[17:12, 05/04/2026] Adama Seneweb: The news reached us from the United States like a thunderbolt, suspending time. There are some artists we convince ourselves will always be here. For us, children and young people of the 90s and 2000s, it wasn't an illusion: Daddy Bibson was one of them. He was the rock, the voice of our rebellions, the living memory of our elders.

Learning that Bruno Cheikh Bounama Coly has passed away is like seeing a mountain disappear from the Dakar horizon. Tonight, the silence is heavy. In the streets of the capital, from Thiès to Rufisque, all the way to Fass, and even on social media, something has frozen in time.

I belong to a generation that didn't discover it on a touchscreen. To understand what it represents, you have to reopen those old boxes where our teenage treasures lie dormant. Today, I dug out my cassettes. I unfolded the worn J-cards, those little booklets where every word, every dedication already carried its own grandeur. Even before pressing "play," the connection was there.

Bibson was a man of many roots. A father from Soutou, in the mystical depths of Casamance. Born in Thiès in December 1973. A youth shaped by the streets and the language. It was at the Makhtar Seck middle school in Rufisque that he met Turbo. Two teenagers who discovered Hip Hop culture. Before the studios, before the stages, there was this: an invention, an urgency, a voice.

Then came Fass. Dakar. Pee Froiss. With Xuman, Aladji Man, they became a benchmark. Wala Wala Bok was released in 1996, Mako Wakh… Tracks that resonated throughout Senegal, recognizable even without a signature.

We witnessed his legend. Perhaps not present at the early days of Rap'Adio with Keyti and Deug Iba, but we felt the shockwave. Senegalese rap was taking on an international dimension, Dakar was becoming a Hip Hop capital. And at the heart of it all was Bibson. Ku Weet Xam Sa Bop. He was teaching us about ourselves.

In 1998, he met the family of Sheikh Ibrahim Niass in Medina Baye. Then Sheikh Mamour Insa, his guide to the Fayda. Between these two moments: a transformation. When he emerged, he was no longer just a formidable MC. He became the Commando Baye.

His cassette booklets resembled letters. To his father, to his mother Codou Seck, to his loved ones. In his home, pain didn't scream. It was inscribed quietly, and the music did the rest.

Enemy Brothers (2000). A landmark project, bringing together the two pillars of Pee Froiss: Wass, Dou Ben Dou Niar, Siiw, Kagna Takh… A powerful dialogue between brotherhood and tension, between loyalty and divergence, and with the presence of their eternal friends Keyti, Kocc 6, G bass…

This album remains one of the most influential of its era. But in the early 2000s, there was no debate: Bibson was number one. Not the most media-savvy. Not the most formulaic. The King of the underground. Simply the King.

Abul Fay Du (2001). Even before the first beat, this invocation: Ya Fattah, Ya Wazahu, Ya Latifu… He drew us into his spirituality. Who else would have dared? Kronic Rap, a lucid analysis of Senegalese rap. My Name, opened by Barke Baye Niass. Bibson understood before many that faith doesn't limit rap—it can be its foundation.

And Jaraf… This song has traveled through taxis, houses, radios. Everywhere.

Each album became a chapter in our lives. Bobou Ba Légui (2002), with that childlike gaze that never left us. SDF, which moved so many exiles to tears. And that phrase, engraved for his son: "Wante yague yague dinga ma guisse." A father's promise. Unforgettable.

There was the controlled anger of Jantub Gudi, the power of Fompal with Maxi Krezy, and finally the serenity of Sant Rek (2008). A spiritual, dense, and complete work. A passing of the torch, too, to the new generation. Bibson always knew where he was going. Sant Rek wasn't an end. It was an elevation. Miza Jour (2011), Viktoire (2012), Philadelphia Story (2014): a coherent, sincere, and essential discography.

Bibson, you were a witness to Senegal, from Thiès to Casamance, from Fass to the stages of Europe and America. You carried within you the dignity, the pride, the depth of an entire people.

You weren't protecting your own for the sake of the show. You were doing it on principle. We'll miss you in a different way. Hip Hop culture has lost a guiding light.

You grew up with your music without ever betraying the child you were, nor the teenager who found his way in hip-hop. Voices that refuse to be silenced never disappear. They live on within us.

You sang of God, His Prophet ﷺ, and your guide Baye Niass all your life. Today, you are not leaving. You are joining.

Rest in peace, great Bi, Tijany 733. Rest in peace, King Daddy Bibson! Sant Rek