An Interview With Senegalese Rap Legend, Xuman of Pee Froiss
Xuman breaks down jis decades-long career shaping African hip-hop.
Graphic via Evan Solano
Music never sleeps and neither does Leonel.
To talk about the history of rap in Africa is to talk about dignity in defiance. In Senegal, as in many other places around the world, hip-hop emerged within the dynamics of the diaspora. Feeding off the black music styles from the US and France, a generation of young people thirsting for expression began to form a scene around these new sounds. At first, it was the middle class youth in Dakar’s more affluent neighborhoods that caught wind of the movement, bringing back tapes from France, blasting groups like NTM, and connecting through beats and rhymes. They organized around hip-hop as dance groups, and before long those dancers picked up mics and became rappers.
This was happening against a backdrop of absolute crisis. In the neighborhoods of Dakar, rap began to speak in Wolof, the country's majority language, and to articulate the frustrations of a generation plagued by unemployment, inequality, and repression. All of this came to a head in 1988: the complete political instability of the country (on election year, no less) provoked the outbreak of student strikes in 1988, and in response to this, the infamous Année Blanche, the cancellation of the school year, was declared by the Senegalese government.
We can call this the catalyst. Young people found a space for resistance in culture. From organized movements to clean up the streets to diverse artistic manifestations, rap was the soundtrack. In that same year, the first rap record by a Senegalese artist was released: “Sama Yaye” by Mbacké Dioum. Here was a breeding ground that produced one of Senegal’s pioneering rap groups: Positive Black Soul.
It was through the international recognition of Positive Black Soul that the next phase of rap emerged in Senegal. In 1994, PBS released Boul Falé, wherein the title track became the name of an entire movement that inspired the first generation of contemporary rappers to spread their wings and develop their artistic ambitions. The expression "Boul Fale" in Wolof means "nevermind" or "do what you want," symbolizing a rejection of traditional norms and an attitude of indifference to criticism or social expectations. This movement was a form of resistance and empowerment for the marginalized.
From the PBS outgrowth emerged Pee Froiss, a group that revolutionized Senegalese hip-hop. Like contemporaries, Pee Froiss started out as a dance group (using only the name Frois),founded by Yoro Diop and his friends. Upon arriving in Dakar, Diop reformulated the dance group as "New Froiss," which integrated into the Senegalese arts scene. Xuman, Diop's cousin, joined the group to focus on rap rather than dance. Next came Daddy Bibson and Kool Koc VI, dancehall singer Sista Joyce, and DJ Gee Bayss. Their name, "Pee Froiss," was a reinterpretation by Xuman, who rebranded the group at a time when it began to adopt a style more focused on the rap culture of Dakar's working-class neighborhood of Fass.
Their cassette album Wala Wala Bok? (1996), became a watershed moment for the country's rap scene. Recorded with instrumentals programmed by Daniel Gomes and live musicians, the album addressed social themes such as life choices (“Wala Wala Bok?”), unprotected sex (“Bitabane”), national political divisions (“Deuk Bi”), transatlantic slavery (“Les Cauris”), dreams of freedom (“Sons of da Sun”), self-expression (“Makowax”), and street violence. By integrating African sounds, dancehall, jazz, and a flow with distant echoes of oral traditions like taasu, Pee Froiss centered itself in the experience of Senegalese youth.
They initially printed 10,000 Wala Wala Bok? tapes and the reception from the Senegalese public was remarkable. Their European tour a month after the album's release was only the triumphant beginning of a career that has since gone on to inspire generations of artists. Pee Froiss continued to release albums into the early 2000s, and in subsequent years, its members continued independent careers, with Xuman being the most active.
In 2023, Xuman toured the United States and was invited by UCLA to participate in a panel discussion moderated by the young French ethnomusicologist Samuel Lamontagne. This encounter sparked the inspiration to reissue Wala Wala Bok? for a new, global audience.
We had the pleasure of chatting with the legendary Xuman and Lamontagne himself about Senegal, Côte d’Ivoire, the hip-hop movement in Africa’s formative years, Journal Rapée, and the close relationship between rap and wrestling in the region.
(This interview has been condensed and lightly edited for clarity.)
So, first of all, you grew up in Cote d'Ivoire, and then you moved to Senegal. How did that transition come along? How did that transition influence your musical identity? How did the sounds that you found coming from your Cote d'Ivoire experience, shaped you as a musician and as a rapper?
Xuman: First of all, Senegal and Côte d’Ivoire are very different culturally. When I moved to Senegal, it was definitely a shock. But the one thing that remained consistent was hip-hop—rapping. When I arrived, I realized that people from my generation were listening to the same music, vibing to the same beats. And, uh, that was really funny because when I was in Cote d'Ivoire, for instance, one of the first hip-hop groups that really influenced hip-hop in Cote d'Ivoire, was R.A.S., and their first big hip-hop hit was this song called “Agnagnan”. And in this song, there was a line, uh, from Rob Base. You know, when he was saying, “I want to rock right now, I wanna, I wanna rock right now”. So they changed it, they did it in Bambara (the Mandé-based language spoken in Mali and Cote d’Ivoire) and changed the meaning of it, but it sounds kind of the same. And the meaning was “clap your hands”, but in Bambara.
