“The young Senega-
lese boy dreams of
going down in his-
tory, immortalized
in songs and stories
with the great wres-
tlers who have gone
before him.”
were used to pay homage to respected leaders,
celebrate initiation ceremonies and show off
masculinity to potential brides.
I
n the early years of the 20th century, French
colonial leaders introduced prize money,
which gradually changed the sport from a
community event into a commercial one. La lutte
declined during World War I, when more than
200,000 Senegalese soldiers served France —
30,000 of them perished in the European con-
flict. Despite the wartime setback, Senegalese
wrestling recovered, its popularity and mysti-
cism intact. A major turning point was in 1924
when Maurice Jacquin, a French film producer
and avid boxer, opened a cinema in Dakar and
used its grounds to train boxers. Several wres-
tlers were attracted to the sport, and Jacquin
came up with the idea of combining the two mar-
tial arts into today’s dominant version of la lutte.
While fame was always there for great wrestlers,
fortune only started in the 1970s when the sport
was formalized and coordinated under a govern-
ing body. Since then, la lutte has become more
famous than soccer in Senegal — and it attracts
even larger sponsors. The big stars can make as
much as $200,000 per match and fight in two
to three matches per year, say promoters. And
that’s in a country where the annual income per
capita is $1,093, according to the World Bank.
T
oday, in the same way a young boy in a
Brazilian favela dreams of becoming the
next Ronaldo, in Senegal a young boy
dreams of being Falaye Baldé, who grabbed
his opponents and demanded of the crowd,