Islam in West Africa: Radicalism and the New Ethic of Disagreement, 1960–1990
Lansiné Kaba
This chapter examines the origins and forms of the current Islamic vitality in the Francophone states of Guinea, Mali, and Côte d’Ivoire in West Africa since their independence, with special attention to new attitudes. A broad attempt at reflection on religion and politics, the chapter is based on information gleaned from archival research and gathered from oral interviews with both reform and nonreform Muslims between 1985 and 1995. It analyzes the Muslim leaders’ perceptions of their roles in modern societies and their concerns, in the words of a respected imam, as “people of God committed to peace and development.”1
Unlike in the post-World War II decades, when numerous African territories achieved independence from European colonial powers, and when the Marxist interpretation of history and society, with its neglect of religion’s significance, dominated the intellectual discourse, religious movements and thoughts have received, since the 1980s, more attention from scholars and policy makers. For example, as shown in chapter 7, Islam has emerged in many areas as a force both in national and international politics. In some West African countries, Muslims have exulted in the resurgence of religious fervor. This spirit seems to indicate a success over the benign indifference that characterized the first decades of independence. From the campus of the university of Dakar-Fann in Senegal, with a large student body formerly committed to socialism and militancy, to the mosque of the Riviera in the plush Cocody section of Abidjan in Côte d’Ivoire, which symbolizes an Islamic fervor unusual in a modernizing bourgeoisie, Quranic preachers urge their brethren to abide by the traditions of the Prophet Muhammad (sunna), the foundation of Islamic orthodoxy (sunnism), and to ensure its triumph. Although Muslim leaders remain apprehensive for the future of politics in their respective countries, their confidence in the prospects for further growth, bolstered by the spread of orthodoxy, remains steadfast. They have acquired a greater awareness of the worldwide Islamic community (umma), due in part to their travels, in part to the activities of the World Islamic League and the Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC). The situation has not been easy, however.
Islam Marginalized
The first form of reform in contemporary West Africa was waged in the 1950s by the graduates of al-Azhar University in Cairo and other Near Eastern schools.2 Commonly called Wahhabi or Subbanu or Arabicists, they sought to reform—that is, to purify—the practice of Islam. They decried the worship of sainthood (walaya) and other uncanonical devotional practices. Calling themselves “the people of sunna” (sunna-mo, in the Mandinka language), they refused to bow to any authority other than that of orthodoxy and rejected existing institutions and concepts of society. Unlike other Muslims who prayed with their arms along each side of the body, they worshipped with their hands crossed on their chest, thereby receiving the nickname of bras croisés in the French colonial reports (bolo-minalalu, in Mandinka). Recognizable by their beards and Middle Eastern types of clothing, they favored the loose-fitting, long-sleeved, ankle-length, light-cotton shirts (chemises arabes) with collar and cuffs instead of the wide, West African caftan (pipao) and bulky, sleeveless, ceremonial damask gowns (boubou). They thought that their style, by requiring less fabric, was more suitable to modern life and conformed to the Islamic ideals of simplicity and modesty. The new style amounted to a revolutionary statement, signaling the wearer’s adherence to a different interpretation of the Islamic doctrine and ethos.
These Subbanu of the 1950s appeared as “radical” social reformers in that they introduced new attitudes about the family and marriage. They claimed that “a proper, non-complacent reading of the Quran and of the sunna of the Prophet Muhammad might not endorse polygamy,” although the same texts seem to allow its practice. Arguing that “no man, if he married more than one wife, could treat all his wives equally,” they attacked the Islamic establishment on this ground. The Quran, a prominent Wahhabi teacher often reminded, “forcefully rejects polygamy, but in an indirect way.”3 Subbanu followers tended to practice monogamy. From this practice emerged a concept of social reform and an ethical viewpoint that gave Islam a human voice and enjoined the faithful to strive for justice.
Unlike Jean-Claude Froelich who claimed that the French promoted the spread of Islam during the colonial era, I would argue that this process rather indicated the internal vitality of the Muslim community. The role of the Mande traders (juula) who controlled local trade, transportation, and Islamic affairs must be stressed, in particular.4 The advance of Islam also went hand in hand with political militancy. The Subbanu were the first proponents of fundamentalism; that is, a literal interpretation of the scriptures calling for an involvement in politics as a means to establish a Muslim-centered government. To achieve the integration of this community, they sought to have their own Friday mosques and secure greater autonomy for their actions. The early stage of their expansion from Bamako to neighboring countries witnessed various forms of conflicts, sometimes violent and bloody, fought against the leaders and followers of sufi brotherhoods. To extend the discussion beyond the middle Niger River Valley area, the Tijani also acted as religious reformers in Nigeria. The attainment of independence from colonial rule and the subsequent fear of the new states’ coercive power put an end to the religious confrontation.5
To appreciate fully the issue of Islam in West Africa, we need a historical perspective see chapter 3). In many areas, the dynamics of contemporary Islam continues a historical process consistent with the tradition of accommodation that characterized the medieval Ghana and Mali empires. Until the era of the jihad in the nineteenth century (chapter 6), conversion was achieved mostly through trade and other peaceful means. Two major shifts have occurred since the end of the colonial era. The first, primarily educational and mystical, marked the decline of Mauritania and the Maghrib as places to go for attaining higher education and leadership in the two main brotherhoods, the Qadiriyya and the Tijaniyya.6 The Western Sahara and the Maghrib lost their aura as main sources of Islamic education. The yearly collections of gifts for the Mauritanian sufi masters came to an end as the number of West African students in Egypt and the Middle East increased. The second shift has involved a change in the way in which Muslim leaders have behaved in the postindependence political arena, at times defying the secular power and at times showing respect and even despondency to the political elite.7
Independence was won in West Africa without a war of liberation, except in Guinea-Bissau. In the former French colonies, the Rassemblement démocratique africain (RDA), which was then the strongest nationalist party, operated as a mass-based movement, stretching from the cities into the remote rural communities.8 The success of such a mobilization required the politics of a united front cutting across ethnic and religious boundaries. Thus, Muslim and Christian leaders alike—for example, Sékou Touré in Guinea, Léopold S. Senghor in Senegal, and Felix Houphouët-Boigny in Côte d’Ivoire—sought support from their Islamic communities. In the countries with a large Muslim merchant group, Islamic concerns played a determinant role in political mobilization. The Muslim clerics (marabouts, in French; mori in Mandinka), who were under police surveillance, and the merchants, who had little access to long-term bank credits, continued to hold grievances against the colonial administration. The image of Islam as a non-European belief system, coupled with its role in the precolonial resistance movements, also served as a catalyst for mobilization.
