DANCING IN AFRICA
Back in 1990, going to Africa seemed the natural thing to do. After all I had been studying African dance in a Manhattan studio for many years and was passionate about it. I should say “addicted” for I would reluctantly, and almost never, miss a class. Neither did my companions: we loved the challenge, the excitement, the beauty of the steps, the electrifying drumming... nothing could compare.

So I did know something about the power of rhythm and the beauty of the Sabar Dances of the Wolof of Senegal when I embarked on my first trip there. What I did not expect was “Africa”, the reality of the continent itself. I had so far only seen the dances “out of context” taken away from the refined ritual that surrounds them, away from the stunning elegance of Senegalese women, the intoxicating smell of “shurai” perfume, the sounds of the Wolof language that fill the air with a special vibrancy, in a word, the peculiar magic of the place.

The first Sabar event I attended was an overwhelming experience that filled me with admiration and awe. When a Sabar is announced in Dakar, Senegal’s capital, some chairs are brought out to the streets and set up around a rectangular space. Things thereafter build up at a very slow pace. Then, mysteriously, the space starts filling up. Drummers settle on one side, the whole neighborhood comes out. And then superbly attired women slowly make an entrance with studied nonchalance and they sit down side by side. There they remain composed, perfectly still, with a kind of royal bearing… until the drumming changes it all, for it is the drumming which is at the heart of everything. It is the rhythm, the beat, the distinct powerful sound of sabar drums which sets the tune, inspire dancers and challenge them forward. When the dance starts, dancers get up in turn, impatiently discard their fashionable high-heel shoes and with incredible exuberance enter what has become “Guew bi”, the dancing circle. They move towards the drummers, playfully perform wild, fast, high spirited leg and arm movements, execute breathless steps, improvise unexpected variations or a hip movement that delights the crowd, and go back to their seats. Both drummer and dancer are challenging each other, talking to each other, attune to each other.

I was totally taken. I liked everything about the dancers: their controlled exuberance; their playfulness, the way they moved with unselfconscious grace; the way they left the dancing circle with casual disdain and calm dignity even after the most provocative steps; the way they kept rearranging their beautiful “boubous” around their bare shoulders as if the gesture was part of some unwritten choreography.

Rhythms change, dancers go back and forth, singing erupts, money is given, the crowd cheers at times and then all of a sudden the drumming stops. And everything comes to a standstill. The evening had taken forever to get on the way, but when the music stops, the crowd immediately disperses. No one lingers in the “Guew”, as if everything had been said.

Back in New York, I have continued to learn Sabar dances in Manhattan studios alongside the same companions and today I feel enormous gratitude toward our Senegalese friends, drummers and dancers and teachers who have generously shared their art and transmitted their most precious and deep rooted traditions. They have in many ways embellished our lives.

Françoise Bouffault is a journalist and a writer. She has been employed by the United Nations in New York for most of her career. Combining her background in Anthropology and a love of rhythm and movement, she has been learning - and learning about, the dances of Senegal and Guinea for over twenty years. After a trip to Senegal, she decided to make “Guew Bi” when she realized how insufficient words were to describe her passion and the admiration she had for this unique Senegalese tradition: the Sabar.