot excitedly as two fighters exchange blows in the ring.
...
However, even in Dakar, where promoters spend up to $400,000 to organize big fights, Sunday evening wrestling still reflects its rural roots. Praise singers are always on hand to spin oral histories around fighters and invited guests, and as celebrity athletes grow wealthier, the spiritualism surrounding the match becomes more pronounced.
Mbaye explained that fighters now buy much more powerful magic than they ever could in the village.
In New Senegal, No Holds Barred
Migration Changes Face of Ancient Sport:
By Emily Wax
"DAKAR, Senegal -- In his dark, concrete room in a congested Dakar neighborhood, Lamine Mane, a professional wrestler, and several friends huddled over a bundle of faded photographs.
The frayed stack of old pictures showed some of the traditional wrestlers who generations ago performed on the soft green grass in villages across West Africa. On those family-filled evenings, peasant children would drop their mundane chores to watch their fathers achieve glory in a five-minute match.
There were no headlocks. No hitting. No biting. At the end of the match, a team of wise elders announced the winner. Women sang praises to the loser to heal his disappointment, then everyone feasted on succulent goat and rice.
In the village where Mane grew up, 500 miles south of Dakar, only single men were allowed to wrestle, as a ritual of courtship. Girls with neatly braided hair sashayed around the ring, flirting with potential suitors. The wrestlers were believed to have mystic powers, and they served as the community's private military.
But today, any man who trains and finds a manager can wrestle. Competitors punch and bite, and some end up in the hospital. They want to win cash and contracts for fast-food endorsements, not roasted goat. No one sings to the loser. Romance happens at dance clubs, not at the ring.
...
The movement of people from rural areas to cities is changing elements of culture from birth to burial rites, dating to divorce, and even one of West Africa's oldest traditions and most popular sports.
"In the village, the wrestlers were representing the community. Now we've left the soil, found the city, and it's all about the individual," said Abdoul Wahid Kane, a professor of sports sociology at the National Higher Institute for Popular Education and Sport at Cheikh Anta Diop University in Dakar. "The changes in wrestling represent the changes in African society. Yet sometimes I wonder: How modern, how individualistic, do we really want to become?"
...
Mane stood out for his determination. But he continued hanging out with a crowd of wild, jobless boys who drank at discos and roared around the city on mopeds. One day, Mane crashed and ended up with a sprained shoulder and a missing tooth. The next day, in the hospital, he dreamed he was dying alone in a ditch, with only his moped at his side.
"In the dream, my ancestors said to me, 'What is your destiny? You are just 18, and you are spoiling your opportunities,' " he recalled.
His older brother, a mid-level boxer with bulging arms, had found meaning in his life through training for the sport. "There is something so good in my brother," said Boubaccar Mane, 34. "I thought L.A. could really make it as a wrestler, so I led him that way."
...
In a sandy lot at a school in the neighborhood, Mane and 30 other hard-bodied wrestlers work out with 90 minutes of sprints, leg bends, squats and sit-ups. Their dark faces become covered with dust as they lock bodies and try to pin each other to the ground.
Boys from the neighborhood watch practice from the concrete veranda around the school, sometimes imitating the wrestlers' movements.
"Living in the city, you can't just rest and live on the ancestors' land like before," said Mane, panting after practice. "Where you start out shouldn't be where you end. I know that. But the pressure is there. It's not just fun and romance. This is survival in the big city. This means something."
...
Before the match, the wrestlers and their inner circle strutted around outside the ring, performing a four-row line dance. Each man lifted a foot and stomped it down, then shimmied forward in time with the drumming. Fans whooped and danced in the stands, holding up signs for their favorites.
...
Senegalese are avid sports fans in general. A strong fitness culture makes joggers a common site on the streets of Dakar. In the homeland of international star El Hadji Diouf, soccer matches draw crowds to every television.
But wrestling is 'more interesting than soccer, because it's ours,' said Ousseynou Diakhate, a 22-year-old wrestler in the northern Senegalese town of Louga, who has been fighting professionally for three years.
Even in the provinces, wrestlers make up to $400 per match, but Diakhate insists they don't do it for profit. 'It's the traditions that nourish us,' he said. 'But if we make some money from it, all the better.'
The origins of this national sport lie in the rhythms of village life.
'If the harvest is good, young men come together to measure their strength, and girls watch to see who they want to marry,' said Youssou Mbargane Mbaye, wrestling historian and head of an association of traditional praise singers."
The pomp and pageantry of traditional wrestling is nearly as important as the fight itself. Wrestlers and their entourages dance wildly around the ring to the beat of drums and traditional flutes, while women chant songs of heroism and strength. The beginning of the fight is signaled when one wrestler places a drum in the middle of the ring, and the challenger overturns it.
...
Each fight is preceded by days of spiritual preparation. Marabouts, leaders of mystical Muslim brotherhoods, fashion amulets and talismans for the fighters. These tokens can include Quranic verses, plant derivatives or goat bones for fighters to bite as they step into the ring.
Mbaye said that in Dakar, however, the focus is increasingly on money. Cash prizes began to be offered in the 1960s, replacing the traditional offering of a sack of rice or a cow. Since then the purses have grown.
The dynamics of wrestling in Dakar also changed with the introduction of a new set of rules that allow wrestlers to punch each other.
"It's a foreign element. It comes from boxing," said Mbaye, who said that the more violent the game is, the more paying spectators it draws. "Now the only thing the young men care about is the amount of money they make."
Yakhya Diop Ndoye, a 14-year-old spectator at a Dakar match, says he wrestles at home with his friends in the traditional style without hitting but that he dreams of becoming a professional athlete who can bloody his opponent with impunity.
"When they hit each other, they get more money," he said.
He and his friends hoot excitedly as two fighters exchange blows in the ring.
...
However, even in Dakar, where promoters spend up to $400,000 to organize big fights, Sunday evening wrestling still reflects its rural roots. Praise singers are always on hand to spin oral histories around fighters and invited guests, and as celebrity athletes grow wealthier, the spiritualism surrounding the match becomes more pronounced.
Mbaye explained that fighters now buy much more powerful magic than they ever could in the village.
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