Worshiping Where God’s Name is Allah

My experience as a Christian in a country where Islam is the predominant religion.

In Pulaar, the language in which our Lutheran congregation worships here in Linguere, God’s name is Alla. In Wolof, a language spoken widely throughout Senegal, God’s name is Yalla. I have heard both Christians and Muslims use the words Alla and Yalla to refer to God. There does not seem to be a linguistic distinction between the Christian god and the Muslim god. So every Sunday, for the past 4+ months through our liturgy, I have been praying to, calling out to, asking forgiveness from, and professing my faith in Alla. This god, Alla, is the god present in and prayed to by the Christian, Lutheran church here. I think this is an interesting facet of the Senegalese value of “togetherness,” which is clearly prized by the people I have met here.

This is the sanctuary of the Evangelical Lutheran church of Linguere which I worship at every Sunday.

In Wolof, people say “ñowfar,” which means “we are together,” simply to remind others of that fact. After someone says thank you – jerejef – the response is ñoo ko bokk, which literally means, “we share it.” So much is shared in Senegal. Everything is done together: as a family, with friends, or as a people. This makes it unsurprising to me, then, that the Senegalese are comfortable sharing the names for their Gods. There may be religious distinctions, or certainly distinctions between individual beliefs, but God’s name – Alla – can be shared between both Christianity and Islam here in Senegal.

I take this as a sign of the effort the Senegalese put into ensuring their country remains peaceful. People here are so willing to set aside their differences to consider the things which unite them. One of my supervisors has said, on multiple occasions, “I may have black skin, and you may have white skin, but underneath, we share the same blood.” (Note, this was my understanding of the English equivalent, it was originally said in Wolof). There are times when I feel frustrated for not fitting in because I am called toubab, which means “foreigner,” but has the connotation of being a foreigner who is white. Or I worry that my presence as a white person could be making people uncomfortable (which is absolutely justified), because of the history of colonialism in Senegal and what white people have done here in the past. I cannot – should not – brush these problems aside, but when they become overwhelming, it is reassuring to see that many Senegalese are graced with the strength to see that we are still united as human beings.

I'm almost always together with people at home: I have 5 host siblings. This is my youngest brother, Gabi. He's two and absolutely adorable.

I see the sharing of the name “Allah/h” as another example of this strength and willingness to be together as one people. The first time we used Alla to name God in church, I wondered how people in a Christian church in the U.S. would react to it. I wonder if people would be willing to say what I have heard a few of my colleagues here in Senegal say: “I may be Muslim, and you may be Christian, but God is the same God.” Are we willing to realize what we share? Are we willing to recognize how we have used differences as weapons, to separate ourselves from others, and dehumanize people? Are we willing to set aside prejudices and fears in order to recognize how we can be together, even across ethnic, religious, racial, and economic divisions?

I have seen many examples in Senegal of people trying to make space for other’s religion/religious practices. The Senegalese consider it vital to have a faith, and whether it’s Islam, Christianity, or another religion, they will make sure you have the time and space to pray, and worship.

One of the most powerful moments I have experienced in Senegal was one Friday morning in December. Aliou, the leader of PEVF Linguere, was quite ill. That morning, Kalidou – my supervisor at PEVF – and I took a break from our work to visit Aliou. I told him I had been thinking of him, keeping him in my prayers, and that I wished him good health. Kalidou is also an imam: a leader of a mosque. He and Aliou asked me to pray. And so I got to pray with two of my bosses, one of them being a Muslim religious leader. I was so moved. I was moved by the fact that I, an outsider by skin color and religion, was being invited to pray alongside an imam. It didn’t matter that Kalidou is a Muslim and I am a Christian: we were able to unite in prayer for our boss to wish him a good recovery.

My supervisor Kalidou: the man, the imam, the midwife.

I continue to thank God – Alla – for the gifts I have experienced in Senegal: the effort people put into maintaining peace in their country, the openness with which I have been received by this community, the joy I share with my host family, the invitations to celebrations of people both Christian and Muslim, and the moments when I can feel this “togetherness” with those around me in Linguere. Thank you all for your support, willingness to listen, and share in this experience with me.

Ñowfar,

Watéo Faye