“I don't want to be the kind of activist who picks sides and is not inclusive” – Anonymous (West Africa) – 2/4

We continue our conversation with Anonymous.  In the first part, we talked about their discomfort growing up as a young girl who didn’t behave “in a girly way” (Part 1). In this second part, we discuss their relationship with their community and how they began to accept their difference.

Anonymous was interviewed by Françoise Moudouthe in late 2019 as part of a global project documenting girls’ resistance. The conversation was also edited into this four-part interview by Nana Bruce-Amanquah and Edwige Dro for our #GirlsResistWA series. You can learn more about the series here.

Trigger warning: this conversation contains mentions of violence and abuse which may be triggering for readers. Kindly take a moment to decide if you want to keep reading. If you do proceed, we encourage you to centre your wellbeing and stop reading at any point, as you need.

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You told me that for you, the end of your girlhood was around 24-25 years old, a few years after leaving the convent. Could you tell me why you chose this specific age? 

A few years prior, I had started some research to know what I was exactly. If I was the only one in this situation or if it was a disease. At 24, I was invited to an event organised by an NGO fighting AIDS. A friend of mine, with whom I spoke a lot, worked with them. I hadn’t planned on going. I didn’t want to hear rumours about me, that would make me have to explain myself. Anyway, he insisted: “You must come! You must come! You’ll find it interesting!”

So, I went there, and then BAM! I saw people like me! I thought “OK, I’m not alone.” In my research, I only saw things about the West that reinforced the idea that “White people are the only ones who do this.” My participation in this event was liberating to me. I saw that in my country, the city where I grew up, there were people like me. Younger, older people who were like me. That’s when I thought: “Life begins now.” 

That’s amazing! You often talk about finding your community. I’d like to know, who were the most important people in your life before the night you just mentioned? 

There’s my mother, who remains the most important person to me. There’s also a friend of mine who is like a brother to me now. We were together from middle school through high school and we’re still friends today. I didn’t know he was gay, but he knew I was a lesbian, without me having to come out to him.  We’re still friends, he’s very important to me.

And how would you describe your relationship with these two people?

I’ve always had a roller-coaster relationship with my mother, to this day. Sometimes it’s very violent, other times it’s very affectionate. She still hopes that I’ll go back to the convent. We argued the last time we saw one another! (laughs) When she realised that nothing has changed, and I'm still the way I am, she’s like: "Oh right, now you're proud of who you are, you even claim who you are!” Then she says, "Okay, no, it's okay. God will help, it's okay, you're still my daughter". She realises that nothing changes, that it becomes even clearer in my head. Even when I left the convent, people blamed it on her! She said: "No, she resisted, she does what she wants. She is free to do what she wants." Today, people say to her: "Ah, what about your daughter? What is she doing now? Did she get married?" She says, "That's none of your business." She resisted so that I could be me, to let me be myself.

Who were the villains of the story? I mean those who opposed you and caused conflict at the time? 

My aunt’s husband. I don’t like him much. We mutually avoid each other. He is this hetero-patriarchal man who allows himself to treat my aunt and my mother poorly because they’re women. Ever since I was little, I didn’t like his tone when he spoke to my aunt. Once, when I was 13 I think, she called us crying because he had beaten her. It made me so angry! So, I took a cab using the little savings I had to go and confront him. Once I got there, I found a huge stick that I took and I yelled: “Today, it’s over for you. Had I been in my aunt’s life before you met her, you wouldn’t have married her.”

Wow, even at 13! 

Yes! Afterward, there was a family meeting, and I was asked to forgive him. I said: "Don't ask me for forgiveness! He will ask his wife for forgiveness”. He never did. And I still hold a grudge to this day. Two years later, there was a death in the family and all the women had to get together. As my mother's oldest daughter, I went with her to the gathering. When we arrived, I saw my aunt and then I heard her husband saying, "Oh no that one shouldn't go in!" referring to me. "She is not a woman”. I replied to him:  "You are not a woman either. What are you doing here? If you can be here, so can I.” He said, "Did you hear the way she talks to me? I told you that you failed at raising her. You allowed her to do this, to do that, to express herself. Now, she is the one who understands French more than anyone else, she is the one who is going to come and tell me who is a woman!" 

You weren’t this little girl who disliked confrontation! This is where we come back to when you were 15, the period when you started accepting yourself. 

I came to terms with my difference a long time ago. At that age, I was this little girl who always wore pants and my father's family would say to my mother, "Aha! We told you, didn’t we? You wanted to educate her and now look what she’s becoming?" As for myself, the fact that I was different was a burden for me. I tried to wear dresses, but they didn't fit. I thought I was going to disgrace my mother and cause her problems. It weighed on me, and it still does, but this time I dealt with it better than before. I decided that I had to prove that my mother had given me the best education. My difference should not be a reason to fail. Today, I know who I am, someone who accepts and is comfortable with their difference in every way and who is also more fulfilled. I know that there are people like me and that we need to support each other and work together.

On a macro level, in your community, whether it's in the city or the country, what was going on politically, that affected you?

I can think of a few instances of protests that have stood out to me that have nothing to do with the LGBTQI community, but from which I draw a lot of inspiration and strategy. I have an example; it was several years ago. There was a political change, and I was one of those people who went out and threw rocks at the military. I couldn't understand how a sovereign republic could act like a kingdom. We couldn’t say anything. I participated in many protest movements at that time. There was a women's march to restore calm. I was getting ready for this march, and someone said to me: "So you are a woman today?” It affected me because I said to myself, "Should we give in to demands because a person is not different?" It's a matter of justice. It's everybody's business. Whether I am a woman or not, it is a claim that is being made for a certain justice, so let's go for it!

I realize that the movement I’m part of is very violent. And I must learn how to process things. It also helped me know the type of person and the type of activist I don't want to be. I don't want to be the kind of activist who picks sides, who is not inclusive, who thinks that because this person doesn't fit the mold, then they can't be part of the advocacy. I know now that I don't want to be in these kinds of activism or social justice movements.

After what they shared about their childhood, our discussion with Anonymous goes on in the third part. We talk about resistance and solidarity. Click here to read the next part.