Despite the common front, the alliance between anticolonial and Islamic radicalisms came to an abrupt end after independence, as the new elite in control of power opted for a secular order. The idea of an Islamic state, even in the countries in which the Muslims were a dominant majority, was rejected, although Islam remained a main component of the local culture. These leaders considered religion a sectarian system difficult to control politically, whose goals were incompatible with those of national integration. Islam became marginalized, perhaps except in Senegal, where Senghor’s political interests converged with, and depended on, those of the influential Tijani, Qadiri, Murid, and Layenne brotherhoods.9 The pressure by the student movement, including the Muslim Association of Black African Students (Association musulmane des étudiants d’Afrique noire, AMEA), which focused on national liberation and pan-Islamism, also forced Senghor to be responsive to the demands of the Muslim community.10
Elsewhere—in Guinea, for example—the first years of independence witnessed a politics that appeared “anti-marabout” and “anti-fetish.” President Sékou Touré, a Muslim, restricted the freedom of any association whose legitimacy lay outside his Parti démocratique de Guinée (PDG). To create the young wing of the party, in March 1959 he suppressed the voluntary associations, including the Islamic ones.11 Later, the Muslim associations reemerged, but under strict party control. Friday’s sermons were expected to deal only with issues consistent with the PDG’s official ideology. Muslim clerics were forbidden to organize evening lectures and make collections, and workers were advised not to use religion as a justification for their lateness or absence. The Roman Catholic bishop of Conakry, Mgr. de Milleville, was expelled from Guinea, and his church was excluded from all educational activities.12 Many who questioned the wisdom of these moves wondered whether Touré was “instigating a religious war”;13 others interpreted his religious policy as a “struggle in the very name and interest of Islam against mystification and uncanonical practices.”
In any case, Muslims who criticized the government were afraid of its security forces and felt they were bound by the doctrine of the duty of obedience, the cornerstone of the Muslim attitudes to power and authority. This principle lies in the Quranic verses: “O ye who believe! Obey God, and obey the Apostle, and those charged with authority among you.”14 The Muslim communities acquiesced and did not call for the overthrow of the government; in fact, they suffered from a lack of unity and appropriate leadership to express their outcry. Many individuals in private disagreed with the government’s policy and suspected Touré of Freemason (antireligious) tendencies. Guinean Muslim leaders practiced, in the words of al-Hajj Kabiné Diané, a “politics of distance and proximity” (ma-tankali) that involved cooperation without compromising the doctrine or endangering individual safety.
Subsequently, in October 1959, the PDG political secretary, Saifoulaye Diallo, spelled out the party’s Islamic policy in a document known as “Memorandum 81 of the Politburo.” He exhorted the PDG sections to wage a vigilant war against Muslim associations and leaders because of their “political anti-conformism.” The politburo feared that “the evolution of the religious phenomenon would result in a dictatorship based on fanaticism, intolerance, sectarianism, and other obscurantist conceptions with many risks for the state in its policy making, its conception of society, and its authority.” To the PDG leadership, Islamic fundamentalism appeared dangerous not because of its puritanism but rather its political implications. To ward off this danger, Guineans were asked to “war against the hustlers and swindlers licensed as marabouts’; against fanaticism, which is a sedition-monger and destroys brotherhood and solidarity; against charlatanry, and other forms of mystification and exploitation linked to these obscurantist entities.” The document concluded with a surprisingly strong denunciation of pan-Islamism, pan-Arabism, and other forms of religious extremism because of their “reactionary, racist, and dangerous tendencies.” “‘Demarabutization,’ demystification and deintoxication of the masses thus became the official religious policies.”15
The party also later initiated a vast campaign against fetishism and sorcery, destroying sacred groves and other secret worship places, mainly in the Forest region. It also canceled a pan-Islamic convention scheduled to be held in Conakry on December 25, 1959 by the Muslim Cultural Union (Union culturelle musulmane, or UCM), an organization known for its radical stand on social and cultural issues. The government’s uneasiness with fundamentalism belonged to Sékou Touré’s fear of an ideology that could legitimize protest movements at a time when France had isolated Guinea in Africa and had attempted to disrupt Guinean economy and political stability.16
By April 1960, the relations between the PDG and Muslim groups further worsened with the news of a plot against the regime, and the execution, for treason, of al-Hajj Lamine Kaba, imam of the Korontee quarter in Conakry. Touré also opposed the construction of a reformist mosque in Conakry by al-Hajj Mamadou Fofana, a former PDG chief treasurer who would later serve years in prison for conspiracy. The Guinean leadership was also determined to eradicate the non-Muslim cult of land deities and to control fundamentalism. Later, al-Hajj Chérif Nabaniou, a prominent political figure who headed the National Islamic Council (Conseil national islamique), was arrested.17
The attempt to curtail the influences of fundamentalism in the early 1960s cut across national boundaries. In Mali, Modibo Keita attacked all associations deemed dangerous, including the Muslim reformist organizations. He abolished the UCM and placed its schools under state control, thereby reducing the Arabic teachers’ influence. In Upper Volta (Burkina Faso), Maurice Yaméogo viewed the Muslim associations as “potential problem-makers” and thus included few Muslims in his government. In Niger, Hamani Diori’s politics, too, aimed at containing Islamic organizations. In Côte d’Ivoire, Muslims, despite their demographic and economic importance, felt themselves second-class citizens as compared with the minority Roman Catholic community; they had little access to the media, and many of their holidays were ignored. Houphouët never lost sight of the risk of a Muslim revolt, in the urban areas especially, positioning himself against the politics of pan-Islam advocated by Egypt’s Gamal Abdel Nasser. He developed, however, strong personal relationships with nonreformist leaders, showering funds on them and their associations.
A Renewed Vigor and Radicalism
Islam, though marginalized, did not decline; it could not be eclipsed. The Muslims everywhere displayed a “modernizing initiative”; that is, a will to participate in social and economic activities as members of a “God-inspired community.” In the tradition of the Juula, they took advantage of newer trade, real-estate, and transportation opportunities and hence acquired more influence. The politics of cultural nationalism and the growth of the informal economy, with a significant participation by women, further strengthened their creed and their social position. This process in general, and the reform doctrine in particular, also benefited from the perception of Islam by many Africans as the religion par excellence that best fitted their milieu and ethos. Islam therefore experienced an unprecedented growth in the region. The 1970s witnessed, to borrow J. Vatin’s words, “a regeneration of culture, a profound renewal of religiosity, and an exploitation of the Islamic ideology and vocabulary”18 by ordinary people seeking greater participation in the Muslim-dominated urban life, and by secular leaders eager to reinforce their legitimacy and their power.
