"My introduction to feminism was not a formal one" - Chilufya Nchito (Zambia)

My name is Chilufya and I’m glad - more than glad - I am thrilled to be joining the EYALA team. And perhaps as an introduction to myself it would only be right to give a bit of background into who I am and what makes me me.

I’m a feminist from Zambia, a little unknown country in Southern Africa that is home to one of the seven natural wonders of the world, the Victoria Falls locally known as the Mosi-Oa-Tunya Falls. I am a feminist and have worked in the feminist space for a few years now, and it is my life’s passion. 

I almost got married last year… maybe that’s not a helpful way to begin. My best friend Emje got married. I was part of her traditional negotiation ceremony, and this was a first for me. Her sisters, their house help, and I huddled in the kitchen eavesdropping and gossiping as her fiancé and his entourage arrived at the house. Her mum and her entourage were in the living room ready to receive the guests. 

As soon as they were done with the introductions, her mum came to the kitchen to let us know what our role would be. We (all the ladies in the kitchen) would have to be presented before her fiancé and his family for him to pick the girl he had come to officially propose to. For me this was both exciting and nerve wrecking. The idea that I could be part of someone’s big day in my own small way meant so much. I joked about what would happen if he accidentally chose one of us and not the designated bride.

The identifying ceremony itself was uneventful. We entered the room and sat facing the crowd like a lineup of offenders. Our heads were bent, we folded our arms and none of us dared to look into anyone’s eyes. The fiancé was escorted into the room by his uncle and asked to identify his betrothed. He eagerly tapped my friend on the shoulder, and just as quickly as we entered the room, we were ushered out. There were no fireworks, no drums, not even ululations. Now the grownups were left to discuss the finer details of capital as we once again huddled in the kitchen and went on with our gossip. 

Marriage is a large part of life, but specifically in Africa, Sub Saharan Africa, Zambia, Lusaka, to be precise, perhaps it is everything. It is what shapes one’s life, the decision to wed - or God forbid not to - shapes so much of one’s experience. To choose a partner or perhaps to be chosen says a lot about your upbringing, your stock, about what really matters in your life. As a woman it seems your life has been a series of decisions that has led to you saying the important words “I do”.

When I was young, I remember being in my grandmother’s kitchen and there was a boiling pot of oil on the stove. I reached to grab the pot and my aunt exclaimed. She asked what would happen if that pot of oil fell on me; which man would marry me? You see, I am stock; really, I am prized cattle. I need to be kept fresh like produce at the market, sprinkled with water every so often to entice customers and let them know I am newly harvested and ready to be consumed. My aunt, in her late thirties at the time, could take the risk of taking the boiling pot from the stove. She had been picked and was no longer on the shelf. There was no risk for her, except perhaps the superficial fear of being burnt by a boiling pot of oil.

To be anywhere from your mid to late thirties and not have been picked is a precarious position to be in. By that time perhaps, the hand that sprinkles water to entice buyers has grown weary. Your chibwabwa[1] is going stale and who knows if dried vegetables are to everyone’s taste. Perhaps with pounded nuts in fisashi[2] but again, so many are allergic to nuts.

The idea of wanting or waiting to be picked has always made me uncomfortable, firstly for the obvious reason that women are not stock. We are not helpless bystanders in the highway of our lives hoping to be noticed by men, but also marriage is not the sole purpose of our lives.  We are multifaceted beings, and to reduce our lives to the single experience of having companionship is a disservice.

Being a feminist despite all the work and progress that has been made in the field and on the continent is a risk. It is to wear the scarlet letter F embellished on one’s forehead. It is to be a rebel, to stand against the crowd. This idea has always baffled me. I have no qualms being a rebel but the idea that because I fight for women’s rights, I am a radical, I have always found comical. Marriage is such a political concept and so many people see the idea that a woman can be in her 30s, unmarried and a feminist as a political stance. It was not one I wished to make though, but I do hope that we can have more meaningful conversations around marriage especially as feminists. To deconstruct the long held and often harmful beliefs around who we are, our worth, beauty and who we choose or don’t choose to marry.  

The feminist mantra that the personal is political rings true. Who and how we choose to be coupled as feminists should matter. We should deeply interrogate long ingrained ideas that perhaps have been passed from parents or the larger community. Our feminist politics should reflect in all aspects of our life.   

With heavy trad wife content being peddled on social media and the world’s general turn to fascism and ‘traditional’ politics, I am finding that going back to the basics of our feminism is important now more than ever. While theorising is needful, I am finding that our personal feminist politics and ideals are really the cornerstone of our movement. The way we choose to live or not live our everyday lives is really what makes us feminists. The music we choose to listen to, the artists we choose to cancel or not etc.