So, when I came to Senegal, hip-hop became a kind of refuge for me [to navigate] the cultural differences between Senegalese society and Ivorian culture. So when I came, I came with my way of speaking. And even in our first album, when you listen to the Wala Wala Bok? remix with Positive Black Soul in the Bridge, there was someone who was speaking, um, I was the one speaking. Nouchi. Nouchi is like the patwa or the slang from Cote d'Ivoire, you know. So I brought that vibe, you know, uh, when I came to Senegal.
And what about the non-hip-hop music you grew up listening to in Côte d’Ivoire and elsewhere? How did that shape you as an artist?
Xuman: I think the the, the, the whole slang of Cote d'Ivoire is a whole vibe – The way they speak, interact, and the music. In Côte d’Ivoire, one of the most popular styles was Zouglou. Zouglou was born in the universities, during a time of crisis, It was the sound of protest. the students used to sing this music to, you know, to complain about the system, about the university, the conditions of living. And it was kinda like rapping but more traditional, more spoken [and sung]. So definitely listening to that music and listening also to reggae music, because really one of the biggest stars in Cote d'Ivoire was Alpha Blondy, you know, and he influenced generations because he was the first one in the 1980s. He was the first one who blew up out of Cote d'Ivoire. So definitely listening to his music, listening to his vibes, to how he was, um, advocating for human rights and stuff, that really influences our music or my music particularly for it.
Alright, so now – Basic question: How did Pee Frois start? How did it take shape?
Xuman: When I came to Côte d'Ivoire, I had my cousin—he was a dancer. He had just come from Gabon, and he was an amazing dancer. In Gabon, they already had the name of this band called Froiss — F-R-O-I-S-S. That was the name of the group in Gabon. It was made up of two or three dancers.
When my cousin arrived in Senegal, he said, “Okay, I’m going to create the new Froiss — a new version of the band.” So he recreated the group in Senegal. Basically, it was just a dance group.
When I came from Senegal, my cousin was really a star. He dressed like Michael Jackson, had curly locks and everything. They were dancing, and when I came in, I brought the vibe, the rap, trying to write lyrics. I told them, “You know what? We could add rap. I’ll be the rapper, and you’ll be the dancers.” So, in the beginning, I was the one in the background. The dancers were the stars; they were in the front. All the girls were crazy about them. I was the one in the back. There was no playback — it was straight live. When the beat dropped, the dancers went on stage and did their choreography, and I was in the back rapping.
After maybe two years, some of the dancers decided to quit. They went off to university and stuff. I was the only one left, still rapping. That’s when I met Daddy Bibson he was living in my neighborhood. He joined the band. We started like okay rapping and we had less dance and more rap in the group. And uh, um, maybe we performed like we used to. We used to be the dynamic duo. We used to go everywhere to perform, like, you know, crazy.
Then we met Kool Koc VI. He was a member of another group called New Therapy, which later became Rap’adio. He saw us perform and said, “Man, you’re crazy. You rock. Can we work together?” At first, he wasn’t supposed to join the group, — he was just going to collaborate with us while doing his solo thing. But the more we worked together, the more we realized we had chemistry. So we kept working.
At that point, the members were me, Daddy, and Kool Koc VI, [who] brought in another member — unfortunately, he didn’t end up on the album because he left before we recorded. He also brought in Sistah Joyce, our first singer. She used to sing in church. Even after others left, she decided to stay. She became the first female singer in a hip-hop group in the history of Senegalese hip-hop. So now we had two rappers and two singers.
We needed to add a DJ — and that’s when DJ Gee Bayss joined. He was [already] one of the craziest club DJs at the time. We needed a DJ because we didn’t have instrumentals. It was simple. We just needed someone who could provide beats so we could record whenever we wanted. We didn’t have access to studios. We couldn’t produce our own beats — we didn’t have any beatmakers. The only way to get music was to work with a DJ. That’s why we asked him to join us.
So about that early Senegalese scene, what were the main obstacles and challenges for that first generation of Senegalese rappers to even record and release music back then?
Xuman: First thing first: there were no beatmakers. I mean, there was no hip-hop beatmaker. People didn’t know about producing hip-hop beats. We didn’t know how it worked. The only beatmakers were the ones producing a kind of music called Funaná. That was different music. The only people who knew how to produce something that sounded like hip-hop were the Funaná people—people from Cabo Verde, you understand? So when we started, when we wanted to produce beats, we had to talk to them and explain: “This is what we want to do. This is the kind of music we want to play.” They had to try to copy it.
