Lâmp Faal Kala, speech as heritage September 10, 2026
With Lâmp Faal Kala, we must expect the conversation to take sideways paths. A word in English can come across a Wolof proverb, a researcher’s reflection can be found in a story of Baye Fall and a joke can open up several centuries of memory. English teacher, Wolof teacher, percussionist, researcher and writer, author of “Xelum Xalam” and “Tànn-béer”, he cultivates a relationship with language where knowledge prevents neither humor nor mischief. In this Baye Fall of culture, words have their rhythm, rhythms have their memory and stories just ask to be told.
On the banks of the Senegal River, Saint-Louis offers Lâmp Faal Kala a setting that resembles it. A city crossed by languages, memories and heritage, where voices intersect between the university, old neighborhoods and spaces of transmission.
In this landscape, it appears with an appearance that does not go unnoticed. On her shoulders, a garment with multiple patterns combines colors, signs and lines that recall both craftsmanship and the language of forms. On his head, a black cap wraps his hair.
Ngoty Fall, known as Lâmp Faal Kala, inhabits several universes at the same time. An English teacher for sixteen years, he also teaches Wolof in the department of African Languages and Cultures at Gaston Berger University in Saint-Louis. He is a percussionist, researcher, writer.
He founded the Xalam Civilizations, Languages and Cultures Laboratory, dedicated to the non-linguistic and paralinguistic elements of Wolof verbal art. He is also a disciple of Cheikh Ibrahima Fall, whose teaching he works to popularize.
These affiliations could give the image of a fragmented journey. With him, they rather form the same whole. Language, research, literature, percussion, spirituality and transmission respond to each other. Each extends the other.
When he explains what led him to devote part of his work to the preservation of cultural heritage, he does not first cite cultural institutions or policies. It comes back to values received in education.
“If I want to do everything to preserve our cultural heritage, it is above all thanks to the fundamental values of “ngor”, “jom”, “muñ”, “jaayante”, “dogu” and “pas-pas”. These principles have deeply shaped me and continue to accompany me on a daily basis,” he pledges.
The words he lists carry with him the weight of lived principles. They tell of an education, a way of standing in front of others and in front of oneself. His relationship with the world comes from afar.
He says he belongs to a family where education shapes the way of looking at life very early on. “I come from a family where you grow up with a certain education that shapes your view of the world. My way of seeing things hasn’t really changed; I’ve always had it,” says Baye Fall.
He pauses in the reasoning, then delivers a sentence which gives particular depth to his journey. “The world appears to me to be ephemeral, and I deeply believe that it is up to each person to do something with it, without letting it impose itself on them.”
This conception explains his relationship to work. Writing entered this trajectory through literature, but also through memory. After a baccalaureate in series L, he chose the literary sector out of conviction. He knew, he said, the importance of literature and felt made for it. He already loved writing.
The taste of Wolof
An event will give this inclination a new depth. It concerns the disappearance of Serigne Moustapha Fall Faty Kala. “It was with his death that this really became more pronounced. Writing somehow allowed me to stay connected to the one who, when he was alive, asked me to tell him everything I was going through. I wanted to honor that,” explains the English teacher.
This loyalty extends into language. When asked why he writes in Wolof, his answer is three words. “I am Wolof.” He continues with the same clarity. “I know the importance of preserving our language and proving that we can do everything with it, and even more,” adds the poet.
The introduction of national languages into the education system further reinforces this need. “Moreover, with the introduction of national languages into the education system, I also write to support this movement and give it literary content,” he explains.
It is precisely on this ground that Lâmp Faal Kala inscribes part of his work. His Xalam laboratory is interested in the non-linguistic and paralinguistic elements of Wolof verbal art. This research ties in with his activity as a percussionist.
His career as a writer is part of this continuity. Among his works, “Tànn-béer” occupies a special place in his eyes. “What is certain is that I find myself in most of the characters. Each of them can, at one time or another, reflect a part of my life or that of those close to me.”
Writing in Wolof, however, requires special patience. Lâmp Faal Kala, however, refuses to present his work as a succession of obstacles. “I don’t really see any challenges. When I feel like something needs to be done, I do it, telling myself that what needs to happen will happen. I don’t force anything. I am patient,” he confides.
In practice, constraints exist. Manuscripts must be proofread personally, in particular because the computer tools available for certain languages are not available in the same way for Wolof. Editorial work requires time. The lack of critics capable of correctly reading a work in Wolof constitutes another difficulty.
“We have to read and reread our manuscripts personally, because we are not assisted by the computer. Also, it is sometimes difficult to find a good critic who can read Wolof; they are few in number. This requires a lot of patience.” He then makes a specific observation: “To date, there is no literary prize dedicated to writers in the Wolof language.”
Behind this absence, he sees a contradiction between public declarations on the need to promote national languages and concrete recognition mechanisms. “We talk about the importance of this literature, but very little is done to promote it,” criticizes the writer.
However, he does not reject the initiatives that appear. He cites in particular the opening of the “Téere ak Teraanga” library, exclusively devoted to this literature.
On the question of the introduction of national languages in schools, his view remains in the same line. He does not reject the principle. It requires more than announcements.
“What I expect is to see national languages truly integrated, valued and taught in all schools, at all levels, from the youngest to the oldest, and in an effective manner. Not just mentioned in reports,” he maintains.
Through this sentence, his fight shines through in its full dimension. He wants it to be able to function fully as a language of teaching, creation, research and transmission.
In Saint-Louis, Lâmp Faal Kala continues this work between several spaces. He teaches English and Wolof. He searches in the forms of verbal art. He practices percussion. He writes.
He transmits a spiritual heritage. He supports students. He works on a language which he considers still has territories to conquer.
“The world appears to me as ephemeral,” he says. In this conception, preserving means working, transmitting, writing, teaching, creating.
It is taking an inheritance received and giving it the possibility of continuing to live. Lâmp Faal Kala chose this path.
In the Wolof language, in the rhythms of percussion, in books, in research and in teaching, he continues what was transmitted to him as a living material for those who will come after him.
Amadou KEBE