With my time at EYALA, I hope to delve into these personal and political waters. To discuss how capitalism has disrupted how we view connections, what it means to be beautiful, why marriage is still seen by many as a woman’s ultimate goal but more importantly, to identify how we can build strong feminist networks and connections.

My introduction to feminism was not a formal one. I was a young twenty-something year old who, after growing up in an African and Christian home, discovered that there was a word for the imbalance I saw in the way I was treated compared to the male folk around me. There was also a heavy #MenAreTrash movement on the twitter streets, and I would be damned if I would not be found there. I followed the hashtag and read all I could on the subject.

That I get to work in this space is a privilege that I don’t take for granted. But more than that it is an extension of the personal feminist journey I fight every day.

[1] Chibwabwa is a local Zambian vegetable, pumpkin leaves.

[2] A local Zambian recipe where vegetables are cooked with pounded nuts.

“The Eyala Circle created a space to strengthen sisterhood” - Chanceline Mevowanou (Benin)

Organizing the Eyala circle in Cotonou was an exciting experience. I was looking forward to meeting people with whom I share dreams and collective actions for the well-being and growth of girls and women in Benin. With the Eyala Circle, this became a reality. 

On January 28th 2023, Beninese feminists welcomed their first Eyala circle. The event took place in Cotonou at Jardin de Canelya. When I think back on the circle, the sense of well-being, vulnerability, and self-renewal that I felt during the discussions is what comes first to mind. Along with the physical and emotional exhaustion I felt at the end of the circle. I fell asleep as soon as I got back home. I had been invited to go see a play in the evening on the same day. I didn’t go to this show because I slept so heavily after the circle that I had forgotten about it.  

The Eyala Circles are authentic and intense moments of sharing. It’s something one has to experience to understand it.

In Benin and many French-speaking West African countries, there is always enthusiasm and engagement for spaces and conversations that focus on authentic feminist experiences. I’ve seen it in Ivory Coast, in Senegal, in Niger... Because feminist circles where we don’t come to talk about work and/or our knowledge of some feminist concepts aren’t common nowadays. I don’t know if such circles have existed in the past. The need for safe, intimate spaces where feminists can tell their stories and allow themselves to be vulnerable is real. It’s something many feminists are aware of.

Océane, a fellow feminist sister often tells me about this when we talk. She feels that our jobs within organisations and the search for thematic expertise have taken up too much of our activism. While we rarely look at how we live and embody feminism in our lives or not. When I sent out the invitations for the Cotonou Eyala circle, she was on a trip to Mali and Guinea. She returned from her trip at 5am that day and came to the Eyala Circle later that morning. She didn’t want to miss it. At the end of the Circle, this is what she had to share about her experience:

“The circle was interesting because feminists were given a space to talk about something other than what they do. They were asked about their intimate relationships with feminism as an identity.”

— Océane

There were about twenty participants in this circle. Some of the feminists I knew, and others I didn’t; older feminists as well as younger ones. Not to mention women who are at the start of their feminist journeys, and are beginning to claim a feminist identity. There was food and drinks, at the center and in front of us. We were in a green environment… quiet and serene.

I took the time to observe the interactions as the participants arrived for the Circle. For most of us, it was like a reunion. We never really stopped seeing each other. However, we often only met for activities around our jobs and our projects. And so, the energy was different for the circle. I was grateful to see the friendly atmosphere as soon as the participants arrived and settled in.  Smiles, positive energy, hugs... It reminded me that we need to set up spaces for ourselves. And I’m even more convinced by Kifayath’s feedback on the Circle.

“For me, the circle was a space of discovery and sharing of experiences. I felt free and happy to express myself without filters. I loved the good-natured atmosphere that prevailed throughout the session.”

— Kifayath

As an introduction to the discussions, I spoke about Eyala and the spirit of the circles we organize. For many, it was their first time hearing about Eyala. Others already followed and knew our founder Françoise Moudouthe. We discussed the theme “Our feminist lives”. The idea for this circle was to explore together our personal experiences as African feminists and to challenge our feminist lives, in an intimate and safe setting. The beauty of the Eyala Circle is that nothing is imposed, fixed, or prepared when it comes to what to share. The circle unfolds following what the people present want to share.