We had to bring hip-hop songs into the studio and say, “Okay, this is the kind of beat we want.” But we didn’t know how it worked, because it sounded different—the mixing, the mastering, everything was different. But we just wanted that kind of sound. We were big fans of Wu-Tang at the time. We were big fans of the pioneers of hip-hop. But we didn’t have people who could do it.
The first one who kind of understood how to produce hip-hop was Didier [Awadi]. He was a musician. We recorded the first album in his studio. He also recorded the first PBS—Positive Black Soul—album. He kind of knew, because he listened to a lot of jazz and had a connection with the U.S., so he understood how it sounded. But it wasn’t pure, hardcore hip-hop. It was really jazzy hip-hop. So when we added too much guitar, too much melody, we were like, “No, no, no. We don’t like that. We want it to be raw. We don’t want it to sound like this.” The more we went, the more we tried to find our own sound. That was a problem, because sometimes we had to work with people who didn’t listen to hip-hop. They listened to other music. So they brought their own flavor into hip-hop.
My first experience going into a studio was in 1992. In 1992, Senegal hosted a big football tournament—the African tournament. We decided to write a song to support the football players. I wrote the lyrics and everything. We were working with Positive Black Soul. We had to go to the studio to record one song—just one song. We went to five studios. None of them wanted to record our music. So what did we do? We had to play it live. When we went to the event, we had to play that song live. It was broadcast live on television. So we had to perform it live.
That was the first problem we had. People didn’t believe in the music. Most of them were like, “This is not music. You’re just talking. You’re not singing. You’re talking on the beat. This isn’t good music.” So the first problem we had was acceptance. The second problem we had was: how can we speak to people? How can we make ourselves understood?
We couldn’t just copy American rap. American rappers were talking about things we didn’t even understand—things that weren’t our reality. The only option was to talk about our reality.
So the main problems we had were about finding a place to record, and also being understood by the audience.
That necessity—to be understood by the audience—also came with the transition. Because, as far as I know, we first started writing in English and French. But then we felt the need for it to be done in Wolof, and for our style to adapt to the cultural characteristics of Senegal and the Senegalese people.
Were there any social tensions between the traditional view of music, from people in Senegal towards the early hip-hop scene?
Xuman: You know, hip-hop in Senegal was born in crisis. When I say crisis, I mean in 1988, for more than six months, there were strikes—student strikes. So the government decided to cancel the school year. And then we had a clash with the president at the time, Abdou Diouf, who said that the youth were insane. I think that was the first clash between the youth and the power. So the first rap groups started at that time—that was in 1988. Those were the first rap groups. And the first group that really brought politics into its lyrics was Positive Black Soul.
They said: “We are not PS,” (that’s the Socialist Party), “We are not socialist, we are not democratic, we are Positive Black Soul. We are the new party that brings hope to the youth.” That was, in essence, what they were saying.
At that time, we had a lot of jobless kids, jobless people, because the school year had been canceled. A lot of kids didn’t know what to do. So hip-hop was definitely born during this period of crisis in Senegal. This period of crisis opened the door for the scene to develop. Positive Black Soul was our mentor, for sure. When we started making music—my first recordings—I brought them to DJ Awadi. He was living not far, in the next neighborhood. I brought him my songs. He listened and said, “Yeah, it’s cool, but it can be better.”
But first things first, what we understood from their philosophy was: “Take care of yourself. Don’t care about what people are saying. Go ahead.” That inspired me. That inspired me to create “Makowax”
Makowah means “I said it.” I'm the one who said it. At that time, when you were young in our society—even today, though less so—you didn’t have the right to speak in public. The older people were the ones who could speak. If you were young, you had to shut up. So when we brought that line—Makowax, Makowax, “I said it, I did it”—it was like an anthem. It means that you have to be proud. You have to make sure what you're saying is right. You have to make sure that when you do something, you do it right. And then you have to claim it: “I'm the one. I said it. I did it.”
So Makowax was kind of an offspring of the movement. We were more underground. When we released our first album, we were really from one of the poorest neighborhoods in Dakar—Fass, in Medina. We were really hustling.
When we released our first album, we were hustlers. We brought Wala Wala Bok. It means “the choice.” And the choice is: okay, whether it's good or bad, we chose to stop school, and we chose music. So whatever happens, we’re going to make it. We're going to keep it tight. We're going to go and do our thing.
At that time, all the rap groups were bringing anthems, lyrics, and consciousness. We had all that in the lyrics. When Positive Black Soul brought their thing, we brought Wala Wala Bok. That was our own vibe.
We had our own flavor at that time. We had BMG 44. Later, we had Rap’adio. But most of the lyrics were about society, political consciousness—about consciousness and politics. Very few lyrics were just about ourselves.
During that period, we were very serious about the music we were making. We said: “Okay, now we bet on ourselves. We stopped school. We stopped everything. We want to make music.” We wanted to make music, and we wanted to defend the people who needed to be defended.
