Senegal I An 'art lab' as a societal pillar

A wind of change is sweeping through Senegal’s capital, Dakar, where the recently announced renaming of French colonial-era streets marks part of a broader movement. The new government, led by former opposition activists President Bassirou Diomaye Faye and Prime Minister Ousmane Sonko, signals a political rupture and systemic transformation—both in relation to the former colonial power, France, and in domestic affairs. Amid these shifts, Dakar pulses as a hub of new ideas, driven by the ambition to reimagine Africa through its own concepts and practices, independent of European influence.

A key figure in this new generation of thought leaders and change-makers is the artist known as Alibeta. He is the co-founder and director of KENU Lab'Oratoire des Imaginaires, a cultural centre located in Ouakam, one of Dakar's most vibrant neighbourhoods. ("Kenu" means "pillar" in Wolof, the most widely spoken language in Senegal.)

Alibeta's work is deeply connected to the community of Ouakam, a neighbourhood nestled between the ocean on one side and the disused runways of Dakar’s former inner-city airport on the other. Ouakam’s first inhabitants were the Lébou people, whose religion, customs, and traditional governance structures continue to shape the community. Today, however, the area is also home to modern apartment buildings, a military base, a bustling market, migrants, expats, and artists such as Alibeta, all of whom intermingle. It is here that Alibeta and the KENU Lab'Oratoire des Imaginaires create their socially engaged art. 

An interview.

A multidisciplinary artist, curator, filmmaker, and musician, Alibeta is the co-founder and director of KENU LAB’Oratoire des Imaginaires, a community-led interdisciplinary laboratory at the intersection of arts, culture, and research. His work explores how different communities perceive the world and how people relate to one another. Alibeta is the writer and director of the documentary films Doxandem – The Dream Chasers (2022) and Life Saaraba Illegal (2015). Most recently, he founded Artiste Du Daanu, a hub for cultural entrepreneurship initiatives.

Q: What changes have you observed in Senegal since the new government?

A: It is still too early to say what has changed overall, but you can see that something is in the process of changing—that there is a will for change. For example, some former government officials have had to appear in court to account for missing public funds. You can sense that the new government is working to establish new ways of doing things, encouraging people to take their work more seriously and to do things as they should be done. They represent a new generation—an era that promotes young people, where we fight for what is ours. This is the thing that is calling.

Q: Is there cautious optimism?

A: Yeah, I would say so. One must point out that President Diomaye Faye and Prime Minister Sonko have shown, through their longstanding political activism, that they act with integrity. If they had wanted to compromise themselves, they would have had the opportunity to do so by now. Now it's their time to run things and let's see. At the same time, the Senegalese people must be realistic—change does not happen at the snap of a finger. This is very much a question of temporality; there is no single rhythm of how politics ought to go. They need to take their time and do what needs to be done. In the meantime, we continue our work.

We are not waiting for a prophet

We are not waiting for a prophet. To me, that would be naive. If the community is not engaged in changing itself and its ways, nothing will change anyway. For me, it's about contributing in a way that politics does not have the power to. I am not waiting for anyone.

Q: Is the KENU Lab an example of not waiting for anyone to take action?

A: Yes, the main idea behind it was to do it ourselves. To do with what we have. As artists, we hold the position of societal critics because art is another form of power that can make societal interventions. It interjects, influences, and enables conversations. 'Kenu' means 'pillar' in Wolof, so the name refers to culture as a societal pillar. You can think of it as a foundation, but also as something to hold on to and build from. We wanted to put culture at the service of the neighbourhood to address the most pressing issues.

Q: How did you get started?

A: We started by using social science methods to research and build an initial cartography of the Ouakam territory. We then employed artistic tools and worked with the material we collected to address the issues we identified whether through music, film, or theatre production. We have also since opened a second space, which we call the "hub." Our activities there are more focused on entrepreneurship in the arts and culture. Nonetheless, it all comes down to promoting self-determination. We focus on imaginaries because we believe they provide a particularly useful starting point for us as artists to connect with.

Q: What do you mean by imaginaries?

A: Imaginaries are social constructions of meaning: compositions of beliefs and signifiers that extend beyond rational ideas. They function like a social code, guiding how people tailor their behaviour; they define how we interact, how we live, and who we are. This means that to address the core questions of our societies, we must begin with the imaginaries and use them to impact how people behave. Each culture has its own set of imaginaries, such as those of the Lébou, Dogon, or French peoples. But beyond that, colonialism, modernity, and development are also imaginaries. KENU is a laboratory because we work with different imaginaries. We try to understand and learn from them first, and then explore how to create new ones.

Q: You mentioned working at the service of the neighbourhood. How do you relate to the community around you?