The exchanges started by focusing on our memories of our first moments of feminist consciousness. Many of the participants in the circle knew each other, but mostly through their activist work, as members or presidents of different organizations. To create deeper bonds, and to establish trust, there was a need to (re)discover one another, to know the story behind the activist. This circle created the space to strengthen sisterhood among us because by becoming closer and by having more intimate conversations, we reinforce solidarity. This was demonstrated by the feedback at the end of the discussions. For instance, Axelle talked about how she felt throughout the circle: 

“The Eyala Circle made me feel like I belonged to a community. A community of people determined to put an end to anything that enslaves women. It’s amazing.”

— Axelle

Some interesting stories were shared during the discussions. Someone recounted that when she was a student in her school, girls were not allowed to be class leaders and boys did not clean the classroom. She felt that this was unfair and made it her goal to become a classroom leader and to implement cleaning for all students, girls and boys. She succeeded with great determination. This was the beginning of her feminist journey.

For another, it was having been a victim of sexual harassment by a professor at university that triggered her feminist consciousness and the will to advocate and embody a new social order where young women evolve without being subjected to sexist violence.

We listened to a participant who shared her story of being an African woman living with a disability and fighting to change the reductive narratives about people living with disabilities. It was one of my favorite moments of the circle. She shared how instrumental her mother’s support has been in her life. Her story reminded us of the power of love and community. We are all connected and interdependent. These connections are areas of power where we can operate to leave no woman behind. But we often forget this in a world where the individualism induced by our systems makes us believe we are powerful on our own. Hearing her story made me realise more than ever that no one is voiceless. There are invisibilised and silenced voices, voices we don't hear...but not voiceless people.

The conversation also focused on the way we personally embody feminism, if we succeed in doing so, and how we feel when we do not. I noticed that these were issues that weren’t often discussed. Because the praxis of feminism through the implementation of projects appears to be the way we experience feminism the most. It’s mostly through these achievements that people also try to evaluate us.

Many explore this topic during the circle, especially through the lens of “doing - what I do” and also through the lens of “being - who I am, what I embody”. Nonetheless, we listened to many resonant stories. Stories that honor our humanities. Some of these stories revealed that there is a whole journey between saying “I am a feminist”, having the will to become one, and “truly living feminism”. Personally, and collectively.

We listened to the survivors of sexual violence among us who shared their journeys and how they now try to heal and embody a kind of feminism. The experiences shared took us through every emotion: smiles, laughter, tears, heavy silences... We listened to one another. Many of us felt seen and welcomed.

“I felt free. Free to be me, to be real. Because I was surrounded by benevolent people who accepted their wounds. I liked that it happened in a garden and all that was offered for us to enjoy. I liked the soothing atmosphere.”

— Nadège

Towards the end of the discussions, we listened to older feminists who shared how they experienced their feminism and the legacy that’s left for the younger generation. A lesson I took away from this part of the conversation is that as young feminists, our goal shouldn’t be to constantly point a finger at our elders without looking for ways to do better. We should use our elders’ resources, learn from their experiences, and aim to work with them.

We all acknowledged that these conversations are important and necessary to build our movement. Conversations are part of the tools we have. It is through conversation that we can overcome judgment, know each other better, and share our thoughts. I’m hopeful that we’ll hold other Eyala circles in Cotonou. Because this first circle was an unforgettable experience for me and the participants.

“Freedom is what I truly look for as a human being” – Chanceline Mevowanou (Benin)

My name is Chanceline Gwladys Wangninan Mevowanou, my friends and family call me “Chance”. I’m from Benin and I’m 25 years old. I grew up in Avankrou, a town in southern Benin in Ouémé department. I currently live in Cotonou, not far from the beach. I love the beach. Watching the sea helps soothe my anxiety, shut down the noise in my mind and clear my thoughts.

I like chill evenings and parties. Now you know that you must invite me to your parties. I love scented candles, wine, backpacks, and sneakers. I wear sneakers with almost every outfit (don’t call the Fashion Police, please 😄😂). 

Freedom is truly what I look for as a human being. My goal is to grow, to fulfil myself on my terms, and to thrive in environments where I can live a dignified and nurtured life. I want to exist freely. It’s for that freedom that I am a feminist first and a feminist activist second. I want to be free, free from the patriarchy and all the other systems of oppression that feed it. That’s why I’m in action. I personally and collectively want to contribute to the dismantling of systems that brainwash women, hinder their freedom, and destroy their humanity.

