Hip-hop is the number one youth culture in Senegal. In the Ouakam district in north Dakar, you can hear and see it at every turn. For example, when you look at the graffiti-covered walls below the gigantic Monument de la Renaissance africaine, built by North Korean master builders, hip-hop beats can be heard from passing minibuses, and teenagers demonstrate their latest moves to one another. If you follow them, you will find yourself in a narrow alleyway that leads to a low-rise, one-story building painted white. No sign, no lettering. Instead, skilfully sprayed works of art over the entire house facade. The young people in front of the door, high fives and playing loud hip hop music from their mobile phones, leave no doubt: This is where the heart of urban culture beats.
“At the Maison des Cultures Urbaines we teach all professions related to the stage,” says Amadou Fall Ba, a young man with a serious look, adjusting his baseball cap. “Currently we have 200 students, but we can hardly save ourselves from applicants”. Fall Ba is the initiator of the “Senegal Training Campus”. Light and sound technicians, graphic designers, DJs or event managers have their first chance to get a government-recognized diploma – in a pilot project that aims to create jobs around the thriving hip-hop scene. The school opened in September 2021. “To give the unemployed youth a chance,” says Fall Ba, “we grab their passion. However, I expected more support from our government. Except for a few donated computers, we built everything ourselves.”
Unemployed in a model country in Africa
Senegal is regarded as a model country in Africa. The former French colony is democratically stable, respects fundamental rights such as freedom of expression, freedom of the press and religion, and in 2014 announced a state development plan called “Rise by 2035”. This includes improving living conditions and creating jobs and training positions. But debits and credits are far apart: almost half of the Senegalese are unemployed, including a particularly large number of young people. The official unemployment rate of seven percent does not take into account those who make their living in the informal economy. And that’s the bulk of the boys. Shouldn’t a project like the Senegal Training Campus receive every possible support?
Case Ba – colleagues call him “l’allemand”, the German because of his talent for organization – and his team had set up a so-called hip-hop academy for graphic designers, DJs and sound engineers in the Pikine district ten years previously. The Senegal Training Campus is now the extension of this idea: Why not bring together all professions related to the cultural sector in a single school? To do this, Amadou Fall Ba has brought together several projects – the Hip-Hop Academy, G-Hip-Hop and the Maison des Cultures Urbaines. “Opening a school can’t be that difficult, I thought. But now look at my gray hair.” Amadou Fall Ba prepares a cup of tea in his office, which has been converted into an eat-in kitchen: “In the last year, I never slept more than four or five hours a night.”
learning in practice
After many nights of hard work, Fall Ba managed to secure funding from a consortium of western donors, including the Swiss and Canadian embassies, the Dutch Doen Foundation and the Goethe Institute. The latter sent a professor for “sound engineering” from Berlin – and provided 120,000 euros for the training of sound engineers. Fall Ba was more worried about the curriculum than money. In 2017 he attended training centers for stage professions in Germany and France. “At first I thought we’d do it the same way, copy and paste. But then, with the help of German experts, we tailored the lessons to Senegalese conditions.” “Approche par competence” is the motto, learning in practice. Less than a third of the training is theory – so even young people with little educational background have a better chance. “Next year we will also offer courses in video, stage construction and event security.”
Fall Ba proudly leads through “his” school. Some rooms are still unplastered, but life has already moved in: a DJ scratches with hip-hop records, in the studio next door a local hip-hop legend gives tuition for the next generation of technicians, three teenage girls practice in the large concert hall an imaginary catwalk for the next fashion show. “We didn’t have a public stage in Ouakam before,” says Fall Ba. “Now there are hip-hop jams here every weekend.” Many of the students became aware of the school in this way. The only condition: passing an entrance test. And the will to social commitment.
Adja Oumy Ndiaye Cisse is one of those who made it. The student in a denim vest and a black headscarf is researching for a term paper in the computer room. “I had previously trained as a cultural animator,” says the 27-year-old. Now she is enrolled in the subject of cultural management. “There was no such training in Senegal before,” she says. She wants to organize professional exhibitions, concerts and workshops later on.
A chance for women
The number of women in the “Maison des Cultures Urbaines” is striking. They form the majority in many courses at the Senegal Training Campus. This is also the case in the class for art and culture management. Why is that? “Firstly,” says Ndiaye Cisse, “the school specifically promotes women. Secondly, we have relatively little discrimination in culture and a lot of creative freedom.”
Amakan (right), the beatboxer, and Magnoum, who works as a cameraman.
(Photo: Jonathan Fischer)
Groups of boys are practicing in the courtyard for tonight’s beatbox competition. Among them Amakan and Magnoum: Amakan, a burly guy with a gloomy expression, poses with his legs apart, makes gang signs and hisses, clicks and pops vocal hip-hop rhythms. Just beatboxing. His friend Magnoum, who seems a bit shy, keeps the video camera on. “Many of us boys are unemployed or, like me, have been in prison for a while,” says 35-year-old Amakan. “We hardly have any chances on the regular job market.” Only the hip-hop academy in Pikine gave him a chance: a few years ago he did a three-month apprenticeship as a sound engineer there. “I make more money wiring a stage than I do with my raps.” The 22-year-old Magnoum nods in agreement. He works in a team with Amakam. “He makes music, I produce the photos and videos”. Like his colleague, Magnoum was in juvenile prison for a drug offense. But thanks to the hip-hop academy, he now has a high school diploma and can keep his head above water as a freelance graphic designer.
Amadou Fall Ba knows them all here: without batting an eyelid, he high fives the alumni of the hip-hop academy and G-hip-hop in Pikine, the local rap matadors, the DJs and journalists. “L’allemand,” says a student admiringly. “Without him nothing works here”. Fall Ba sees himself primarily as a mediator. Hip-hop, he repeatedly emphasizes, means more to Senegal than just music or entertainment. Much more. “In this culture is the spirit of rebellious youth, of those who hold our politicians accountable.” Until now, the hip-hop youth would have mobilized the streets before every election. This is one of the reasons why dealing with the history of hip-hop plays an important role in the Senegal Training Campus. “Our students,” says Fall Ba, “not only create a basis for their own lives. They also stand up as activists for those who otherwise have no lobby.” Amakan and Magnoum nod in agreement: “Hamdulillah!” – Thank God!