Kersa ci tudde sama bopp bindkat Wolof Su ñu may woowe bindkat ba përye ma Ci ndajeb bindkati àdduna biy am Àt mu ne ci Iowa-City, war naa xam lu tax, Ma am kersa ci tudde sama bopp Bindkat. Su ñu may laaj, lu tax may bind ak lan Laadi bind ci samay téere, te téere Yi ma jota siiwal tere wu ñu ma Ma am kersa ci tudde sama bopp Bindkat, Booba am na kiiraay guy dox Ci sama digganteek bind mooma. Su fekkee taalif yu gàtt yi ma daan Bindantu ci wolof ba ma newee Ca daaray digg ga, da ñu nekkoon ci man Ay mbir yi ma daan feexal ci kiiraayu làkk Ak kiiraayu xalaatin yi ma teguwoon, Loolu warul tax ba ma tudde sama bopp Bindkat, Ndax kenn xamul dara ca mbindantu Jamono yooya wesaaroo booba. Su ma ne, noppalu ci nafar ay téere Yu ñu bind ci làkki almaa waraloon May bindantu farañse ca Strabourg, Ba mbindantu mooma mujj nekk Téere gu ma woowe "Mademba", Loolu taxul ba ñu war ma tudde Bindkat, Ak lu téere booba mëna teewal-teewal Xat-xat yi xaleyeek jigéen ñi di faral dunde Ci sanuy réewu Afirigu sowu jànt yi, Ak lu téere booba mëna teewal-teewal Yàq yi yenn kilifa yi di yàq alalu réew mi, Di teewal ñakk deggoo gi waa Afirig yi Jànge ci daara tubaab yi ñakk deggook seen bopp. Su ma ne sama ñaareelu téere, mu ngi doore Ci xalaat gi ma doon xalaat mbirum apartheid, Ci gis gi ma doon gis sama bopp ci ndaw su mag soosa Te der ba ñuul ca réewu Afirigu bëjj saalum, Ndaw soosa waroona jàngal ay xalé yu seen der ya weex, Te mu mujjoona juge dëkkam, ñëw dëkk si Ndakaaru, Te ñakk xam mooy kan, daan ko farala indil ay tiisu Yu metti, fépp fu njàqare jibee, xaw ma ndax Loolu war na tax ba ñu may tudde Bindkat, Man mi bind sama téere yooyta ci kàllaama farañse goo xam ne, Téemeeri nit yu nekk ci Afirig, fukk sax mënuñu ka ca nafar. Ba ñu dooree fii ci ndajeb Iowa-City, di jéema tekkeek firi Ci seen kàllaama àngalé, lépp lu ma bind ci kàllaama wolof, Booba laay doora di mën tontu ci laaj gi ñu laaj bindkat yi Maanaam: "Lu waral ñuy bind ak lan la ñuy bind?" Bés bu bindkatu Afirig yépp mënee toontu ci laaj googu, Kenn ci ñoom dootul amait benn kersa ci tudde boppam Bindkat. Translated by the author Reworked by Christi Merrill

My Trouble Calling Myself a Writer English translation They call me a writer and invite me to Iowa City to join the annual International Writing Program, and so now I need to understand why I feel so uneasy calling myself a writer. When they ask me why I write what I write, and the books I have had published don't ease my discomfort with calling myself a writer, surely there must be a mask between me and my writing. If the short poems I used to write in Wolof when I was in secondary school were for me a relief from the mask of language and that whole way of thinking I had to wear then, then that's not enough reason for me to call myself a writer. For nobody knew then about those far-flung words of mine. If I say I wanted a rest from reading books in German, and that's why in Strasbourg I began to write in French, writing French words until those words became a book called Mademba, I think that's not enough reason for them to call me a writer, even if Mademba tells of the trouble children and women have in modern African societies, troubles with embezzlement, and the cultural conflict experienced by educated African people. If I recall that my thoughts about apartheid made me write my second novel, in which I saw myself in the black woman called Tembi who had to teach young white boys, a woman who finally moved to Dakar, and whose troubles of identity countless times made her vomit, I cannot be sure if that is a reason for people to call me a writer, for I wrote my novels in a language called French which less than fifteen percent of my people can read and understand. Only since coming to workshops and seminars in Iowa City when they try to untie and unravel in their English what I wrote in Wolof did I then begin to feel that I was gradually able to anser the question why I write what I write. For in Iowa City I have found myself answering another question, a question that kept me from answering the first, a question which I had not been asked before. Which is: For whom do I write? The day on which all African writers will be able to answer that question, I think they will then truly feel comfortable calling themselves writers.

Texte présenté au cours de l'International Writing Program organisé par l'Université d'Iowa en 1995. Blaise Clark, Coordinateur.