I had my first feminist awakening within my family and my village. My mother told me how my father decided to only send the boys to school and to let the girls take care of the house chores. I remember seeing my father hitting my mother in front of us during an argument and throwing her belongings outside. I also clearly remember how my mom stayed after experiencing this violence. I heard her say that she would stay with her children no matter what. She said that she would put up with anything. 

In my village, I saw the injustice that children, girls, and women particularly endured, and still endure, repeatedly. I remember the stories of women who were frequently beaten by their spouses for one thing or the other; of families who abused their children, using beatings as well as demeaning language to supposedly educate them. I also experienced this. My parents and the “grown-ups” would beat us to teach us manners. I was repulsed by this “violence” we were raised in. This violence is doubled for girls. Because they are girls. I saw many girls from my village quit school. They were sent back home or forced into marriage because of early pregnancy. My father also threatened to send us back home if one of us became pregnant without graduating high school. I was constantly afraid. When I first had my period, my parents almost took me to the hospital to check if I was still a virgin. I strongly believed that we could be raised differently and that they could talk to us. I felt a lot of anger regarding these treatments.  

My parents taught me that if I became a strong woman, no one would dare hit me or humiliate me as they did the other women, girls, and children. They told me that if I had a job, money, a house, and other possessions, no man would disrespect me or lay a hand on me. They said that going to school was the path to becoming such a strong woman. I would also see women on TV and say that I would be like them: free to express myself. So, I saw school as a pathway to freedom, the path to stop experiencing injustice. I had this theory: the more kids would go to school, especially girls, the more they would be prepared to react to injustice and not experience it silently. That was what I believed in. That’s why I studied hard in school.  

At school, I didn’t simply study. I did everything to be among the best students and to be rewarded for it.  To show people that girls are strong. I wanted to stand out because of my excellent grades, my insightful answers, and my ability to speak my mind and speak in public.  I also got involved in extracurricular activities that would allow me to strengthen my self-confidence. I was a member of the middle school drama and dance groups. I developed a passion for poetry and slam poetry. I viewed these groups as a place to talk with my peers about things I couldn't discuss at home. I started writing about the importance of sex education for children as well as fighting against violence against girls and women. I practiced thinking, brainstorming, coming up with ideas, writing, and initiating conversations with peers.

Writing and slam poetry were my first tools for action. Then there were the scenes we had to perform on stage. I noticed that after each of our performances, whether it was in class or during culture day, people would ask questions and talk about these issues and a conversation would arise. So, I continued. Writing, theatre and slam deeply changed me as a person, liberated my thinking and my voice, and pushed me down a path of free and unorganised community organising. They showed me how I could begin to get into action without waiting to become a strong woman.

In the 11th grade, Peace Corps volunteers came to our school to run a girls’ empowerment program. I was in the selection of the best girls who should participate in this program, and then I was granted a scholarship for the program. We were given training and exempted from paying school fees for two years. We were two girls on a scholarship. With the volunteers and the two teachers delegated by the school to run this program, we followed several training courses on girls' leadership, gender, puberty management, and role models. This training strengthened my abilities, my beliefs, and my will to act for the rights of girls and children. 

I started moderating school clubs. In the first girls’ clubs that I ran, we focused on what we experienced as girls, women’s realities, the other students around us, and how many people, us included, had to discuss it to find answers together. I believe that when something’s wrong in our communities, we ought to talk about it and have conversations! Because we won’t find solutions without conversations, the tool that allows us to understand why and how children, girls, and women are affected. 

That was the mindset I was in after graduating high school: mobilising and gathering girls and boys, women and men around issues that affect us and fuel conversations that will lead to action. I went back to my village to set up initiatives and people - upon seeing me doing this - called me an activist and a feminist. I carried these two hats for a long time before deciding to understand what they meant. I had to understand and then build what being an activist and a feminist meant for me. I think that’s what I’m currently doing. Along the way, my understanding of inequalities evolved and is still evolving. The injustices that women face in our societies are mere symptoms and expressions of bigger oppressive systems. These systems influence our lives, our thoughts, our beliefs, our norms, our actions, our policies, the economy, and our societies’ growth… And we can resist, challenge them loudly and dismantle them. No woman will ever talk too much or write too much in our societies as they are today.  Let’s raise our voices and liberate our thoughts and our actions. 

I found Eyala at a time when I was exhausted from being the young feminist activist working in an NGO where her feminism might not grow. I remembered that I had to seize opportunities to keep on being part of conversations for the radical liberation of every African girl and woman.  I want to take part in important conversations for my generation and amplify the voices and actions of African feminists. In self-preservation and sisterhood. I want to be where we discuss and act together to dismantle the patriarchy. That's why I joined Eyala. Join us on our journey as a feminist collective.