Because the Mandinka Muslim clerics welcomed this development, they seldom spoke of “pure” and “less pure” forms of Islam. Rather, they viewed the growing acceptance of Islam as a challenge to provide more education to their followers. Many political leaders, too, would feel compelled to reconsider their attitudes under the pressure of their domestic and foreign policies. Sékou Touré, for example, went a step further, imposing an Islamic character on his party. He established Islamic councils parallel to the PDG branches; Islamic meetings were held weekly on Fridays, and his speeches abounded in Islamic themes. To bolster his image as a Muslim leader, he authored a book on Islam and revolution—a work that received a $100,000 award from a Saudi foundation in 1978.19 The growing religiosity resulted in an improvement in the general level of education. Mosques and voluntary associations developed extensive adult-education programs in Arabic and African languages.
In this politico-religious context lay the new manifestation of Islamic radicalism. The “new” reform remained radical in its puritanism and its strict obedience to the traditions of the Prophet. Unlike in the 1950s, however, reform has been more inward looking and less confrontational, in part because of the involvement of an urban middle class of businessmen and civil servants who have been drawn to the quest of orthodoxy and spiritual perfection by, among various considerations, the reaction to secularization, the presence of new opportunities, and what is known in Mandinka as the “fear of God” (Allah nya-silanni). Regardless of their doctrinal differences, the participants in the adult-education program have demonstrated an eagerness to follow, in peace, the Sunni tradition and to get involved in community services, prayer meetings, group recitations of hymns (dhikr), and other supererogatory rituals.
This movement of popular learning and piety witnessed a growing presence of women in Muslim affairs, individually and collectively in their associations. Housewives and professionals alike volunteered their services and skills for “the sake of God.” The lettered women engaged in adult literacy, complementing their blend of puritanism and modernity, and thus fulfilling a much-needed task. The rise of women as a strong Muslim force reflected their demographic importance as well as their involvement and success in the informal economy, including long-distance trade. Many housewives have now become true businesswomen (femmes d’affaires in French; juula-mosso in Mandinka). They have emerged as the main breadwinners in many households.
Among those who perform the yearly canonical pilgrimage (hajj), the number of businesswomen has risen. And the small pilgrimage, ʿumra, which may be performed at any time of the year and involves trade, has been often described as the “women’s pilgrimage.” Travel agents have reported that, without businesswomen, “no airline would operate the route from Conakry to Jeddah.”20 The popularity of umra has testified to the rising status of women in West African societies. In their associations (called dahira in Senegal) both Western-educated professionals and uneducated housewives have devoted much time to prayers and learning the Quran, preaching to other women, and performing voluntary services. Notably, they have gone bare-faced and have argued for women’s education and full participation in modern life. In conversation, Hajja Oumoun Sanankouwa, an engineer and a chief financial analyst in Abidjan, reminded me that these women’s commitment to Islam is a modern interpretation of the ideal Muslim womanhood and that it is consistent with the tradition of social engagement reminiscent of that of the Prophet’s wives.21
Islam and Recent Politics: A Synopsis
The evolution of Islamic affairs during the decade from 1963 to 1973 coincided with the growth of Arab-African diplomatic ties. This process was in part related to the history of precolonial contact and the setting in 1963 of the Organization of African Unity. Although inter-African relations for a long time were determined mostly by politics rather than religion—that is, the cleavage between the so-called radical and conservative regimes—in the long run, Islamic concerns affected African diplomacy.
For example, African attitudes toward Israel were first influenced “more by the political orientation of the regime than the weight of Islam.”22 However, by the time the Arab countries and Israel fought the wars of 1967 and 1973, as Victor Levine and Timothy Lake have examined, Islam had become an instrument of diplomatic rapprochement among Muslim states. Guinea broke off diplomatic relations with Israel in 1967. In 1969, Chad, Mali, Senegal, and Guinea joined the Islamic summit in Rabat that initiated the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC). Pan-Islamism, or the ideals of Islamic brotherhood and cooperation, played a role in their policies toward the Middle East. Chad, Niger, and Mali severed their ties with Israel in 1973. The politics of Libya’s Colonel Muʿamar al-Qadhafi, who began to champion the Arab cause in Africa through diplomacy, economic assistance, and military subversion (plus the oil crisis in 1973) accelerated this process. These factors resulted in, to borrow Colin Legum’s expression, “the political avalanche of October/November 1973,”23 as most African states broke diplomatic relations with Israel. Arab leaders capitalized on religion to boost their diplomacy.
More and more, Africans now wonder whether the level of Arab investments in sub-Saharan Africa has been commensurate with the diplomatic support given, notwithstanding the creation of the Islamic Development Bank in 1975 and the Arab Bank for Economic Development in Africa, with headquarters in Jeddah and Khartoum respectively. Whatever the case might be, the resurgence of Islamic fervor in West Africa has been partly associated with this growing contact with the center of the Islamic world.
In general, the post-1973 period saw a close tie between the religious domestic context and the formulation and implementation of foreign policy. Islamic leaders influenced their countries’ foreign policies by representing their values as those of the majority population, and by forcing on their governments the links that they had established with religious figures or organizations in the Middle East. For example, the visits made by the imams of Mekka, Madina, and al-Azhar University to Guinea and other countries in the 1960s and 1970s stemmed in part from the local marabouts’ acquaintance with these Arab men of religion. The visits ushered in a new stage in Arab-African relations. The visitors’ interpretation of the canon, and their praying style, tended to legitimize the Wahhabi position. In countries with a dominant Muslim population and a Muslim establishment close to the ruling elite, religion, by arousing people’s convictions, compelled many political leaders not only to show greater respect to the heads of Muslim associations but also concrete evidence of their support.
The 1967 and 1973 Arab/Israeli wars also influenced Islamic affairs in West Africa by increasing business opportunities. Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and other Arab countries created banks and other financial institutions in joint partnership with various African states. In Guinea and Mali principally, a vigorous Middle Eastern connection has emerged, first led by Wahhabi businessmen and fueled by the exportation of tropical fruits independent of the already-established Levantine merchants. This commerce has played a critical role in the renewal of religiosity, as evidenced by the attendance at the Friday prayers and the great number of new mosques often built with Arab assistance. Moreover, as the Muslim community became a power to reckon with, the Islamic code (the shariʿa) was adapted in several countries to become one of the bases for the legal system.
