All Hail the Dyrianke!

Senegal, the West African country that I call my spiritual home, always conjures up a certain type of magic deep within.

Whether I’m travelling, shopping or in R & R mode with family, there’s a certain word that constantly crops up, almost following me where ever I go. The word dyrianke (pronounced di-ri-an-kay), rings in my ears from the minute I land.

Seemingly a compliment, possibly an overture, I hear it everywhere. It’s almost as if the word dyrianke instantly replaces my name.

Bewildered at first, I wondered whether this was a thinly veiled sales pitch – as those who most vehemently insisted on calling me dyrianke were market traders.

Unbridled joy oozed through their aura as their lips curled, smiling, as they pulled up a chair for the dyrianke, they ordered drinks and snacks to my hearts desire. As I pondered over the array of fabulous indigo fabrics, beautifully tie-dyed to deep intensity, I learnt they were ‘over-dyed’ so as to leave a shiny hue of inky blue against the skin on first wear.

This was typical and appropriate for a dyrianke I heard. Better yet, I was offered ‘premiere qualite’ galila. An even more richly dyed and highly starched cotton, not so easy on the pocket and sure-fire gorgeous. Of course, I was assured, just perfect for a dyrianke. I left nearly an hour later, with meters of fabric in hand, a much lighter purse and a deep seated smile.

A little later the same day, I was drinking tea amongst a group of women friends, I heard it again. As they dug into the history of my nomad past, they hummed as they tried to place me, locate me within their framework of womanhood. Ostensibly, the only place appropriate was in the league of the dyrianke.

I came to learn it was a heavy title to carry. It is bestowed upon you. You don’t learn how to become a dyrianke, either you have it or you don’t.

The dyrianke is a woman, mystical in her charm and the epitome of femininity. A self-actualised, alluring, expressive and generous spirit who leaves people – men and women - gaping in her wake. Now that’s power! They told me again, it’s not something you can buy, it’s something you are. It’s within you.

Mesmerised at this engaging approach to beauty from the inside, I wanted to know more. She boasts a corpulent figure – a real dyrianke needs flesh on those bones – her clothes, waves of beautiful cloth, adorned in BIG accessories (bling ain’t got nothing on her!), wafting in ambrosia scent, she invests time, money and love in herself. Those lucky enough to be within her inner circle will experience the erotic power of the dyrianke. Not commercialised eros, hers is an erotica that is honed on ecstatic living realised through a jealously guarded cachet of secret artillery (waist beads, bespoke incense....it goes on).

The plot thickened as I heard about how bonafide dyriankes walk with an unmistakable gait. The rhythm illustrated in the very word, dhirri (Wolof for drag) means she would never rush. Not only is it not becoming but it’s because she has everything under control.

Highly likely, those more accomplished and mature dyri’s, would probably have hand maidens at her side. Not as some form of indentured labour but by as young apprentices eager to learn the deeply cultured ways of the dyrianke. Look at it as skills transfer and ultimately, empowerment!

It all started to make sense to me; the market vendors had picked up on my love for all things textured and luxurious. Fair enough, so there probably was a little sales talk there. But what my tea drinking companions didn’t realise was that they had opened up a door into new dimensions of femininity that were eons away from my multi-cultural experience of women and womanhood.

Things got a little heady. These were women celebrating other women. They desired and upheld notions of femininity that were far away from the issues driven (Western) feminist agenda of gender equity.

Possibly it is Senegal’s matrilineal heritage that enables such a seemingly natural aptitude to grooming, beauty, eroticism and ultimately power. The notion of the dyrianke, real deal or imagined, offers a headspace where women dare to explore and unashamedly express, the often repressed authority which is innate.

It would be naïve to think that gender inequity is not an issue in any country across the world – not least in Senegal. However, it seems clear to me that such issues can be more effectively dealt with when women themselves come with a sense of dignity and affirmation that is intact.

As we celebrate women’s month in South Africa, I wonder where our sense of womanhood sits in a country where rape, battery and violence against women is all pervasive. There may be much to celebrate in terms of legislation. However, seems to me that a few lessons in self-affirmation from the dyrianke sisters in Senegal may pave the way for real celebration this month. Bayete! Dyrianke!