The transition between Boul Falé and what we were doing—Boul Falé was like a song, an anthem. So we thought, okay, we can bring something maybe not stronger, but equal to Boul Falé. That 's why we brought Wala Wala Bok? And even today, people still say Wala Wala Bok. Because depending on the context, when you say Wala Wala Bok, it might be a question, or it might be “yes, indeed.” Like, “Okay, I did it.” Or, “So what?” Or, “What now?”
“Makowax” was our first video—the only video from that album. We shot a second video, but unfortunately, we couldn’t release it because at that time we didn’t have many videographers.” Makowax” was recorded in a very rough place—not a nice place. It was dirty, to show the reality. At the end of the video, you can see the cops chasing us. That was the purpose of the video: say what you want to say, do what you want to do—even if the police want to get you, you have to say what you have to say.
Please tell me more about the connection between hip-hop and wrestling in Senegal. How deep does that relationship go?
Xuman: At that time, we had Mohamed Ndao Tyson, who was one of the biggest wrestlers of all time in Senegal. Mohamed Ndao Tyson took the phrase “Boul Falé” and created the Boul Falé generation. Tyson was so impactful. He would even enter the arena carrying the American flag. He was representing, let’s say, the American dream. Now, maybe some of us thought, “Come on, that’s too much,” but at that time, it was something impactful.
And there’s something really interesting. hip-hop has what we call ego-tripping, right? And laamb (Senegalese wrestling) also has ego-tripping. In wrestling, everyone has a kind of flow that sounds similar to rap. When you present yourself, you come and say:
“My name is Xuman. I’m the biggest. I’m the greatest. The one called Leo? I beat him once. The one called Sam? I beat him twice. The one called Jackson? I beat him too.”
They have what they call bakku. Bakku is exactly what rappers do. Like: “I’m the biggest. I’m the greatest.” Just like what Muhammad Ali used to do—“I’m the champ, the champ is here.” It’s that flow, that self-proclamation of power. That energy of saying: “I’m the biggest, and no one can compete with me.” That was the link between hip-hop and wrestling.
The second link was that wrestlers were fulfilling their dreams by doing what they wanted. They were showing they were strong, wealthy—they had money. And rappers were living that same dream. So I think the connection between wrestling and hip-hop came from that era. Most of the wrestlers were big fans of hip-hop. Even now, when there’s a big wrestling competition, you can see the wrestlers rapping. Some rappers write rhymes for them, and they come into the arena rapping.
In the ’90s, the situation was that a new generation was coming—and believing in itself. They didn’t care what people were saying. They believed in themselves and did what they had to do. Whether it was sports, wrestling, or rapping, no matter what, they were going to make it. So I think that’s the bridge between hip-hop and wrestling.
About your approach to writing: When you write a song, when you start writing raps, do you think first about the melody of the language or the structure of the rhyme, Or do you come with a particular meaning and a particular theme in mind?
Xuman: In the beginning, that was definitely the theme. Because we used to have ciphers, like the ciphers. We used to work together, like me and Bibson, or whoever. We’d say, “Okay, what are we going to talk about?” Okay. Bibson could come up with a theme, with a topic. “Okay, let’s talk about this topic.” Or Koc VI could come with a topic. Or I could come with a topic. Or sometimes it was just a choice.
But in certain songs—like, for instance, in this album—in the first album, you have the song called “Sons of da Sun.” That is a song from Sistah Joyce. Actually, that’s our first song. So when she came with that topic, we had to rewrite the thing and bring Koc VI in the song. And I was the one doing the bridge in the song.
We had the chorus first before we wrote the lyrics. We just had the chorus. In “Wala Wala,” that was the chorus. We were supposed to talk about the choice that we made by creating Froiss and leaving school and following the music. So we were like, “Okay, let’s talk about it.” Koc VI had a song, and the song was about himself. We didn’t even have the chance to record it—but it was one of his biggest songs. In this song we had a verse, and in this verse he took it to bring into “Wala Wala.”
Really, maybe today I’m writing differently. But back then, the first thing you had was the topic. Or sometimes you just had one rhyme. You had one rhyme and you’d be like, “Okay, I might develop that.” And sometimes when we came for rehearsal, we would rhyme, sometimes freestyle. And after this freestyle, we could have some good ideas. We’d do a cipher and I’d start with a rhyme, and the one next to me would go for the next—you had to create a rhyme based on my rhyme, and so on and so on. We were doing it like that. When we had this kind of rehearsal, sometimes we grabbed some ideas from there.
So basically, we were rehearsing a lot. It was every day from three in the afternoon till nine or till ten at night. Every day, every day, every day, from Monday to Sunday. That’s how we were creating.
Most of the songs we created were really like: we have an idea, okay, we want to talk about it. And I think for me, as I said, “Makowax” was in this. We had—there was a politician at that time, and this politician was one of the funny guys because he was promising a lot of things. And when he finished his sentence, he was like, “I said it,” but at the end of the day nothing happened. It was just like talking. And we were like, “Man, that might be something interesting if we can develop it.”