Many Muslim spokesmen expected a strong regeneration of religiosity because of Islam’s undeniable mark on local value systems, and the connection assumed to exist between creed and color. Although the subject is complex and arguable, in this view it is thought that to be a Mandinka, a Wolof, a Fulah, a Hausa, or even any kind of black person implies an “innate” association with, and loyalty to, Islam. “Africanity (or blackness) and being a Muslim go together” (fada-finn ya ni missiliminn ya ye wala i nyon fe, as it is said in Mandinka). Ethnicity and “Muslim-ness” have been so closely identified and have interacted so thoroughly that they have become inseparable components of identity in many communities. The role of African languages in Islamic education and the indigenous nature of the Muslim leadership in Mali, Senegal, Guinea, or Niger have further reinforced this process. This might explain why Guinea’s former prime minister, Dr. Louis Béavogui, and President Bernard Bongo of Gabon changed their first names to Lansana and Omar, respectively. They converted to Islam and gave themselves an Islamic image in the late 1960s. During the heyday of the single-party system, no government wished to rouse the wrath of the Muslims for fear of an uprising and hence endangering the financial relations with the oil-rich Arab countries.
An overview of the politics and deeds of some African statesmen will illuminate these issues. By 1984, when President Sékou Touré died, he was recognized as a “dedicated Muslim leader.” With his extensive involvement in the Organization of Islamic Conference (OIC), the World Islamic League, and other religious organizations, historical materialism disappeared from his speeches and writing. After the aborted Portuguese invasion of Guinea in November 1970, to show his gratitude to Allah he instituted the practice of reciting the opening chapter of the Quran (al-fatiha) at all public gatherings, and he regularly gave extensive lectures on Islamic politics and the Islamic nature of his party. The national radio network and television extended the daily coverage of Muslim activities.
Sékou Touré instituted Islamic councils and a Ministry of Islamic Affairs, making Sunni Islam a foundation of his regime. Imams were granted monthly salaries and other stipends as public servants; Guinean officials were urged to perform the hajj, and citizens known for their impeccable political commitment were rewarded with free transportation to Mekka. A member of the OIC executive board, Touré performed the ʿumra and convened numerous Islamic conferences in Conakry. In sum, he used Islam to legitimize his regime, “politicizing Islam and Islamizing his politics,”24 thereby depoliticizing the question of fundamentalism. His era witnessed a phenomenal growth of Islam.
During Touré’s time, Wahhabi and sufi groups alike enjoyed support in the National Islamic Council. The reform movement made great strides in the cities and the diamonds fields in the Forest. Al-Hajj Mamadi Kébé, a businessman and an in-law of the president,25 financed the construction in Coleah-Conakry of a mosque that became the main center of radical reform under the leadership of al-Hajj Kabiné Diané, a World Islamic League representative. On many issues, including relations with the Arab world, Touré sought the advice of this imam. In Upper Guinea and the Forest, the reform movement benefited from the philanthropy of the new, fortunate class of Guineans, the diamond dealers, who built mosques and financed other religious activities. Except in Futa Jallon, which until the early 1980s experienced little reformist activity, there was little dispute over the establishment of these new mosques: the Islamic council imposed cooperation and order.
In other countries, Muslim clerics exercised a great deal of influence as politicians of all religious persuasions competed for their support. Since winning their blessings became a signal feature of political life, their concerns could not go unheeded. The national media increased coverage of all Muslim public affairs, including the Friday prayers. To reduce sectarianism, Senghor and Houphouët, who were known for their steadfast Roman Catholicism, gave utmost attention to Islamic affairs. According to Christian Coulon and others, Senghor’s relations with the heads of brotherhoods whose backing determined the outcome of the elections in Senegal not only encouraged tolerance in the body politic but also increased consensus and unity within the Islamic community. Through the semiofficial Fédération des associations islamiques du Sénégal, his government dealt with all the Muslim groups, including the UCM, and UCM representatives broadcast an Islamic program on the national radio network. To respond to the Muslims’ expectations, a French/Arabic curriculum was offered in primary schools and classical Arabic in secondary schools, along with Latin. With little sectarian strife, these processes blossomed into Islam’s peaceful new age in Senegal; there were countless new mosques, Muslim associations, and publications.
In Côte d’Ivoire, Muslims formed more than half of the total population. During the colonial era, their massive migration to the south in search of economic gains destroyed the old geographical cleavage, without bringing about any significant conversion among the southerners. As Islam remained the religion of the savannah peoples, the ethnic and religious cleavage sharpened in the country. Houphouët-Boigny, to win Muslim support, built a large mosque in Yamoussokro, his hometown, and another in Abidjan-Riviera. He befriended the marabouts. Yet his regime feared the renewal of religious violence as a steady Muslim migration from neighboring countries in the 1970s fostered the conditions for a large-scale radical Islamic movement.
By 1990, the reformist organizations had spread, giving Islam the image of a modern religion—with telegenic spokespersons, new facilities, and a growing number of European-educated followers. This development reached secondary-school students, who at summer camps and conventions, held with Houphouët’s financial assistance, were galvanized into religious fervor.26 To minimize the risk of conflict within the Muslim Juula communities who had been among his first backers in the 1940s, Houphouët established an Islamic Superior Council (the Conseil supérieur islamique, or CSI). The CSI branches were supervised by the Imams’ Superior Council (the Conseil supérieur des imams, or COSIM), and sought to integrate the Muslim groups, reformist and nonreformist alike, in order to formulate an Islamic agenda in harmony with the government’s policies.
Economic concerns, coupled with political frustration, partly explain why the growth of Islamic radicalism became a problem. By 1985, with the abrupt end of the economic boom that Côte d’Ivoire had sustained since its independence—the “Ivoirian miracle”—the crisis had cut the incomes of civil servants, businessmen, and rich Akan coffee and cocoa farmers. Strikes by students and unions were followed by riots, the government no longer being able to subsidize the economy. In 1989, the situation became critical. The discontent spread, creating great pressure on the ruling party, from both inside and outside. This conflict soon prompted the emergence of a multiparty system mostly based on ethnicity, which heightened the crisis. To contain it, in October 1990 the government devised an electoral scheme to force the opposition parties to gear their energies toward political mobilization rather than protest. It thought that it could easily win reelection because of its political experience and its considerable electoral funds.
