Paula Abdul for a Night

As I walked into the auditorium on Saturday night, wearing my brand-spanking new “American Corner American Music Contest 2012” T-shirt and headed for my place of honor in the front row, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was my destiny. I couldn’t help but notice that seldom have I felt so happy, excited, and powerful during my time in Senegal. For on this day, I was judging a music contest. A music contest of Senegalese contestants performing English-language songs. A music contest with the sole intention of impressing me, an American, by playing music in my language, that I would understand and like and want to dance to. On this night, everyone would be culturally adapting to ME. And the winner was going to get one of these trophies.

Kathleen poses with the guitar trophies and the life-size Obama that decorates the American Corner office

The music contest was the brainchild of my friend Cheikh, who runs the American Corner in Thies. The American Corner is an office in the Cultural Center sponsored by the American Embassy. They provide English-language resources and sponsor activities, such as the English class I co-lead once a week, as well as other spontaneous events, like Gospel Concerts that cover African American Spirituals and R. Kelly’s “I Believe I Can Fly.” Did I never talk about that? It was my favorite event in Senegal, at least until I judged the American Music Contest 2012. I’ll write about it at a different time. But yes, this past weekend, Cheikh hosted a music contest. I’m still not exactly sure why, and I’m never exactly sure how he gathers participants for these events, but they happen, and they are always great.

I had no idea what to expect when I showed up to judge the American Music Contest. Would it be covers of American songs with impersonations of American bands? Would it involve original compositions adapted from English-language poetry? Would it be Senegalese mbala music, translated into English? Anything was possible! As the anticipation built in the minutes before the competition started, our contestant list grew from 7 to 8 to 10 to 12 participants. Doing who knows what.

So after the esteemed judges – me and two of my fellow English teachers, Colin and Kathleen – took our seats, the program began to unfold. First, we were treated to the Senegalese anthem translated into English, fulfilling one of my expectations. After that, we had a transitory performance, meant to warm up the audience. The two people we would be seeing weren’t competing, but THEY SHOULD HAVE BECAUSE I WOULD HAVE PROBABLY HAD THEM WIN. Why? Because they used the stage names “J. Lo” and “Lil Wayne,” and J.Lo was wearing a pink, animal print jumpsuit over heels and they rapped top 40 hits. It was during this song that I knew it was going to be the perfect night and that there was absolutely nothing better I could possibly be doing with my Saturday night, not only now, but for the rest of my life.

The competitors ran the gamut. Among them were:

• Baye fall types – the dreadlocked men who know how to play guitar and make tourists love them, often seen on the beaches. The first was called “Doom u Dialaw,” which translates to “Child of Dialaw,” which is coincidentally where my friends and I were semi-attacked by less musical Rastas a week ago. One girl’s sand pile was destroyed, and another was bitten. But these guys were great. Some lyrics were hard to discern, but I think one song detailed a dead father and another talked about smiles fixing everything.
• Acapella ladies – the first of these contestants was in full-on modest Muslim gear: head to toe black with a black headscarf. Oh, but wait, what’s that? Oh yes, she also had a sequined gold bra sewn on top of her extremely modest sheath. BALLSY. BALLSY. She dedicated her song to the talibe. The other girl sang a song about being “exactly where she was supposed to be.” Things got heavy during acapella time.
• Rappers – the rappers. I loved them. So much. I was also just impressed that so many young men attempted to tackle English through rap. I mean, how many songs can you rap? I can sometimes do a few verses, if I’m lucky, and I’m channeling Nicki Minaj. One guy, who reminded me of Jay-Z and was coincidentally the son of a Peace Corps Trainer, pulled it off especially well. All of the rappers had the synonymous introduction of thanking the audience, maybe throwing out the n-word in a blissfully ignorant way, and then saying either, “Hit me, DJ” or “DJ. The song.”

Other contestants included a semi-professional mbala band, an adorable Moldy Peaches-esque brother and sister combo who did the happiest reggae version of "Happy Birthday" I’d ever seen, and a local reggae/rap artist, who waved his shirt around his head like it was a helicoptor and this one was for North Carolina and also graciously thanked Colin by calling him “his n-word.” No one should be an n-word, but Colin is especially far from the description.

Deliberation was difficult. All three judges had very different ideas about who should win and why. Our biggest dilemma concerned the participation of the two semi-professional entries: they already knew they were good, so should they win? And maybe more importantly, would we disrupt the social order of Senegal if we did our little American positivity dance and rewarded people for things like “trying really hard!” or “being untrained and still good!” or “having fun!” These are decisions every judge must make.

Eventually, we decided to base our selections on three categories: musical content and ability to display the chosen genre; lyrical content and English delivery; and stage presence. To even things out a little bit, we awarded two honorable mentions. But in a shocking twist to the audience, we gave the semi-professional band 3^rd place. They sounded great, but none of us could understand anything that they said, which knocked them down a bit in the standings. The one group that delivered every lyric with complete precision – the fake Moldy Peaches – earned 2^nd place, prompting them to shockingly take the stage in front of the band, whom they placated by innocently proclaiming as their idols. And our winner for the evening was the local reggae/rap artist, who had managed to rile up the crowd, speak fantastic English, execute his genre, and call Colin the n-word. When he came up to accept his award, he started crying, thrust the trophy to the sky like a Grammy, and launched into a speech. We felt confident in our choice after that display and its positive reception by the audience.

So the competition was a success! I loved the feeling of absolute, or at least 1/3, power I had during the evening. In fact, at one point, I took the stage and started an impromptu performance of the Sean Paul song “Got to Love You.” These things happen when too much power meets possibility, and when I say possibility, I mean a DJ, an empty stage, a microphone, and me. Nonetheless, I think the outburst gave the audience reason to respect us more as judges. At the end of my weird off-putting dance, I proclaimed, “Got to love YOU, Senegal! Got to love YOU, contestants tonight!” I felt like Bob Marley. I acted like Paula Abdul. I might have looked like the lovechild of Frank Zappa and a gazelle. But I was just being a Peace Corps volunteer, doing my civic duty and job, which on this night was judging an American Music Contest. In these moments, I love it.