By: Seringe ST Touray
The Introduction
The second most feared title in today’s Gambian society is the title of “Njeke.” The Njeke acts as the maid of honor, culturally, serving as a wedding bride’s companion or confidant. She supports the bride emotionally and practically, assisting with wedding preparations and rituals, and representing her in key interactions. The most feared title is “Yai,” meaning ‘mother,’ or ‘mother of the night.’ The bearer of this title guides the bride through the cultural traditions, provides advice on marital responsibilities, and ensures emotional and ceremonial support throughout the wedding process.
On the surface, these roles and responsibilities seem justifiable. Look closer, and you’ll find the unspoken practices of how culture is monetized to bankroll a perfectly prevalent and discriminatory caste system unfolding before our eyes. The social hierarchy comprises the Freeborn (Géer) ruling class, Artisans (Ñeeño), who are traditionally skilled workers (such as Griots, Blacksmiths, and Leatherworkers), servile groups (Jaams), who serve the Freeborn often as laborers or in domestic roles, and, in some cases, religious leaders who hold a respected and separate status.
To add to an already problematic system, the infusion of money has dragged culture to new depths, where many are compelled socially and emotionally to empty their savings to give to a distant relative they’ve never heard of, only to sleep in the dark because they can’t afford electricity. Class-based pride, flamboyance, and an essentially ‘showing off’ attitude have taken our society by storm, with almost every participant silently complaining about the absurd system behind closed doors, yet putting on pretend smiles as they answer the call of their true gods – namely, the cultures and traditions they despise but won’t denounce publicly. To many, the misfortune of being named a Njeke or a Yai seems like a call to a higher cultural power, but one which brings devastating financial consequences.
The Vicious Cycle
The culture of monetary contributions in some of our local traditional weddings creates a cycle of obligation rather than choice, where giving money is an unwritten yet socially enforceable contract. When extended family sends money for a wedding, they expect the same or more when their own children marry. Over time, and historically, inflation and economic downturns make monetary contributions harder to reciprocate, turning this tradition into a burden. This mirrors how banks traditionally lend money with the expectation of interest, knowing the repayment value will potentially exceed the loan. Both systems benefit from changing monetary value favouring the lender while disadvantaging the borrower. This is not to say that all participants are unwilling. In many cases, families will, while expressively dreading every moment among their own trusted inner circle within the extended family, harness their last savings to pour into the tension-filled culture over their own family obligations, from children’s school fees, utility bills, medical bills, and general comfort.
The pressure to contribute financially to wedding ceremonies, especially for those holding the titles of Njeke or Yai, can be devastating. The expectation of financial generosity often forces them to dip into savings meant for other life necessities, creating a cycle of stress and emotional strain as they try to meet these cultural obligations.
The Collector
The bookkeeper, or better known as “The Collector,” manages contributions from guests. They record financial gifts given by attendees, typically announced publicly, sometimes with a loud speaker during the ceremony, along with the names of those who gave money. The official opinion is that this practice is rooted in the culture of transparency, accountability, and acknowledgement. Unofficially – it segregates those that have, and those that have less in a spectacularly classist display. These announcements create intense competition, resulting in pressure. Gifts and contributions to the extended family are largely seen as mandatory regardless of one’s financial situation, forcing people to participate in a culture where their own significance is determined by their financial worth. To some, this is seen as counterproductive to celebrating love, but rather to appease culture. In fact, some families reject their daughter’s choice of partner if her partner’s financial situation doesn’t accommodate such lavish cultural displays – unapologetically choosing waste over affection.
The role of the Njeke or Yai in this environment is especially precarious, as they are expected to maintain appearances and uphold tradition, often at the cost of their own financial well-being. The pressure to contribute financial gifts places them in a difficult position, especially when their own financial resources are limited.
The Extravagance
Disclaimer: this part may be considered sensitive, as it’s grounded in a religious context. In exploring the culture of lavish spending on wedding ceremonies in an economy that cries itself to sleep, I reflected on what motivates people in The Gambia – culture, or religion. The clever ones will say that since religion is a way of life, our culture is a byproduct of our religion. The problem is – this could not be further from the truth. According to a 2023 Report on International Religious Freedom by the United States Department of State, about 96% of our population are Muslims, mainly Sunni, with about 3% Christians, mainly Roman Catholics. Both religious scriptures condemn the attitude of lavish spending and senseless extravagance as a whole.
The Quran, for example, unequivocally teaches that extravagance for the sake of status or self-indulgence is harmful. Surah Al-Isra (17:26-27) (Sahih International) teaches, “And give the relative his right, and also the poor and the traveler, and do not spend wastefully. Indeed, the wasteful are brothers of the devils, and ever has Satan been to his Lord ungrateful.” The verse, linking wasteful spending to negative traits, is similar to Christian teachings against the pursuit of earthly wealth and status. However, without much knowledge or background on Christianity, regrettably, I leave that to a more informed audience to contextualize better. Here’s the point overall – a society that prides itself on religious doctrines has now largely allowed itself, much like with politics, to be governed by materialism.
The financial pressures linked to traditional roles like Njeke and Yai contribute to this materialistic mindset, as these titles are often associated with extravagant expectations that require substantial monetary contributions. The prioritization of material wealth in these cultural and religious contexts has put immense financial strain on those expected to fulfill these roles.
The Conclusion
This prioritization of materialistic culture over faith-based morality or morality as a whole is reminiscent of how many people engage in acts of social contribution, but only for the praise and recognition. It’s reasonable to believe that the titles ‘Njeke’ and ‘Yai,’ originally intended as harmless practices for support, transparency, accountability, and acknowledgment, have over time become increasingly defined by status and materialism, much like many of our most significant institutions.
In fact, over the course of writing this opinion piece, I spoke to many people who directly or indirectly participated in the culture of flamboyance, specifically pertaining to marriage, and all agreed that the material focus on our cultures is an insidious threat. Yet, when you tell them it’s morally wrong to prioritize materialism, what do they say? ‘Everyone else does it…’ or ‘kum nehut bokut’ – a Wollof phrase meaning ‘those who oppose the system do so because they’re not part of it,’ a condemnatory statement that conveniently overlooks the moral aspect. And my personal favourite: ‘You can’t do everything right.’ Unfortunately, I have to give this one to them – much as it pains me to admit it!
The ironic karma in all of this, though, is that no matter how much effort you put in appeasing certain culture, you can never truly satisfy it. Instead, such culture will judge you for even trying, focus on your lows instead of your highs, and whisper about your misfortunes, if any. A more reliable path to happiness is pragmatism, and for the religious, both pragmatism and faith. The most unproductive path to happiness is worrying about what everyone else will think, or say.