So that’s how the sentence worked. That’s what we said. But it was just saying “Makowax.” But then we had “I did it, I said it, I did it,” because the thing was, it was really catchy. And if we wrote good lyrics on that, it might be something interesting.
Can you tell us what was the name of that politician?
Xuman: I forgot his name. He didn’t really make it. He just quit politics. He’s not one that you remember. Because don’t forget that I came to Senegal in the early nineties. When I came to Senegal, I was learning. Like I was saying, it was a cultural shock. I was learning a lot.
At that time, in 1992 [Writer´s Note: 1993 is the correct date], we had the elections in Senegal. Every night we had, for maybe forty minutes before the news, every candidate had to come and present the program for the elections. This guy was there.
For me, that was something new. Because I had to listen carefully to understand what they were talking about. I had to listen. I had to be careful, to understand, and ask people, “What is this about?” And I was asking my grandmother, because she was the one who taught me most of the proverbs and stuff like this. She was the one I was asking all the time, “Can you explain to me what this is about?”
And talking about the album, about the Wala Wala Bok? album, what were the main social conversations going on in Senegal at that time that influenced the creation of the record and that shaped the main topics?
Xuman: The main themes of the album, in terms of lyrics: before the release of Wala Wala in 1996, I had left hip-hop for a while because my father asked me to come to Gabon, because he was living in Gabon. He asked me to leave Senegal and come to Gabon. But on the way I wasn’t supposed to come straight from Senegal to Gabon. I was supposed to take the train from Dakar to Bamako, Mali. And from Mali I was supposed to take the bus. The bus brought me to Abidjan.
Unfortunately, I didn’t make it. I left Dakar when Positive Black Soul was producing—they had a kind of “Boul Falé” Remix album, which was like a mix with a lot of remixes. They invited us to perform, me and… together in this “Boul Falé” mix. That was for me the last time I was performing. So the way we recorded our voice and I moved—I went to Côte d’Ivoire and I said goodbye to everybody. “That’s the last time you’re going to see me rhyming because I’m going to Gabon. If I go to Gabon, I’m going to school.” Okay.
When I was in Abidjan, the album was released in Senegal. They sent me the album and I was so proud to show it to my brothers in Abidjan. “You see, this is me, this is my band.” They said, “Man, you’re good. Why do you want to stop music?” I said, “I’m going to Gabon. I’m going to live another life. This is not my life.”
Unfortunately or fortunately, things changed because before I got ready to go to Gabon, something changed. The Gabonese government decided you have to have the visa, you have to pay to stay in Gabon. That was too expensive. So my father told me to come back to Senegal and then he would get ready to bring me money.
I came to Senegal and unfortunately school had already started. When I went to school, I couldn’t understand because I had missed too many days. I couldn’t really follow up. So that’s how I stopped going to school. When I stopped going to school, my auntie, the one I was living with, couldn't accept that I was doing music. That’s why Maka Wakh was so important. Because when we were recording, there was a kind of… she thought we were talking to her. We were telling her, “We do whatever we want to do.”
“Wala Wala” was also important because it’s talking about the choice. When I stopped going to school, music was my choice. Kool Koc VI did the same thing. He stopped going to school. Bibson also stopped going to school. Wala Wala was about the choice that we made in our life to stop going to school, even though our parents were not really happy with that, and do something else.
The situation in 1996 was that the social situation was… we had a Socialist Party running the city. They won the election and the president was, the more it went, the more we felt like he was about to lose power, but still he was in power. At that time we also had… at that period, we had the devaluation of the franc CFA, the French African franc. It was being devalued, its worth going down in international markets. The crisis was really high. People were suffering.
That’s why the album was so important at that period. Because when we released it, we were talking about the situations. In the songs we had “Bogulu, Bogulu” which means the people who are beating you to get your money—the bandits. We created this word actually to talk about that. At that period, the violence in the street was really high.
The whole album was about social issues. We talked about politics. You’re under pressure in this country because of all this inequity and inequality, so you’re living in really big pressure. We had “Sons of da Sun,” that was talking about hope—no matter what, we just have to hope, hope. We definitely have to make it.
The whole album was about this situation, the social environment at that time.
So you recorded with people that were not familiar at all with hip-hop. How did that relationship shape the record and how did you make it? How did you get them to understand what you were going to do? What were you going for and what were the bigger, the biggest lessons from that experience?
Xuman: We had the chance to work with Positive Black Soul. They already had experience — they had recorded an album and traveled a lot. We had them in the studio with us, and they were the ones showing us how to do things.
The funny part is that they wanted me to rap like Snoop — the flow, the style, everything. They said, “You look like Snoop, you have to bring that Snoop vibe.” But that wasn’t my vibe at all. I was more of an East Coast hardcore rapper. They kept telling me, “Come on, go mellow, rap like Snoop.”
You can hear it in some songs like Dookie. The theme is really hardcore, but the way I rapped was mellow. Even now when I listen to it, I laugh because they totally changed me. What they wanted me to understand was that in the studio, you don’t have to go too hard. You can keep it mellow, and if the lyrics are deep, speaking slowly gives them more impact. I didn’t get that at the time, but when we released the song people were like, “Wow, man, your flow is on point.” I thought, “Yeah, I’m dope.” But really, they made me do that.
