The sounds of modern African music and drums blast onto the street from 3-feet high speakers, barely ruffling the flow of the long yellow, lavender and green gowns of the women who walk by. Store windows display African beauty products and provisions such as cornmeal and bissap, in neat rows. Posters for an upcoming Youssou N’Dour concert line the walls. Tucked on a stretch of 116th Street between St. Nicholas and 8th Avenues, this is New York’s Little Senegal.
One of the only visibly West African enclaves in the United States, according to The New Americans: A Guide to Immigration Since 1965, Little Senegal’s concentration of Senegalese and immigrants from other French-speaking West African countries has made the Harlem neighborhood attractive to many newly arrived African immigrants. The newcomers join the more than 20,000 Senegalese already settled in New York, according to the last census.
“When you come to the U.S., everybody says you have to go to 116th,” said Giby Deme, 38, who arrived in New York in 2000 after a career as a journalist in Senegal. “Here, there is more support to find a job, help with language…. If you need help, you can get it here.”
For the past two years, Deme has been working at Touba International, a general store on 116th Street near 8th Avenue, selling grains, beauty products, incense and jewelry. Entrepreneurship levels are high in the Senegalese immigrant community with [number] starting their own business each year. Deme, too, would like to open his own store one day on 116th or 125th Streets.
“My people are here,” he said, sweeping his arms toward the street. “This is the center of our community, it is easier to keep customers, to know people.”
A customer came in and exchanged a warm greeting in Wolof before Deme ushered him to the back of the store. Soon after, many people entered the store, greeted him with an, “Asalamu Alaiakum,” and head to the back. The man soon returned, thanked Deme and rushed to the Mosque across the street.
“Hear that? That is the call to prayer to Muslims, they must make their ablutions- wash up- beforehand.” Deme said as he ushered another person to the back to wash their face, hands and feet in the metal basin. He offered a washcloth to dry off with.
Next to jars of incense and drams of oil, sat Alioune Ba, 36, visiting from Connecticut. He watched the street and spoke to the people who came in to the shop.
“There are no Africans, no Senegalese in Connecticut. I come here because I am lonely and need to see my people, talk to my people.” Ba said. “116th is like Africa to me- Guinean, Malian, Senegalese- we all share the same culture. We understand each other. It’s nice.”
He and Deme had gone to school together in Senegal. Ba arrived in the States almost ten years prior as a graduate student in management, but was unable to cover the difference between his scholarship and tuition.
“It was not easy to do school,” Ba said. “We have to pay full price. $1000 for you is $4000 for us. The dollar for our local money meant school was very expensive.”
Working to pay his tuition soon took over his studies and he dropped out of school. Two years ago, he bought three gas station franchises with two other people in Connecticut. Business is doing well for Ba now, but he makes time to return to 116th Street, once a week, to reconnect.
It is Friday, the last day of Ramadan and the streets are full of men and women on their way to the mosque on the corner. Deme stands by the window, hands behind his back, observing the people as they walk by.
“I came with everything,” Deme said. “All my papers, all my documentation. When we come, we work hard, struggle. But, like a baby, you have to go step by step. With experience, you don’t need so much help anymore.”
Another customer entered and they exchanged greetings. As he led them to the back, he said, “I learn a lot about people, relationships, culture, just by working here. I know my people.”