Tuesday Night Smackdown

Last week I returned to town in time for an exciting night of traditional Senegalese wrestling, aka "sipiro." Fences were commandeered from nearby houses to create an arena, while 250 cfa - about 50 cents - bought an all access pass.

I arrive around 6:30pm to find pre-event drumming accompanied by the requisite circle of women dancing. The style of dance involves bending 45 degrees at the waist, sticking your butt out and stamping the ground with the apparent objective of kicking up as much dust as possible. Arms are either held straight out to the side or bent at the elbow like a scarecrow. Of course, I am lured into the center to make a fool of myself in yet another activity that everyone else can do with style. Thankfully, I am saved from a second round of ground stomping when the main event begins.

Sipiro is equal parts skill, showmanship and silly outfits. Amateur wrestlers, unlike their overpaid and overfed professional counterparts, are extremely fit young men with a penchant for spandex and pom pom adorned kilts. Given Sare Sara's lack of electricity, I assumed the festivities would be over by sundown. Oh how wrong I was. As the sun melted below the horizon the fun had only just begun. The first wrestler to appear could only be described as spritely as he pranced around the makeshift ring "warming up" with dramatic lunges, hops and sprints. Others followed suit until 10 or so beefy young men were circling the ring trailed by "handlers" and a whistling trio of drummers.

With no pre-arranged round robbin schedule, pairs of wrestlers began to match up seemingly at random. A bout begins with the opponents swinging their arms at each other - a sort of windmill mixed with fly swatting and bitch slapping. Then they take each other in a bent over head lock/double half nelson. This position is held for minutes at a time - what they're waiting for I couldn't tell you - until one makes a move to grab the leg/belt/skirt/neck of the other. This is when it gets exciting. Unlike professional matches which end after a few seconds (why bother fighting when the outcome is rigged anyway?), these fights went on for many minutes as the pairs attempted to trip, flip and pin each other. With no designated ring the tussling pairs frequently sent spectators leaping from their benches to avoid a rogue elbow or clod of dirt in the face. The winner need only get his opponent down for a second before taking a well deserved victory lap. With 2-3 pairs wrestling at a time it's important to keep an eye out in all directions. With the sunlight gone, a roaring bonfire was built in a corner opposite the ring from where I sat. Dust swirling in the firelight looked like mist rising from the ground and illuminated the athletes and onlookers with an eery, infernal glow. Of course, this is when I wished I had my camera.

Due to another transit strike, the merry band of wrestlers was stuck in town for a few extra days. They eyed me with obvious confusion and I wondered the physics involved in growing necks so thick.