The second thing is that we recorded with real musicians. For example, if you listen to the intro of Wala Wala there’s a saxophone player. Or in Makowax, at the beginning you hear a jazz singer. He came to the studio, loved the song — which was hardcore — but he said, “I’ll just bring some soul.” That changed everything. The musicians told us, “Even though you’re hardcore rappers, you’re also musicians. The music has to have soul. To bring soul, you sometimes need to add musicality, a different vibe.”
That’s what changed us. Even with songs like “Bitabane”, the guitars were played live. We brought real musicians into the studio, and even without much experience, if it sounded good, it was good.
One of our “big brothers” had a studio, and he gave us the first advice to play with a band. Back then it seemed crazy — how could you do hip-hop with a band? But when we recorded the album, we called him. He played bass on one or two songs and helped us bring musicality to our work. From that time, our identity became clear: we are rappers, but we are also musicians, and we bring melody into our songs. I actually love that saxophone across the record — it’s beautiful. And if you listen carefully, we even included an interpolation of a G-funk track from Dr. Dre or Snoop. That was really nice.
Throughout the album, we also talked a lot about divisions in society in Senegal — both political and social. The political division came from the fact that Abdou Diouf was president for about 20 years, while Abdoulaye Wade was the opposition leader for decades. We listened more to Wade, because he was the one talking about the real issues — how the people in power were making money for themselves instead of serving the country. So there was this Socialist Party versus Democrats division.
But there was also social division. because we still today have different categorizations of the society. So we have the nobles, we can call them something like that. And you also have the griots, then you have the second-class citizens. Senegal still has a caste system, and the second class citizens are the people who, no matter how rich you are, if you want to marry someone, the first question the family asks is about your lineage. If you come from a “low” lineage, you may not be allowed to marry into a family of higher status. That still happens today with the new regime. We're still feeling the same thing because we have the press, you have the police, you have the army.
We talked about unification too. Because once we unite, we can make things change. Once the population says, “Okay, we will go through this division and try to see what can unite us,” then when we come together, we can achieve a lot.
One of the most interesting parts of the making of the record, from what I've read, is that it was partly financed through advertising. How did that come about? And most importantly, how hard was it to reconcile this advertising commercial aspect, in order for you to be able to record, with the underground character of the music?
Xuman: The very funny thing is, for this advertisement in the album, we got paid four thousand dollars. And the four thousand dollars paid the studios. We paid the studios, but not the musicians. Not the video. That money was exactly for that.
And, you know, on the radio, even when we finished — because at that time we didn’t know about contracts, really — the main thing was that Positive Black Soul was the one producing. So they were the ones who went to Lisa [Writer’s Note: LISA is the name of the Soda that they were advertising in Senegal], and they knew that Lisa wanted to have some advertisement. So we had Lisa, and we also had ASBEF. ASBEF was the association for the well-being of children and girls. So we also got some money from them.
And [production company] Vision Sud helped us with the video. Vision was the one who helped us for the video, and even the clothes that we were wearing in the video. We had a sponsor because we didn’t have the money to buy clothes, to buy nice clothes. So what we had to do was create our own clothes with the question mark, because the question mark was the main logo at that time. The logo of the album.
And I don’t know if today I’d be able to do the same thing, because the advertisement that we did in the album — the product itself — I’m not sure if it’s really a healthy product. I mean, I don’t know if it’s healthy. But we had to do it at that time to get this money to make it. Unfortunately, the company doesn’t exist anymore. But at that time it was really interesting.
And even for the instrumental, we didn’t own the instrumental. You understand? Because we just did it like, “Okay, let’s grab a B-side of a vinyl and just do the thing.” We just did it for the radio.
And when we finished, we were not in the video. There was a video for that song for television. We didn’t shoot the video. The company itself shot the video of this song. And we were not in the video — it was just random people.
What was your experience like, going to Europe and presenting this Wolof-based music, this Senegalese music to a public that may have not been familiar at all with this?
Xuman: We had the chance, as I said, to work with Positive Black Soul. They had the experience of touring. So they were telling us, “Man, if you go to Europe, the show must be tight no matter what. It must be tight.”
So we were rehearsing for maybe three weeks, every day at Black Soul’s place. And the funny thing is, we had to bring something special. The only special thing we brought was to spit fire. So we said, “Okay, you’re the DJ. While we’re performing in the middle of the song, you have to come and spit fire, and we have to dance. Then you go back on your turntables, and after that we finish the show.”
But the thing was so dope. We performed in Brixton, and then we had the chance to perform in Paris. For us that was a dream, because we were so used to performing on stage. We were like, “Okay, we’re one of the best bands on stage.” Everybody knew that. For us, that was something normal.