However, the Muslim vote, which had been crucial for the ruling party in the north and the urban areas, was no longer certain. Business in general, and especially transportation and urban real estate, had nosedived. Scores of businessmen complained that the treasury, unable to honor its vouchers, was defaulting on its obligations, including paying rent for properties and other services they rendered to the government. The revenues of many well-to-do Muslim families were slashed, and from being merely discontents, these groups soon became Houphouët’s opponents. Muslim students and other dissidents also criticized Houphouët for the construction, at a cost of about $400 million, of a basilica, Notre Dame de la Paix, which is larger than Saint Peter’s in Rome and can seat the whole Roman Catholic community of Yamoussokro. According to these critics, this monument, much more so than the cathedral built earlier in Abidjan Plateau, “symbolized the official status and power of the Catholic church.” It confirmed the paramountcy of the ruler’s religion, according to the doctrine cujus regio, ejus religio (whoever rules determines the religion) and hence challenged Islam’s dominant position. No conflicts erupted between Christians and Muslims, but the issue of the separation of state and church had been raised.
Some critics thought that the president’s role in religious affairs should come under scrutiny. They also alleged that the basilica amounted to an “unwise and unneeded extravaganza to be paid for by the whole nation,” which he denied. The Christian and Muslim communities continued to tolerate each other, however. The lack of a common front among the opponents improved the government’s prospect for success. The imams’ support, coupled with the absence of a meaningful contact between the Muslims and the main opposition party, assured Houphouëts bid for reelection on October 28, 1990. He defeated the historian Laurent Gbagbo, who headed the Ivoirian Popular Front (Front populaire ivoirier). A month later, on November 25, the government won another victory, with 163 seats out of a total of 185, in the general election.
Houphouët’s death in December 1993 brought about a contest between the then-interim president, Henri Konan Bédié, and a former prime minister, Alhassane Ouattara. Bédié, a Roman Catholic from the Akan/Baule ethnic group, served as a finance minister for many years before becoming the Speaker of the national assembly. Ouattara, a Muslim from the northern border region near Burkina Faso, headed the Central Bank of West African States in Dakar before assuming the prime ministership in 1990. At the time of Houphouët’s death, according to all reporters and informants, Bédié considered Ouattara as his most formidable contender, despite the latter’s lack of strong political backing and experience (this fear might explain why Bédié promptly declared himself interim president, instead of waiting for the national assembly’s validation). The political question took on a religious and ethnic dimension: a mostly Christian and animist Akan south confronted a predominantly Muslim Juula north. The creation of a breakaway faction of the ruling party by Ouattara’s partisans, an issue of power and influence, symbolized the rift within the nation, thereby exacerbating the crisis.
By the time Houphouëts state funeral was held at the basilica in February 1994, Bédié had firmly consolidated his grip over the state apparatus and had received official recognition from France and other great powers. Many of Ouattara’s followers were harassed and arrested. Although Bédié enjoyed the support of the official Islamic establishment,27 many Muslims feared that his policies would tear the country apart along religious and ethnic lines. They thought that the purge of Juula officers from the army and civil servants from key government posts, the incarceration of journalists and students, and the campaigns of intimidation against opponents raised doubt about Bédié’s commitment to unity and democracy. As the repression intensified, some Muslims argued that the country was in an “undeclared state of war.” Plume libre, a Muslim monthly, ordered that the community “recite al-fatiha for the Muslims held at Abidjan’s main prison.”28 Amnesty International in its 1995 annual report criticized the government for its human-rights abuses. An anonymous Muslim critic compared “Bédié’s Côte d’Ivoire to a pressure cooker filled with volatile ingredients and manipulated by an inept kitchen staff.”29 Indeed, Bédié took no chances over his election as president. In 1994, he rammed through the parliament a citizenship bill that barred from elective office anyone, even those born in Côte d’Ivoire, whose two parents were not “100 percent Ivoirian,” and who had not lived in the country during the five years preceding the race. The law was directed both at Ouattara, who had spent most of his career outside the country, and his supporters of Juula origins, whose parents belonged to the Mande world stretching beyond Côte d’Ivoire’s northern borders.
Implicitly, the legislation created a dual system of citizenship favorable to the Christian southerners—deemed “pure Ivoirians.” The northerners, recognizable by their clothes and surnames, were now liable to be confused with alien residents: identification cards were checked at random by the police, even near the mosques. The security forces in frequent roundups in the poor sections of Abidjan and other southern cities often humiliated the northerners and tore their identity cards. The new bill was portrayed in the opposition papers as the law of “Ivoirity and mediocrity.” Many Ivoirians of Christian background also denounced it, calling it wrong legislation in the context of a multiethnic country. The ruling party lost its cohesion.
The attempt by Bédié and Ouattara to use the Muslim organizations to bolster their campaigns splintered the leadership of the Islamic movement into two factions. A new national organization—the National Islamic Council (Conseil national islamique, or CNI), funded in 1993 by various individuals and voluntary associations—contested the authority of the government-controlled Superior Islamic Council. The CNI was led by a national executive board headed by al-Hajj Idriss Koundouss Koné, a bank executive. Idriss Koné escaped several attempts made on his life because of his political leaning toward Ouattara.30 The leaders of the opposition denounced the permanent “conspiracy” led by the government against the Muslim community and its lawful leaders. The CNI included many educated members, some of them Arab-university graduates, all united by commitment to Sunni Islam, whereas the CSI has been perceived as a tool designed by the government to divide and weaken the juula community. Its chief, Al-Hajj Diaby “Koweit,” belonged to President Bédié’s inner circle of advisers.
The establishment of CNI branches throughout the country alarmed the regime, CNI members railed at Bédié’s “religious and tribal bigotry.” But, unlike its rival the CSI, the organization could not receive any funds from the government to conduct its activities; moreover, to meet legal requirements, the CNI board had to include a CSI representative in its official deliberations. For many, the issue was how the Muslims would fare under the regime. Ouattara, whose father was born in Burkina Faso, removed his candidacy, and the other opposition leaders boycotted the presidential contest in October 1995. Bédié’s election reinvigorated the Muslims with more will to spread their creed and defend their rights. By 1994, Islam had become a powerful vehicle of political opposition in the Côte d’Ivoire.
In Mali, the coordination of Islamic organizations has been a major concern for the authorities. The UCM and other organizations reappeared after the overthrow of Modibo Keita in 1968. President Moussa Traoré’s ruling party, the Malian Peoples National Union (Union nationale du peuple malien), used its prerogatives to create a Muslim umbrella organization, the Malian Association for Islam’s Unity and Progress (Association malienne pour l’unité et le progrès de l’Islam). The party firmly controlled the association and used it to quell intra-Muslim confrontations and reinforce Islam’s position in Malian society. Religious unity was considered essential: the country had experienced many disputes and mosque riots in the 1950s. Although the doctrinal differences have persisted, Muslims in Bamako and elsewhere now pray at the nearest mosque, without consideration of the imam’s denomination.
