Khadija Cecile Niang
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Guedj Amoul Banxass
Screenprint on paper
Series of 6 screenprints
February 2024
When I first started researching West African and Senegalese surfing, I kept coming across mentions about the surf film ‘The Endless Summer’. The documentary follows two American surfers on a worldwide trip, searching for the perfect wave.
Their first stop is Senegal, as the surfers head to N’gor Island, Bruce Brown narrates “off each end of this island was surf breaking, surf that no one had ever ridden before and as far as we know, no surfer had ever seen before”. He continues… “Landing in a strange country like this was pretty weird. The people, of course, knew nothing about surfing and had never seen a surf board.”
I was taken aback by what was such a dehumanising representation of Senegalese people but was mostly frustrated that in the present day, I still found so many reviews and commentary about how this is a seminal piece of African surf history.
During their next stop in Ghana, Bruce Brown claims, “that was the beginning of surfing in Ghana, the people couldn’t believe it”. In my own research, historian Kevin Dawson found that the earliest written account of surfing was written during the 1640s in what is now Ghana, so quite a few years earlier than when these California surfers arrived in 1966…
When I visited N’Gor Island, I walked past a surf school with a door painted with the Endless Summer poster. This made me think about something I read in the book Afrosurf:
“I consider surfing to be one of the most visual cultures […] Surfing is one of the few recreational activities where a number of devotees decided to take part in the culture in part after experiencing a film or seeing a photograph.” – Kunyalala Ndlovu
It made me think about how I would have felt as a surfer if the first thing I had come across was this film. I wanted to create screenprints of what I find to be a beautiful poster, but in a way that felt more representative of what African and Senegalese surf means to me.
‘Guedj Amoul Banxass’ is a Wolof phrase which translates to ‘the sea has no branches’. I interpret it to mean that no one can take hold of the sea, it feels like both a warning about the dangers of the sea, but also about how no one can take claim over it.
Their first stop is Senegal, as the surfers head to N’gor Island, Bruce Brown narrates “off each end of this island was surf breaking, surf that no one had ever ridden before and as far as we know, no surfer had ever seen before”. He continues… “Landing in a strange country like this was pretty weird. The people, of course, knew nothing about surfing and had never seen a surf board.”
I was taken aback by what was such a dehumanising representation of Senegalese people but was mostly frustrated that in the present day, I still found so many reviews and commentary about how this is a seminal piece of African surf history.
During their next stop in Ghana, Bruce Brown claims, “that was the beginning of surfing in Ghana, the people couldn’t believe it”. In my own research, historian Kevin Dawson found that the earliest written account of surfing was written during the 1640s in what is now Ghana, so quite a few years earlier than when these California surfers arrived in 1966…
When I visited N’Gor Island, I walked past a surf school with a door painted with the Endless Summer poster. This made me think about something I read in the book Afrosurf:
“I consider surfing to be one of the most visual cultures […] Surfing is one of the few recreational activities where a number of devotees decided to take part in the culture in part after experiencing a film or seeing a photograph.” – Kunyalala Ndlovu
It made me think about how I would have felt as a surfer if the first thing I had come across was this film. I wanted to create screenprints of what I find to be a beautiful poster, but in a way that felt more representative of what African and Senegalese surf means to me.
‘Guedj Amoul Banxass’ is a Wolof phrase which translates to ‘the sea has no branches’. I interpret it to mean that no one can take hold of the sea, it feels like both a warning about the dangers of the sea, but also about how no one can take claim over it.