By Kebeli Demba Nyima
The recent remarks by Assistant Inspector General of Police Pateh Jallow, delivered during an advisory meeting with the young Gambian rapper Attack, raise an urgent issue that requires rigorous factual correction. While the intent of his intervention, discouraging tribalism and political provocation, was noble in principle, his rhetoric faltered under the weight of a fundamental historical error. In listing Wolofs, Fana Fanas, and Mandinkas as distinct tribes, the AIGP did more than commit a verbal slip; he repeated a false categorization that has no basis in Gambian history, anthropology, or ethnography.
To understand why this mistake is so egregious, one must look at the toxic origins of the term itself. Fana Fana is not an ethnic identity found in any census or historical record of the Senegambia region. The term does not appear in colonial administrative records, post-independence censuses, or academic studies of Senegambia. It is not recognised by the Central Statistics Department, yet its persistence in the mouths of policymakers is a testament to a deep-seated sociolinguistic fissure. The term is a derogatory construct, a colonial era pathology manufactured by the urban elite of Banjul to belittle rural Wolof speakers who migrated to the city for education and civil service roles. It was a tool of social gatekeeping designed to mock the accents and perceived provincialism of those arriving from the hinterlands of Saloum, Nianija, or Niamina.
Historically, Wolof has served as a lingua franca in urban Gambia, particularly in Banjul and surrounding areas. Over time, individuals from Mandinka, Fula, Serer, and Jola backgrounds adopted Wolof for commercial and social interaction. This linguistic assimilation later altered perceived ethnic identity. However, the irony is that a striking double standard exists: a Mandinka, Fula, Jola, Serer, or Serahule remains identified by their ethnic group regardless of which part of the country they hail from Why, then, is the Wolof identity uniquely fractured into two sub-categories based on geography? Many urbanites who use Fana Fana as a weapon of exclusion are not ethnically Wolof themselves. They are often descendants of other tribes who, seeking social capital in the capital, abandoned their original identities. Today, in Banjul compounds where Wolof is the primary tongue, the surnames, Jallow, Barry, Sanneh, Sarr, Senghore, Jammeh, Colley, reveal a non-Wolof ancestry.
The fact of the matter is that the original Wolofs are the ones now labeled as Fana Fana, mainly because of their accent. There is no substantive accent variation among indigenous Wolof speakers across rural regions. Wolofs from Niumi, Niani, Niamina, Nianija, Jokadu, Saloum, and related areas speak the same Wolof, with no meaningful phonological or grammatical divergence. This is not a matter of opinion but of linguistic observation. The idea that rural Wolofs speak a different or inferior Wolof is false. The only noticeable deviation in Wolof speech emerged historically in Banjul and parts of the peri-urban coastal corridor, and even this variation is not ethnic. It is urbanized Wolof, shaped by prolonged exposure to English, Aku speech patterns, and colonial administrative culture. It is a product of environment, not ancestry.
To treat this urbanized speech as a standard and rural Wolof as a deviation reverses the historical reality. Calling rural Wolofs Fana Fanas while accepting urban-based non-Wolofs as the true Wolofs is not only ignorant but amounts to a severe insult. It is comparable to using a racial slur such as the N-word against a Black person or engaging in broader forms of antisemitism. To persist in this use, especially by senior state officials, is to dignify bullying with state authority. It keeps alive a prejudice that early Wolof intellectuals and entrepreneurs, men such as the late lawyer Fafa Mbai, Garbi Sossèh, Antoumana Gaye, and Dr. Mamut Touray, had to navigate at a heavy personal cost. These pioneers were fought so bitterly by the so-called Banjul Wolofs that many found it impossible to secure jobs within the Jawara administration due to pure prejudice. Eventually, many provincial Wolofs were forced to conform, marrying into Banjul families simply to belong. This was a cultural downfall; instead of dismantling the prejudice, they were absorbed by the system they should have challenged.
This culture of labeling persists largely because it has rarely been met with firm resistance. I recall an incident from the 1990s during my time at Gambia High School involving a classmate, Bouba Saidy from BaddibuSalikene, who lived right opposite Crab Island Secondary School. During lunch one day, a student from Spalding Street in Banjul, Saihou Ndure, jokingly mocked him with the name “Masanneh,” a derogatory label used at the time to belittle Mandinkas. Bouba’s response was swift and shattering; he smashed a bottle over Saihou’s head, causing grave injuries.
While such an unlawful outburst is certainly not the recommended path to social harmony, the sociological result was nothing short of a miracle. That slur vanished from the school’s vocabulary overnight, achieving a level of linguistic purification that years of “sensitisation” could never reach. It was as if the entire student body suddenly suffered from collective amnesia regarding the word. While one cannot advocate for violence, the lesson is clear: a label only sticks if the victim is willing to wear it. The Fana Fana label has survived not because it is true, but because a polite, passive tolerance has allowed urban myths to override ethnic reality.
Today, we see this prejudice weaponised by the media. When the former Auditor General was fired, newspapers pointedly labeled him a Fana Fana. Only last week, news peddled on Jollof News claimed the President was about to fire the current National Security Adviser, Mr. Jeng, whom they also maliciously labeled as Fana Fana. These are serious precedents that must be corrected by state agencies, particularly the National Centre for Arts and Culture. It is a bitter irony that the NCAC’s own Executive Director, Hassoum Ceesay, a brilliant curator often subjected to this label, holds the records that could debunk this myth.
By objectifying rural Wolof speakers as a separate tribe based solely on their accent, Jallow’s speech perpetuates the “othering” of a significant portion of the population. This is not a harmless slip of the tongue; it is a “deadly error” because it reinforces the idea that true “Wolofness” is a property of the city, while the rural reality is something alien or lesser. In the 21st century, the continued use of Fana Fana in official discourse is an anachronism that fuels division. For a senior police officer to use this term in a speech meant to discourage tribalism is a self-defeating irony. A public servant of such high stature, Jallow should be expected to have outgrown these discriminatory tropes.
Any Gambian identified as Fana Fana has every right to feel insulted, as the term serves no purpose other than to strip them of their rightful ethnic heritage and replace it with a caricature. True national unity cannot be built on a foundation of historical ignorance, and it is high time that those in power stop using the language of the oppressor to lecture the youth on peace. To truly foster national unity, Gambian leaders must move beyond colonial tropes and recognise that linguistic diversity within an ethnic group does not constitute a separate tribe. It is time for scholars and the state to rise up against this objectification. The records must be corrected, and the dignity of the Wolof people must be restored.
