Bediks

I live in one of the most remote regions in Senegal.  It takes forever to get anywhere since we are so far away.  Mail takes forever to get to us because it has to wait in Tambacounda until the car fills and can come down to Kedougou.  Stock outs are common as the supply chains to Kedougou from Dakar are stretched thin so often there is no medicine when it is needed most.  There are many drawbacks to living this remote, but there are also perks.  Life, to say the least, is not boring here.  We have elevations, rolling hills coming to apexes with beautiful rocky cliffs and formations like out of a fairy tale. 

King of the World!

We have waterfalls cascading from the Guinean steppe above us that girdles our Southern border like a ringing wall.

 dindefello waterfall, thats right, we have water

But of a different interest, we have fascinating people groups to call family, and to call neighbor.  I, of course, live in a Pular family, in a Pular village (though there are a few malinkes, jolonkes, and bediks amongst us).  Many other volunteers in Kedougou live with Mande families, both Jaxanke and Malinke (Kor Tanante?).  They have an interesting musical tradition, mostly centered around griots, who are like village story-tellers and musicians, who are adept with the Kora.

I've had the chance to play one, they're quite difficult

But this blog post isn’t about my experience with any of these groups, it is about the Bediks.  Specifically the Bediks in my area.

My neck of the woods

As you can see, I, though not in the heart of, am in Bedik territory.  My village is Pular, but there are at least 3 Bedik villages within 3km to the west of me.  This puts me in a unique situation, being the only volunteer near the Bedik people.  So let’s talk about Bediks a little.  They are an ethnic group closely related to the Bassaris, Coniaguis, and the Badiarankhes, together in an umbrella branch of the “Tenda people”.  Thus the Bedik language, like the Bassari language, is a member of the Tenda branch of the senegambian languages (with other branches including Wolof, Serer, and Pular).  They are one of the smallest micro-ethnicities in Senegal, having only around 3,500 people according to the latest census.  There are only 3,500 Bediks in the entire world.  It is quite sad as their distinctive culture is slowly dissolving under the pressures of globalization and modernization, but that is a topic for another post.  This post is about my experience with them.

What makes them most interesting, as someone who lives right next to them, is that they drink.  By that I mean they drink alcohol.  In Islam it is strictly forbidden to drink alcohol, just as it is strictly forbidden to eat pig.  For this reason, you will never see a Wolof, or Pular, or Malinke, drinking alcohol.  Well, some do, but it’s rare and they’re generally looked on with disregard.  So being in village and drinking alcohol is an extremely peculiar circumstance for a peace corps volunteer, since Senegal is so predominantly Muslim.  But the Bediks drink.  And why do they?  Because they are animists.  They’re also nominally Christian, but not strongly so.  Let me once again elaborate that these are my views alone and do not reflect the opinions or beliefs of the Unites States Peace Corps or the government of the United States of America.  I’m sorry I had to do that, but these kind of discussions can get a bit sticky. 

The Bediks have an odd syncretism of animism and Christianity.  Some go to church on Sundays, but then they go and pray to their nature spirits, called Jaluns, and the sky god and weather gods to protect their crops.  Though these beliefs seem mutually exclusive, they make it work.

So it’s anecdote time!  Like I said, there are 3 Bedik villages with 3 kilometers west of me.  The interesting situation I am in is that my village is at a road nexus between these villages and the river.  The river is where the palm trees grow, which they make into palm wine (and drink profusely while doing so).  I forgot to mention, what they drink mainly is palm wine, a drink fermented from the fruits of the palm tree.  In order to get them they have to climb to the top of the tree on a latter and make gashes in it for the sap to pour out, which then ferments.  I really like it, but some people say that it takes a while to get used to.  It tastes very fermented, like the kossan “yogurt” that I eat.  It’s also very cheap, 200 CFA for a litre, which is about 40 cents. 

Tasty

As I was saying, my road is on the nexus between the Bedik villages and the river, so all three of the villages have to pass through my village in order to get to the palm wine.  Also, like I said, they drink while doing it.  This means that almost every day I will be sitting with my family, or a compound of a friend, when all of a sudden I’ll hear a commotion and yelling in the distance.  People will look up and say “Ko Tendabe, Tendabe ari”.  Which means “It’s the Bediks’ the Bediks are coming”.  And then a roving band of drunk Bediks will stroll into the compound and make a bit of a raucous.  You would think being in an exclusively Muslim village there would be tension, but it isn’t so.  My village thinks that it’s hilarious and have a good time laughing and talking with the clearly inebriated neighboring villagers.  It really is a testament to the good nature of the Senegalese people.  We hear on the news about Muslims as being violent people who cannot coexist with “infidel neighbors”, but that is clearly not the case here.  They coexist, the people in my village often watch Bedik ceremonies and celebrations with fascination and enjoyment.  So when a drunk band of Bediks stroll through, it’s all in good nature.  People also sometimes play innocent jokes on them, like repeatedly calling them back saying that they had forgotten something, like their cellphone.

Of course, sometimes they just won’t catch the hint that it’s time to go back to their village.  Like with any drunk people, eventually you just want them to go back and go to sleep, but they just seem to linger incessantly and not take a hint.  Then they’ll finally begin to wander out of the compound to go back to their village and you’ll hear a little sigh of relief from my family, but then the person will turn around, stroll on back, and keep talking.  It truly is an experience to behold, and one I’m sure not many other Peace Corps volunteers in Senegal experience.

Another anecdote!  One time I was sitting at Tamba’s house, just drinking ataaya in the dark (everything is done in the dark at night because, you know, no electricity), when all of a sudden a Bedik walks straight up to me.  And I mean, I could smell the alcohol on his breath.  He doesn’t ask who I am or why I’m here, he just says, “You’re White”

“Yes, I am”

“So you’re Christian then?”

“Yeah”

“Then you drink!”

“From time to time…”

“Well, I’ve got a liter of palm wine here, let’s drink it!”

Now, I’m in a Muslim village, and I don’t want to lose credibility, so…

“Nah, that’s ok, maybe next time, I don’t drink in village”

“Then come back to my village and we’ll drink!”

It was inviting, but “dude, it’s the middle of the night, I’m not coming to your village”

“Then come in the light!”

And like that the conversation was over.  I sat there perplexed as he walked away and my friends gently laughed at the whole conversation and the absurdity of it.

All of this has led to awkward conversations with my family and my counterpart about alcohol consumption.  Of course I drink, but it would be awkward to talk about it with my family and admit just how much I drink.  So they’ll say things like “did you see the drunk bediks last night?”  “Yeah, it was pretty funny”.  “So… do you drink?”  It’s a difficult situation to navigate.  I usually say that I do, but not often.  And then we go into discussions about the different strengths of alcohol.  My counterparts brother will say things like “what about gin? Do you drink gin?”

 “I suppose, but not a lot”.  

“Is it stronger than beer?”

“very”

So anyway, that’s been my experience with Bediks during palm wine season.  I live far away in the middle of nowhere, but at least life is interesting.