However, small groups of new reformists, consisting primarily of petty traders and craftsmen, have emerged within the fringe of the Wahhabi circles, displaying a greater radicalism in their outlook and behavior. Unlike the mainstream Wahhabi reformers, these new puritans practice a strict gender separation, abstain from shaking hands with women, and describe Western-type education as the “scourge of modern evil.” Their wives and daughters wear the veil and other “Islamic garments” considered not sexually enciting—loose-fitting dark clothes, from head to toe. In the judgment of this group, veils for women and beards for men are Quranic imperatives (an arguable viewpoint). Undoubtedly, these fundamentalists represented a minority community whose members opposed what the Mandinka have called the “new age” (tele kuda); that is, the era marked by modernization, gender equality, and women’s full participation in society. To other Muslims, this new puritanism symbolizes a “backwardness contrary to local social traditions.”
Lightening Up—A New Ethics of Disagreement (SANANKUN-YA)
The concept of “radical Islam” in many Muslim communities in West Africa, and particularly among the Mandinka, has taken on a new meaning that is concealed below the layers of the rivalry characteristic of the 1950s. Radicalism has lost part of its violent and sectarian connotations, conveying more and more the idea of the “original” creed—that is, the practice by the first generations of Muslims. A consensus has grown among the different groups about the normativeness of this orthodox tradition for every Muslim, regardless of his affiliation. The new meaning of radicalism denotes a struggle, first fought against oneself and then within one’s community, whether it is a brotherhood’s lodge (zawiya) or a Wahhabi circle, to improve adherence to the fundamentals of the faith.
This goal has become “ecumenical” in that it cuts across brotherhoods and organizations to promote cooperation. To be a “good Muslim”—that is, a follower of the sunna—involves foremost a total commitment to orthodoxy, whether transmitted by a sufi shaykh or a Subbanu teacher. Among the Mandinka, regardless of individual ideological preference or state’s leadership, Islam has emerged as a significant political factor.
According to two prominent leaders, al-Hajj Kabiné Diané and al-Hajj Kabiné Kaba, the “prayers and humility needed to please God and to improve the human condition may be attained in a brotherhood [tariqa].” Hence, a brotherhood is not “in itself a condemnable organization.”31 This culture of tolerance implies a determination to challenge atheism, associationism, and alienation. The sufi leaders, too, have stressed the quest for orthodoxy and tolerance (entente religieuse cordiale) for the sake of God, the Prophet, and the community. In Kankan, for example, the former imam al-Hajj Siddik Kaba and other renowned teachers, including those of the well-known and influential Chérif family, have criticized sectarianism and violence, thereby underscoring spiritual growth as a “key to salvation.”32
Praying styles and identification with a saint or a mosque have lost a good deal of their significance, too. In Senegal—the land of powerful brotherhoods—the caliph of the Muridiyya order, al-Hajj Falilou M’Backé, enjoined his adepts to abide by the canonical precepts. He ordered especially the Bayy-Fal, who had long been known for their conspicuous “demonstration of unorthodoxy”33 and their commitment to menial work instead of spirituality, to pray and regularly practice other rituals. Developing a modus vivendi and a common front with others for the success of Islam emerged as a strategy in this media-oriented world in which no single Islamic organization has arisen to dominate the landscape alone.
Thus, a new ethic of disagreement has emerged, not unlike in other religious movements in the world. According to this doctrine, the enemy resides within oneself, and the Muslims must act on the basis of their unity rather than differences. Mutual respect and congeniality have replaced inflammatory statements and personal attacks in the debates over doctrine. Old adversaries now know how to articulate jointly their needs within their government-sponsored umbrella organizations in order to get concrete results for their communities. In the area of education, reformist schools operated by native reformers, or Azharists, have coexisted and cooperated with the zawiya-operated ones. These instructors have been mostly interested in providing a modern program capable of competing with secular education in French. Hence, Quranic schools have improved their appearances with tables, blackboards, chalk, and other modern equipment; the curriculum, even in the more traditional schools, covers elementary geography and science. Wahabbi and sufi teachers have learned how to perceive each other as members of the same team dedicated to the spread of Islam.
This new spirit of tolerance has been embodied in a system of playful interaction, known as tolonn in Mandinka. Tolonn entails joking relationships comparable to those of sanankun-ya among Mande patronymic clans:34 as “kinsmen,” reformers and traditionalists enjoy their brotherhood and differences; once foes, they become joking “cousins” who laugh together, respect one another, and solve their disputes through peaceful means. Sanankun-ya assumes equality among partners and recognizes each one’s identity in his defined group and role. By lowering the tensions in the community, it has encouraged a free expression of ideas and promoted a general sense of brotherhood—regarded as a cardinal value.
By prohibiting religious violence and giving greater visibility to Friday prayers and other Muslim activities, African rulers have indirectly contributed to Islamization. The “Muslim Hours” program, broadcast regularly on television and radio, has brought about a change in religious discourse and the general perception of the religion. Muslim spokesmen, some of whom are known for their telegenic qualities, have “modernized” their appearances and languages in societies that have continued to value Western clothing and oratorical styles. They don suits and explain liturgical points in one of the African languages; they answer questions from audiences in “plain language” instead of (to use their Westernized critics’ words) “mystifying the listeners with Arabic phrases.” As a result, the Muslim programs have become lively and attractive. To have even greater impact on the literate public and reach the rural world, Muslim organizations have printed newspapers in French and published audio and video cassettes in African languages.35
As a consequence, a newer type of Islamic leadership has emerged. It has been much engaged in missionary and conversion activities—and described this as jihad. Since 1980, a Guinean-born educator, al-Hajj Muhammad Lamine Chérif-Haïdara, has embodied this new type of cleric. Nicknamed Islam’s “traveling salesman” (pigeon voyageur), he has plied through the villages and hamlets in the Senegal-Niger Rivers region. He has commanded respect because of his simple life and his habit of telling the truth to political leaders. In his demeanor, Chérif-Haïdara combined the sufi’s detachment from material gains with the lifestyle and open-mindedness of an affable Wahhabi preacher. His grounding in the Mandinka culture, combined with his eloquence and mastery of Islam, has appealed to villagers in Guinea, Mali, Burkina Faso, Sierra Leone, and the Côte d’Ivoire. Merchants and ordinary people have thronged his sermons, delivered in a Mandinka oratory that skillfully blends history, religion, morals, and current affairs. He has also made extensive use of cassette recording. Other itinerant reformers, too, have applied modern technological communication skills, and as a result the Mandinka language in which they communicate their thoughts (the Mandinka-Mori idiom of Kankan in particular) has expanded. One development along these lines has been that Al-Hajj Fodé Souleymane Kanté and his Wahhabi disciples have translated the Quran and other Islamic texts in Nko script.36
Such fervor has shattered the commonly held assumption that religion would decline under the pressure of modernization and secularism. Religious consciousness in West Africa has shown amazing resiliency. Guinea, Senegal, Mali, and other modern states have identified themselves culturally with Islam, despite their political leaders’ fear of revolt in the name of God. Islamic radicalism must be appreciated within the general framework of competition for power. And with the fervor Islam has instilled in its followers, it has appeared as a living religion that believers can use according to their own needs.