A: We live, eat, and engage with daily life here, experiencing the community's problems firsthand. We are not coming from the outside, where we would need to first build relationships; we already have them, as we are members of the community. We start with the social organisation on the ground because we believe that's where we can find valuable resources. The people here know their territory well and find their own solutions. A good example of this local knowledge is how garbage disposal is organised. They have created a network of small garbage carts based on an understanding of when and where the large garbage truck will stop to pick up trash. First and foremost, we try to learn from the community, and from that, we develop our ideas as artists. We cannot talk about a reality that we don’t know.

We cannot talk about a reality that we don't know

We are in contact with all the relevant social actors, such as the women’s association, local Lébou leaders, and the district mayor’s office. Each of our projects is developed and implemented in collaboration with community members.

Q: Could you give an example?

A: We started coming together with young people, drinking Attaya tea and discussing the problems they were facing. They identified issues related to drugs, work, and family. After this, the question became: what do we do now? We started a theatre forum with about twenty boys and girls. Each month, we organised a street cleaning session in a different part of the neighbourhood, followed by theatre with the group. For us, this was also a way to get to know the area better, as well as for people to get to know us. After that, we moved on to film. In a project called "Filming the Imaginary," we trained a group of young people to choose their own stories and film their reality using phones. First, we gave them the tools, then they went out to shoot by themselves and later came to our studio to edit the films. This allowed them to create art from their point of view, connected to the community. Our programmes are always about doing, not just sitting around and talking. Another example is the training session we held with young visual artists, focused on preparing their portfolios for this year's Dakar Biennale.

Q: How do you finance this?

A: The project is entrepreneurial in essence. I founded an association for cultural entrepreneurship in 2012, and we later opened KENU based on that. Initially, it was entirely self-financed; we invested our own money into the building and materials. Our motto is not to chase anyone. We don't chase, we attract. We produced everything ourselves, and then partners started coming to us. We don’t call them funders, just partners. We had the choice to collaborate or not; we didn’t need them. We didn’t come from a position of dependency but with the attitude of offering something valuable that others need. We practice an active utopia.

We practice an active utopia

We are not just theorising decolonisation; we are embodying it. We make our boundaries clear, and if the proposal is fair, just, and respectful, we are open to collaboration. However, it’s not just the hard terms, but the ‘how’ that matters. We are mindful of the relationship. Unfortunately, we sometimes have to reject large project proposals when there is something disrespectful in the conditions. 

Q: What made those project proposals disrespectful to you?

A: Some organisations came to us with nothing but money, thinking they could do whatever they wanted. They believed everything was about money and were only interested in implementing their own preconceived projects, without considering the opinions of the people who live here. In this way, they tried to impose their European ideas on our community. That is an attitude we disagree with because our reality is different. We view the world in our own way, and this difference in vision needs to be respected. We often say: "Whatever you are doing for us, but without us, you are doing against us." We take this seriously and focus on co-creating something on equal terms. We want to maintain our freedom of choice in what we engage with and how we do it. If we don’t feel there is a genuine space for dialogue, we have to decline the proposal. Fortunately, we work with many flexible partners who are open to learning and being self-critical. This is challenging for both sides, but it is the right challenge.

Whatever you are doing for us, but without us, you are doing against us

Q: Besides the activities you've just described, you've also spent over fifteen years working on two documentary films that engage with questions of migration and its societal impact. What have you learned during this time?

A: First and foremost, most people don’t treat migration for what it really is: a school of life. The problem is that only certain people have the right to attend this school—to travel freely from here to there. I wonder: who is in charge of this school, and why do we forbid people from accessing it? Aside from the particularities of the individual stories I follow in the documentaries, it's clear that people want this experience because the journey changes something in them. I’m not saying the material questions are irrelevant, but sadly, we often reduce migration to just that. We assume all migrants are economic migrants, believing that the only reason people migrate is poverty, insecurity, or war. But the right to travel as human beings—nobody is talking about this dimension. Migrants know they might die. They know Europe is not easy. They know everything you think they don’t know.

They know everything that you think they don’t know

Why do they still want to go, then? We forget the basic human need to grow, to learn, to fulfil one's imagination, to meet others, to experiment, to move, to change, and to accomplish oneself. That is the essential point; that is what drives people to leave Senegal.

Q: What about the deep-rooted belief that to be successful, you have to migrate to Europe?

A: Even if you think it all comes down to colonised imaginaries, let them go. It doesn’t change the fact that people have the right to see for themselves. We’re really tired of people telling us what to do and what not to do. Let us live for ourselves. Once we’ve acknowledged that, then we can talk about deconstructing this imaginary. I don’t think Europe is the El Dorado of the world, but I still want to travel there. I have the right to, I’m doing it, and maybe it’s because I’m doing it that I can realise what it is not. We do need to decolonise and rebuild imaginaries, but this must go hand in hand with affirming the right to travel. Some people stop in Morocco on their way to Europe and find what they were looking for there. We forget that 85% of African migrants stay on the African continent. Why do we only talk about the 15% who go to Europe?

Noah Anton Schmitt studies philosophy at the Humboldt University of Berlin. His research focuses on the relationships between different cultures and international theories of social critique.