Sabar, Tama and Griots — Reflections on Senegal
December 2024 — Senegal. Three weeks.
During my research trip to Senegal, I was profoundly moved by the intricate interplay of dance, music, and cultural traditions, particularly in the context of sabar. This traditional dance form is not merely an individual or isolated expression; it is a dynamic conversation between the dancer and the solo drum, the nder. The synchronicity of their interaction — especially when movements and rhythms conclude in perfect harmony — feels almost magical. This connection embodies a dialogue where the dancer uses non-verbal cues, akin to “prepositions,” to signal upcoming movements or endings to the drummer. Such communication transforms the performance into a shared language, a challenge, and an art form that thrives on mutual understanding and responsiveness.
Unlike many solo freestyle dances, where the focus is often on self-expression, sabar emphasizes a collaborative spirit. The dancer’s role extends beyond showcasing personal skill to include organizing ideas musically and visually in a way that aligns with the drummer’s expression. Both dancer and drummer contribute equally to the manifestation of sabar, creating a spontaneous and vibrant dialogue. This synergy underscores why performing sabar to recorded music can feel incomplete. While breaks (“bak”) in recorded tracks can mimic the interactive structure, they lack the immediacy and responsiveness that live drumming provides.
The communal energy of sabar is also evident in its improv circles, reminiscent of breaking circles in hip-hop. Here, dancers are eager to contribute, each building upon the energy of the last performer. This continuous escalation of intensity and creativity fosters a sense of collective ambition. Some participants even take it upon themselves to sustain and amplify the circle’s momentum, ensuring that the energy never wanes. This shared drive highlights sabar’s deeply communal essence, where individual expression uplifts and intertwines with the group’s vitality.
Another striking aspect of sabar is its balance between modesty and sexuality. In Senegal’s predominantly Muslim culture, where modest clothing is the norm, sabar boldly celebrates the body and its sensuality. This duality — of reverence and exuberant physical expression — is both intriguing and inspiring, reflecting a nuanced cultural harmony.
Sabar also carries an intergenerational resonance that is rare in many contemporary cultures. Unlike in the United States, where music and dance often shift dramatically with each generation due to rapid technological and cultural evolution, sabar remains anchored in its acoustic roots. The rhythms and movements performed by today’s youth closely mirror those experienced by their grandparents and great-grandparents. This continuity fosters a profound sense of connection and identity, allowing generations to share a common language of expression and memory. Witnessing this unbroken thread of tradition was both humbling and awe-inspiring, as it underscored the enduring power of cultural heritage.
Finally, I was deeply impressed by the role of the Griot, particularly as embodied by Massamba Diop and his family. Rather than asserting authority, the Griot acts as a facilitator, gently guiding individuals and groups toward harmony. Massamba’s approach — rooted in casual yet intentional conversations — exemplifies a form of leadership that is inclusive and empowering. By fostering shared visions and sentiments, the Griot nurtures a sense of collective balance and unity. This method of facilitation, rooted in encouragement and gentle persuasion, resonates deeply with me as a model for fostering group cohesion.
In reflecting on my experiences in Senegal, I am struck by the richness of sabar as both an art form and a cultural practice. Its emphasis on communication, collaboration, and continuity offers valuable insights into the power of tradition and the ways in which shared creative expression can bridge individuals and generations. The experience has not only deepened my appreciation for sabar but also challenged me to think differently about the role of dance and music in fostering connection and community.
Huge thank yous to Massamba Diop and his extended family for welcoming me into the family and sharing so much with me. Thank you to my dance teacher Khady Badji, the director of Senegals’ amazing Bakalama dance company. Thank you to the NEA for funding the Griot project, and to my esteemed collaborator Oluyinka Akinjiola.