Since the 1980s, radicalism has reflected a Muslim reaction to the three-decade-long crisis that has sapped the foundations of African economy and has resulted in distrust of government. Pervasive cultural values from the West have exacerbated the malaise, spreading a climate of gloom and uncertainty. With this as context, the new radicalism may represent a search for an Islamic solution to the crisis. This should give the creed prominence. Al-Hajj Abdelrahman Konadi Koné, an Ivoirian, has argued that Muslims in Africa should rely more on the quality of their doctrine, their numbers, their educational and organizational skills, and their external connections, primarily in the Middle East, to effect change.37
Underscoring this point, numerous Muslims known for their association with the reform movement have received important political appointments.38 They have assumed their duties with the awareness that the dream of “salvation in the hereafter,” conditioned by the need for a decent and successful life here on earth, calls for participation in politics. A result has been that the heads of Islamic movements have lent their support to such candidates—those with strong signs of Muslim identity and commitment to the welfare of Muslims, with little sectarianism. As a blend of theology and politics, Islamic radicalism has come to express the quest for Muslims’ peaceful survival.
1. Al-Hajj Kabiné Diané, imam of the Coléah mosque in Conakry, May 1990.
2. See Kaba 1974.
3. Conversations with al-Hajj Kabiné Kaba, Bamako, and Kankan, July 1986 and August 1991.
4. Froelich 1963, 84–85.
5. Cohen 1969.
6. See chapters 6 and 8. Also Le Chatelier 1899 and Gouilly 1982.
7. Religious leaders often avoid taking positions on heated issues. By saying “naʿam” or “innsh-Allah” (“yes” or “May God will”), they do not always mean an affirmative answer. This courtesy may be a form of self-protection.
8. Morgenthau 1964.
9. Coulon 1981 has aptly examined this complementarity; see also Sy 1969; Behrman 1970; Cruise O’Brien 1971.
10. See Bathily, Diouf, and Mbodj 1995.
11. Rivière 1971; Kaba 1995.
12. Vieira 1992.
13. Discussions in September 1960 with Cheikh Sékou Chérif, a close assistant to President Sékou Touré and former ambassador to the Soviet Union in the early 1970s.
14. Sura 4 (Nisaʾ, [The women]), verse 59, in Yussuf-Ali 1934, 198.
15. Rivière 1971.
16. Guinea achieved independence “without and despite France” by voting “no” to General de Gaulle’s referendum on Sept. 28, 1958. See Pompidou 1972; Chaffard 1964, 218; Kaba 1989.
17. Nabaniou Chérif, an Arab university graduate, made a name for himself as a school principal and a PDG political organizer in Boké.
18. Vatin 1982.
19. Touré 1978.
20. Al-Hajj Ibrahima Diané, manager of Umra Voyage Co./Saudi Airline, Conakry.
21. Conversation in August 1995 with Hajja Oumoun Sanankoua, who works at the African Bank of Development and is very active in women’s Islamic affairs. Similar views have been expressed by other professional women elsewhere in the region.
22. Levtzion 1979, 35.
23. Colin Legum, quoted by Levtzion, ibid.
24. Discussions with Cheikh Sékou Chérif, Paris, July 1994.
25. Al-Hajj Mamadi (Muhammad) Kébé (called “Petit Kébé”) belongs to the Kébé family of Kankan, whose members settled in Côte d’Ivoire during the colonial era. He married Touré’s niece Passy.
26. Discussions with various Muslim figures in Abidjan, Bouaké, Daloa, and Yamossokro, July 1991. The most active Islamic organizations include the Union culturelle musulmane (UCM), the Association des étudiants et élèves musulmans de Côte d’Ivoire (AEEMCI), the Association des femmes musulmanes de Côte d’Ivoire (AFMCI), and the Cercle d’études et de recherches islamiques en Côte d’Ivoire (CERICI). The range of many more organizations is limited to a town or a section of a town. Although a dynamic expression of the Muslim community, this pluralism raises a problem of efficiency because it breeds competition among the leaders.
27. See, for example, “Les imams prônent la paix,” Fraternité matin, no. 9245 (Aug. 9 1995).
28. Plume libre (June 1994). Al-fatihah, the first sura of the Quran, is recited publicly to acknowledge and ward off crises.
29. Report from a Conseil national islamique meeting held in Daloa, Apr. 1995.
30. Coulibaiy 1995.
31. In August 1992, these two Islamic figures (respectively in Conakry and Kankan) confirmed again their Wahhabi positions. They also revealed their willingness to revisit and criticize their own past, and especially “the force of their words” instead of “the power of their arguments” during the initial years of the reform movement in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Al-Hajj Kabiné Kaba was the most outspoken of the four Azharists who introduced the Wahhabi tradition in Bamako in 1946; he died in Kankan in 1992. Al-Hajj Kabiné Diané, a scholar who translated the Quran into French and an entrepreneur who organized many hajj by truck, served as imam in Bouaké, Côte d’Ivoire, in the 1950s and in Conakry until his death in March 1993.
32. Conversations with various Islamic leaders, Kankan, June 1995.
33. The Bayy-Fall organization was set up by Shaykh Ibra Fall, a prominent disciple of Shayk Ahmadu Bamba, the founder of the Muridiyya. In the words of D. B. Cruise O’Brien and other students of the brotherhood, “the eccentric beliefs and conduct of the Bayy-Fall members placed them at the limits of the world of Islam.” Cruise O’Brien 1971, 141.
34. For an appreciation of joking relations in the Mande world in general, and among some social groups in northern Côte d’Ivoire in particular, see Launay 1977.
35. The Muslim papers include in the Côte d’Ivoire Allahou Akhbar (Revue ivoirienne de formation et d’information islamiques) and Plume libre (Mensuel islamique ivoirien d’informations générates). In Senegal, Wal fajir has become almost an institution.
36. Kanté has published various works on different subjects in the Nko script, including Kanté 1962, and Kanté and Diané 1995. For an appreciation of Nko’s significance, see Vydrine 1995.