Because when you’re performing in really bad conditions, when the sound equipment is not good, but you still do your best — one day, when you have the chance to perform on a stage with a lot of people waiting for you, and the people respond really hard, you give the best of yourself. You give one hundred percent of yourself.
So we really liked this spirit. That was really fundamental for what came next, because it gave us hope. As I said, when we came back from tour, I gave my mother one hundred thousand CFA, like two hundred dollars. She asked me, “Where did you get this money from?” I said, “I got it from tour.” “What? From music?” “Yeah, I got it from music.”
For me, that was the most important thing. The fact that my own mother appreciated it, and she prayed for me. For me, that was the most important thing.
The other thing is that we discovered we were doing good. Because when we performed, people were so amazed by our performance that they came to us like, “Yo, that’s dope. This is real.” And people from Africa too. That was, for us, the biggest reward.
And what was it back home like in 1996? Senegalese hip-hop was still like taking shape, taking its final form. But that record ended up being a classic for Senegal. When did you know the extent of the album's impact?
Xuman: Um, you know, the very funny thing is, at that time we released, like, every year we released an album because there were no singles. So we had to release albums. So every year we were releasing albums. That was the routine.
So we didn’t feel the effect of Wala Wala then. But why is it so interesting? Because those were old songs for us. Of all the songs, there was no new song. All the songs were like songs that we wrote back in the day. You know, as I was saying, before I left Senegal to go to Cote d’Ivoire, we already had songs, but we didn’t record them because I was leaving. So those were old songs for us.
The only song that we recorded in the studio, that we wrote in the studio, was the remix with Positive Black Soul. But all the other songs were old, old, old songs that we used to work with. We had more songs, but for the album we had to release only, I don’t know, eight or six, I don’t know. But we had a lot of songs that we had already worked on. So then, for us, for a lot of people when they discovered it, they were like, “Wow, these are the real hardcore rappers in Senegal."
So then, for us, for a lot of people when they discovered it, they were like, “Wow, these are the real hardcore rappers in Senegal.”. For the first time, we were invited in France, and we were invited on a TV program. At that time we had MCM Africa. That was the name of this TV show, this TV channel. And we were invited to MCM Africa. Man, that was an accomplishment. Everybody was seeing us on television. And that was international television, you know.
So, Sam [Ethnomusicologist Samuel Lamontagne, who reissued Wala Wala Bok? in 2025], What were the main challenges in the whole remaster, rerelease and digitalization process, and what were the biggest lessons that you took from that experience?
Samuel Lamontagne: Releasing a record is always a challenge, you know, because there are so many parts to it. But I think the biggest challenge was just the sound. Because, like I mentioned, it was only pressed on cassettes originally, and pretty much all those cassettes are gone. They weren’t really preserved.
So initially we tried to digitize and remaster. Initially we tried with a woman who had the original master tapes. It was on dat tapes. And so he was in the car, and he gave the tapes to DJ Oloff, who’s a DJ that lives in LA, a Senegalese DJ that lives in LA but goes back to Senegal all the time. So he gave him the tapes when Oloff was in Senegal. And Oloff came back to LA, I met up with him, and he gave me the tapes, and we took them to a studio so they could digitize them. But they were completely fucked. Like, they were burnt, I think. So the engineer couldn’t even play them.
So we couldn’t digitize them. That didn’t work. And so the way we did it, I looked everywhere on the internet, like eBay, different sites like that from different countries. In France, there’s a site called Rakuten, and they have… it’s kind of like eBay, but a little different. And somebody was selling one. So I bought it, and it was only ten euros. I was like, wow, that’s crazy.
So I bought it, but they only shipped to France. So they shipped it to my mom’s address, and then my mom got it, and then she shipped it to LA. And from LA, I gave it to one of the label mates, Jesse Justice, and he digitized it. And from there, we sent the files to Zero, and Zero mastered the tracks.
So, yeah. It was a long circuit, but we did it. And the tape was in perfect condition. I don’t think it had been played more than a couple of times. So, yeah. That’s the tracks on the record and online — that’s a digital version of that tape.
So, yeah. That was the main challenge. Because we wanted to do the project. Everybody wanted to do the project. But at some point we didn’t know if we were going to be able to have the actual good quality files. That was definitely the main challenge, I think.
On the record, there are many things that are clearly modern improvements, modern technical improvements to the original recordings. How was the process of deciding what to keep from the original feel of that record and What to, in a way, modernize? How were those decisions taken?
Samuel Lamontagne: For the sound, that was really left up to the engineer Zero. Like, we kind of had total trust in him, because he’s just a really amazing engineer, sound engineer, and especially in rap. He’s a rapper based in LA, but in the last maybe five to ten years, he’s also been an engineer, and he’s mastered really important projects. I know he’s mastered Mos Def. So we just had total trust in him.
And, yeah, I think first or second go, we were okay with his work, what he did to the tracks. And then same with Xuman, we sent it to him, and he was like, “Yeah, this is perfect, I’m impressed.” So we went from there. I mean, you would be better to talk about it, but I think there’s more bass. He emphasized the bass. Yeah, that’s definitely one thing.
