Uncertain but undeterred: Young Senegalese prepare to vote

It’s just after 6 p.m. on a recent Wednesday evening, and the streets of this working-class suburb of Dakar roar with life.

Buses and taxis heave to a stop at busy intersections, disgorging crowds of commuters. Cooks in local restaurants race to prepare traditional rice dishes for the evening rush, chopping green bell peppers and carrots while fresh fish bathed in spices fry on the grill. Schoolchildren in uniforms hang out on street corners, chatting and laughing.

Most people aren’t in a hurry to get anywhere, and for Abdoulaye Diop, that makes it the perfect time to talk to potential voters in Senegal’s upcoming presidential election.

Mr. Diop, a college student studying computer science, is part of a team of about 50 canvassers who have come to Yeumbeul to campaign for a minor candidate named Aliou Mamadou Dia. But he’s also a kind of evangelist for the act of voting itself.

“We have to make them [understand] the consequences of not voting,” he says.

Getting Senegalese voters excited for election day right now is a hard sell though, because no one actually knows when the vote will take place. It was originally scheduled for late February, but earlier in the month, President Macky Sall abruptly called it off, and no new date has been set. Meanwhile, the major opposition candidate will not be the ballot, a fact that his supporters have spent the better part of a year protesting. 

The stakes of this moment are particularly high for first-time voters like Mr. Diop, who are deciding not just which presidential candidate to vote for – but also whether they think voting is a useful tool for change in Senegal at all.

“Historically, young Senegalese have been very active when it comes to presidential elections,” says Bamba Ndiaye, an assistant professor of African studies at Emory University who researches African protest movements. This time around, “the recurrence of blatant injustice and repression heightens the importance” they feel.

Voting with their feet

Not every young person is convinced, however, of the importance of voting. Across town from the Yeumbeul canvass, 18-year-old Fallou Faye sits all day in front of a table piled high with loafers, boots, and running shoes, willing the pedestrians streaming by to stop and browse his wares. If just one person buys a pair of shoes from his stall on an oceanside road, he considers it a good day.

But the good days are few and far between. Most of the time, Mr. Faye brings home nothing to his parents and two younger sisters, all of whom rely on the $165 or so he cobbles together monthly from this business.  

“I’m just holding on in order to survive,” he says. He often dreams of finishing high school or finding a steady office job. But lately, he has also begun to fantasize about another option. “I have to get out of this country,” says Mr. Faye, who is not registered to vote.

It’s a common sentiment in Senegal, where fewer than 50% of young people are formally employed, the cost of living is prohibitive for many, and the country’s main university, which has more than 90,000 students, was closed for nearly 10 months following protests last year. 

The average age of a Senegalese person is 22, and in recent years, many young people like Mr. Faye have voted against this situation with their feet, setting out for Europe in wobbly canoes called pirogues or on long treks across the Sahara. Unlike their parents, they grew up with the rest of the world’s prosperity on constant display on their smartphones and TVs, and they wanted to be part of it. 

But those connections to the outside world have also inspired some young Senegalese to stay and fight for changes at home, Dr. Ndiaye says.

“Young Senegalese people are tech savvy, better educated, and well connected to the events and trends happening in other places around the world,” he says. “They long to see a prosperous, socially just, and well-managed Senegal.”

Protests and delays

When campaigning for Senegal’s new president began last year, one candidate in particular promised young people he would give them a reason to stay. Former tax collector Ousmane Sonko, who finished third in the 2019 election, electrified crowds with promises to eliminate corruption and create jobs.

Then in June, he was sentenced to two years in prison for “corrupting youth” for his role in an alleged sexual assault. He was barred from running for president. Convinced the charge was politically motivated, Mr. Sonko’s supporters launched mass protests across the country. In the ensuing clashes with police, more than a dozen people died. (Late last year, Mr. Sonko was briefly approved again to run, but his name was ultimately left off the final ballot.)

Protests have continued sporadically since, flaring up again in early February when President Macky Sall announced that elections would not take place as planned at the end of the month. The parliament set a new December election date, but members of the opposition challenged it in court, and the new date was scuttled. Mr. Sall’s term ends April 2, and he promised this week to hold the election by July, but he hasn’t set a date. 

“We are impatiently waiting to vote as we should because it is also our right as citizens to participate in the change of this system,” says Marieta Ba, a 21-year-old first time voter.

For their part, Mr. Sall and his supporters say that Senegal has flourished under his leadership. His 12-year tenure has seen the opening of a futuristic airport outside the capital, Dakar; modern highways; and a high-speed electric commuter train running from Dakar to a new high-rise city he is building 20 miles away called Diamniadio. Senegal’s economy is projected to grow by more than 10% this year, largely due to the country’s developing oil industry, which Mr. Sall has championed.

Yeumbeul is a stop on the gleaming new $1 billion train line, but the $1.65 tickets are too expensive for most residents here. For Mr. Diop, developments like this feel more like vanity projects than like genuine attempts to improve the lives of Senegalese people.

“They have built many things in the country, but they forgot to build stable life conditions and opportunities for Senegalese people,” he says. “The system has not [taken] us anywhere.”

By now, dusk is settling over Yeumbeul. Mr. Diop and the other canvassers have been here more than an hour. Abdoulaye Ka, who is in his early 30s, says the experience of talking to young potential voters in particular makes him feel optimistic that whenever the election does finally happen, it will bring change.

“We still have hope [that] this is a country that we can build,” he says.