37. Koné 1982. Ibrahima Doukouré, an Azharist and businessman, has shared his French copy of this work with me.
38. The ambassadors appointed to the Arab countries have been actively involved in Islamic affairs. For example, al-Hajj Abou Doumbia, a banker member of the Riviera mosque and the ruling party’s politburo, was appointed ambassador to Saudi Arabia in 1992. See Allahou Akhbar, no. 15 (Dec. 1995).
Bibliography
Allahou Akhbar. 1990, 1995. Journal musulman d’information, Abidjan, Côte d’Ivoire.
Bathily, Abdoulaye, Mamoudou Diouf, and Mohammed Mbodj. 1995. “The Senegalese Student Movement from its Inception to 1989.” In African Studies in Social Movement and Democracy, ed. Mahmood Mamdani and Ernest Wamba-dia-Wamb, 369–406. Dakar: Codesria.
Baulin, J. 1961. The Arab Role in Africa. New York, Penguin.
Behrman, Lucy C. 1970. Muslim Brotherhoods and Politics in Senegal. Cambridge. Harvard University Press.
Brenner, Louis. 1993. Muslim Identity and Social Change in Sub-Saharan Africa. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
Chaffard, Georges. 1964. Les carnets secrets de la décolonisation. Paris: Calman-Lévi.
Clark, Peter B. 1982. West Africa and Islam. London, Arnold.
Cohen, Abner. 1969. Custom and Politics in Urban Africa: A Study of Hausa Migrants in Yoruba Towns. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Coulibaly, Tiémoko. 1995. “Démocratie et surenchères identaires en Côte d’Ivoire,” Politique africaine 58 (June): 146.
Coulon, Christian. 1981. Le marabout et le prince (Islam et pouvoir au Sénégal. Paris: Pédone.
Cruise O’Brien, Donald. 1971. The Mourides of Senegal: The Political and Economic Organization of an Islamic Brotherhood. Oxford: Clarendon.
———, and C. Coulon, eds. 1988. Charisma and Brotherhoods in African Islam. London: Oxford University Press.
Dessouki, A., ed. 1982. Islamic Resurgence in the Arab World. New York: Praeger.
Fraternité-matin. 1990, 1995. Quotidien d’information. Abidjan.
Froelich, Jean-Claude. 1963. Les musulmans d’Afrique noire. Paris: Éditions de l’Orante.
Gouilly, Alphonse. 1982. L’lslam dans l’Afrique française. Paris: Larose.
Harrison, Christopher. 1988. France and Islam in West Africa (1860–1960). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Haynes, Jeff. 1994. Religion in Third World Politics. Boulder, Colo.: Lynne Rienner.
Kaba, Lansiné. 1974. The Wahhabiyya: Islamic Reform and Politics in French-Speaking Africa. Evanston: Northwestern University Press.
———. 1974. “Islam’s Advance in Tropical Africa,” Africa Report 21, no. 2:37–41.
———. 1989. Le “non” de la Guinée au général de Gaulle. Paris: Chaka.
———. 1995. Lettre à un ami sur la politique et le bon usage du pouvoir. Paris: Présence africaine.
Kanté, al-Hajj Fodé Souleymane. 1962. Nko kodo-yidalan fasarilan hama kodofolan [Dictionnaire Nko en langue mandìngue commune]. Kankan.
———, and Mamadi Diané. 1995. Kurana kalanke dalamidaden [Le saint Coran, traduit en langue commune du Manding, Nko]. Kankan.
Koné, Al-Hajj Abdelrahman Konadi. 1982. “L’lslam et les musulmans de Côte d’Ivoire.” Ph.D. diss., al-Azhar University.
Launay, Robert. 1977. “Joking Slavery,” Africa 47:413–21.
———. 1982. Traders without Trade: Response to Change in Two Dyula Communities. London: Cambridge University Press.
Levine, Victor, and Timothy Lake. 1979. The Arab-African Connection: Political and Economic Realities. Boulder, Colo.: Westview.
Le Chatelier, A. 1899. L’lslam dans l’Afrique occidentale. Paris: Steinhall.
Levtzion, Nehemia. 1973. Ancient Ghana and Mali. London: Methuen.
———, ed. 1979. Conversion to Islam. New York: Holmes & Meier.
———. 1979. International Islamic Solidarity and its Limitations. Jerusalem: Magnes Press, Hebrew University.
Lewis, I. M., ed. 1966. Islam in Tropical Africa. London: Oxford University Press.
Little, Kenneth. 1972. African Women in Towns: An Aspect of Africa’s Social Revolution. London: Cambridge University Press.
McKay, V. 1965. “The Impact of Islam on Relations among the New African States.” In Islam and International Relations, ed. J. M. Proctor. New York: Praeger.
Monteil, Vincent. 1963. L’Islam noir. Paris: Seuil.
Morgenthau, Ruth S. 1964. Political Parties in French-Speaking West Africa. London: Oxford University Press.
Plume libre. 1992–1995. Mensuel islamique ivoirien d’informations générales. Abidjan.
Pompidou, Georges. 1972. “Déclarations au cours du voyage officiel au Togo,” Marchés tropicaux 1413 (Dec. 8).
Rivière, Claude. 1971. Mutations sociales en Guinée. Paris: Rivière.
Robinson, David, and Jean-Louis Triaud, eds. 1997. Le Temps des marabouts: Itinéraires et strategies islamiques en Afrique occidentale française (v. 1880–1960). Paris: Karthala.
Sy, C. Tidiane. 1969. La confrérie sénégalaise des Mourides. Paris: Presence Africaine.
Touré, Sékou. 1978. Revolution et religion. Conakry: Editions Patrice Lumumba.
Trimingham, James Spencer. 1959. Islam in West Africa. London: Oxford University Press.
———. 1968. Influence of Islam upon Africa. London: Longmans.
Vatin, J. 1982. “Revival in the Maghreb.” In Islamic Resurgence in the Arab World, ed. A. Dessouki, 246–47. New York: Praeger.
Vieira, Gérard. 1992. Sous le signe du laïcat: L’église catholique en Guinée, 1 (1875–1925). Dakar.
Voll, John Obert. 1982. Islam: Continuity and Change in the Modern World. Boulder, Colo.: Westview.
Vydrine, Valentin. 1995. “Sur le dictionnaire Nko.” Manding Studies Association papers. Leiden.
Wal fajir. 1989–1995. Journal musulman. Dakar.
Yussuf-Ali, Abdullah, trans. 1934. Glorious Qurʾan. Cairo: Dar al-Kitab al-Masri.
Zuccarelli, F. 1988. La vie politique sénégalaise (1940–1988), vol. 2. Paris: CHAM.