Tripping Off to Touba

February 21, 2009

I have never been a religious sort, so it was surprising even to me that I agreed to go to Touba (a word meaning ‘felicity’ in Arabic) and join a religious pilgrimage of the Mouride brotherhood intended to celebrate the exile of Cheikh Amadou Bamba. However, this is an important national and even international event, attended by hundreds of thousands from all over the world, and as I believe in seizing opportunities as they arise, I thought I should share in what promised to be a unique experience.
Participating in the Magal, as it is called, from a Wolof word meaning praise or render homage to, is not for the faint of heart. First, I squeezed myself into a car rapide, the local means of transport distinguished only by its decrepitude, and jolted for about five hours down the ill-kept road towards the sacred city. Having left right after work, I arrived a few hours before daybreak, when it was quite cold and the knick knack vendors were just setting up shop. It was odd during the day to notice pictures of the spiritual leader (known as a marabout, mar-ah-boo) on display right next to sexy underwear and elasticised waist beads, but of course I suppose it would be sinful to let a prime marketing opportunity go to waste (excuse the pun, I could not resist).

Second, since the city is overrun during this period, I then spent the following night on the cold hard floor of a most impressive mosque, sardined in with about 1,000 other pilgrims. I had been warned that, as a woman, I would need to cover my hair with a headscarf, and during the frigid night I was actually grateful for the additional warmth the scarf provided. Lest you thought an eerie silence might have prevailed in the Great Mosque, far from it: religious songs were sung all through the night, but I found it strangely soothing, as some people might enjoy listening to Gregorian chant, if the comparison is not too bizarre, as the styles of music are of course very different. I was at any rate so very tired that there could easily have been a gas explosion next door and I would not have stirred (this in fact happened to me when I was living my student existence in Feldmattenweg in Freiburg – some windows in my building even shattered. Deep in my slumbers, I noticed nothing. But I digress).
The idea of the pilgrimage is to visit the tomb of Cheikh Amadou Bamba, who was widely respected for the steadfastness of his faith and his resistance in the face of the French colonial powers. Dismayed by the influence he wielded over his considerable number of followers, the French colonial authorities decided it would be prudent to send him into exile. During the years of his exile to Gabon, numerous attempts were made to break him both spiritually and physically. As one story tells us, when shackled on a ship, Bamba broke free when the time came to pray. He flung his prayer mat upon the water – where, miraculously, it stayed afloat – and was able to pray upon it, thus fulfilling his religious duty. In another story known by every Senegalese, Bamba’s captors kept him in a cell with a hungry lion. When the men came to retrieve Bamba’s remains, they were astonished to find the lion reposing peacefully at his feet instead. Finally, the French decided to allow him to return to his people, agreeing to give him a piece of land – Touba – that would be dedicated to the practice of his religion.

Today, the city is so special that it constitutes a special administrative entity within Senegal, almost like the Vatican. Smoking and drinking are forbidden within its confines, as are dancing and games, and there are raids to ensure compliance.

As I said, visiting the tomb is key, so people spend hours in lines going around the entire perimeter of the mosque (to get an idea of the crowds involved, just picture a Monet show opening at the Metropolitan Museum). I struck up a conversation with the Gambian lady in charge of the women’s line and was fortunately allowed to join the queue when we were only about half an hour away from the goal.

On entering the room where the tomb is kept, the idea is to touch the doorjamb and make a wish, but sadly, I found this out too late and missed my chance! Fortunately, the Magal is an annual event…