This re-release is inevitably going to be heard, going to be listened to by a new generation of listeners, and many of them international listeners. If you could say something to that generation that will listen to Wala Wala Bok for the first time in 2025, what would you say about what this album represents for Senegal and for you personally?
Xuman: In the timeline of Senegalese hip-hop, it represents a big step because we were recording and releasing the songs at that time when the population was like, “can we talk about this subject? Can we talk about certain subjects?” And Wala Wala Bok? was released exactly at this time.
So for the people who listen to the album, they don’t have to… I don’t want them to judge it with the ear or the technology of today. If you judge it with the technology of today, definitely you’re not gonna understand it. But you have to know the context — the social context — why we released the album, when we released the album, and in which conditions we released the album.
Because if you want to compare this album to what’s going on today, almost thirty years later, you’re going to lose. It’s not going to be fair, because we didn’t have the technology. We didn’t have the knowledge that we have today. But we did it with emotion. We did it with our heart. That’s the most important thing for me.
And as you said, hip-hop in Senegal, and pretty much everywhere else, is born from crisis. Do you think Senegalese hip-hop today, throughout all that process, is still speaking to the crisis of today?
Xuman: Right. I know that whenever something is happening in our country, the first people in the front line are the rappers. Last year, in that period, we had the new government come to power. We had a lot of rappers decide to speak their opinion. When we had an illegal immigration [crisis], we still had to talk about that.
So what I’m saying is, definitely, the rappers are the ones who, whatever happens, they are the first in the front row. Unfortunately, when it comes to the reward, they are not in the front row anymore. But when it comes to social issues and stuff like this, the rappers are the first all the time.
So last year, as I said, we had…the country lost eighty people to fight for democracy, for this new regime to get in power. And the rappers were the ones in front of this battle. We also had the illegal immigration thing. The rappers were the first ones to talk about it. When it comes to the relationship between Africa and Europe, the rappers are the ones talking about it. So that’s something clear.
But beside that, there’s something interesting, something important too. They are making music to feed their family. So sometimes they have to make music that can please the majority. But when it comes to fighting, to talking to the people… of course now the mainstream media don’t want to play that music anymore.
I mean, for instance, in Senegal it’s like the Drake and Kendrick clash. You saw how it monopolized all the attention?
Yes.
Xuman: Even a lot of people couldn’t release songs during that period. They had to wait until the beef was over. You understand? So that’s the same thing happening here too.
Unfortunately, we don’t have any youth with this open line of living, like saying, “I’m going to make music just for the people. I’m going to make music for uplifting people.” Most of these kids are just like, “Okay, I’m making music to feed myself and my family. I’m not going to run, I’m not going to lie, I’m not going to do whatever, but I’m going to make music to have a decent life.”
So the old schoolers, like us, we’re still the ones who want to maintain that attitude. I’m not saying that we don’t have any conscious rappers or whatever, but I’m saying that most of them are just making money, because they’re really influenced by what’s going on in the US or in Europe.
Yeah. So to finalize this interview, please tell me something about Journal Rappé. How did that come about? And how was this trajectory that you’ve had from being a rapper, from being a musician, to almost becoming, or well, to actually becoming, a kind of cultural critic for Senegalese and for Africans, talking about the issues of the day?
Xuman: The very funny thing is, when you say… when you, um, Keyti was a member of Rap’adio. And Rap’adio was created by Kool Koc VI. And then we had a clash with Rap’adio. And then we found ourselves again, me and Keyti working together for almost a decade. That’s the funny thing, because we used to clash with each other.
When we created the Journal, we didn’t know how impactful it was going to be, but we knew it was going to be something interesting. Because basically we were living in a period… We created that straight after, one year after, the new president got elected. Macky Sall got elected. We felt like if we don’t talk about politics in hip-hop, the rappers are still going to talk about themselves. Clashing, clashing, clashing.
So the main goal was to be useful to the population. How can we keep talking about serious issues by using edutainment — entertainment and education mixed together? So that’s how we created this.
Because for the topics, every week you can have new topics. But if you just want to release songs to please the population, yeah, it might be nice, you might have millions of views, but it’s not going to be impactful. So we said, okay, let’s create something that can please people, that people can learn from, and we can talk about everything. We want to talk about every topic. So that’s how we decided to do that.
And today, the last program, the last big shows that we did, we did them because I just felt like this is something that even ten years later, nobody is doing in Senegal. Nobody is doing it the way we did it.
And, you know, I think it’s… yeah, we’ve been rapping for thirty years now, and we still have something to say. And the only way to do it is to use this. Because every piece of paper you take, you can learn a lot of things from it. You know, we just released something like one hundred and thirty episodes of rap. So it’s one hundred and thirty songs that we produced.
Yeah. For me, it’s an achievement. I didn’t achieve it with my solo career. But, you know, we just brought something to the table.