“The Woman King is More Nuanced Than You Think” - Zoleka Mazibuko (Zimbabwe)

Zoleka Mazibuko - Image supplied by author

The Woman King, a recent historical drama situated in the 1800s Dahomey Kingdom (modern day Benin), shines a spotlight on the real all-woman African army nicknamed the “Dahomey Amazons” by Europeans, or Agojie, as locals called them.

Oscar winner Viola Davis stars as the Agojie’s General Nanisca, John Boyega as Dahomey’s King Ghezo, and South African Thuso Mbedu as the feisty Agojie recruit Nawi. The movie has earned $44 million worldwide, but despite its success, it has garnered controversy, particularly about historical accuracy and gender politics. Before we go there, let’s start with cultural accuracy.

Black Panther and Beyonce’s Black is King were films about Africans by Americans for Americans–a way for African Americans to connect to their African ancestry. These films cherry picked aspects of African culture then westernized them to be palatable for a global audience to a point where Africans like myself didn’t relate to it. The Woman King hardly, if at all, does such thing. I say this as a black African woman born and raised in Zimbabwe and South Africa, both in rural and urban settings. When I speak of “African culture” I speak of my lived experience.

Western movies about Africa are lazy, with negligent research and regard for its historical or cultural accuracies, while European cultures are portrayed with painstaking detail. For starters, we as Africans are tired of Western actors being trained into spotless British accents, yet zero effort is put into accurately portraying African accents. For example, T’challa’s father from Black Panther spoke Xhosa, a South African and Zimbabwean language, yet T’challa speaks in a “Nigerian” accent. This was offensive because Western media treats Africa like it’s a country—the film industry has created a generic fictional “African accent” for a continent with 54 countries. 

A Long Walk To Freedom (2013), a movie about South African liberation hero Nelson Mandela, and another about his colleague Winnie Mandela (2011) were played by Idris Elba and Jennifer Hudson respectively. Their offensive, remixed version of a “South African” accent left us wondering if their accents were purchased on eBay or Shein. The Woman King cast, however, commendably committed to one specific West African accent throughout, even where we recognise that Benin has about 55 languages. However, some Beninese have pointed out that the movie’s music and dance was derived from other cultures, not Dahomey culture, which reinforces the “Africa is a country” narrative. 

Hollywood movies about Africa problematically assume that Black American representation is automatically African representation. The Woman King’s main cast was mostly African: 5 South Africans, 1 Ugandan, 2 Nigerians, 1 Zimbabwean, and Beninese Angélique Kidjo. This is noteworthy, but the lack of Beninese talent in a movie about Benin is disappointing.

Hollywood misunderstands that African American identity is not synonymous with indigenous African identity. Black Panther costumes had a futuristic design, whereas the movie’s Agojie wore striped tunics embellished with a sash adorned with cowrie shells which the historical Agojie were gifted after successful campaigns. A 30m statue of an Agojie woman, in Cotonou (Benin), wears a similarly striped tunic. The difference is the costume designer altered the pants into skorts for practicality. The movie included cultural details only Africans would recognise. Most warriors’ hair was bound with an African threading technique my people call “amabhanzi” that I grew up wearing to school. Some warriors’ hair which looked like red locs are a red clay hairstyle of the Himba tribe.

Film “critics” like Armond White who in his article ridiculed the Agojie army’s rites as “sorority-house celebratory rituals with banshee ululations” as mere novelties, speak from ignorance. The Agojie ululated before attacking the Oyo. African women ululate exactly like that to celebrate and inspire courage. The Agojie recruits walked through thorny acacia brambles in training just as actual Agojie did. They endured initiation rituals as most African tribes do; Xhosa boys for instance, “go to the mountains” to undergo certain rituals initiating them into manhood. I felt The Woman King in my bones because that is the Africa I know. Anyone who ridicules these is a bigot with a one-dimensional understanding of African culture.

However, some are boycotting this film for ignoring the Agojie’s participation in the slave trade under King Ghezo’s rule. People who watched the movie know otherwise. The movie and its trailer explicitly state that it is inspired by true events, not based on true events. The Agojie’s first battle scene ends with innocent villagers, women and children cowering after their bloody attack, showing the brutal side of their legacy. From the outset, General Nanisca (Viola Davis) implores King Ghezo (John Boyega) to stop enslaving people to fund his empire, and instead create an economy based on selling palm oil. This was championed in reality; Council members who allied with the Agojie favoured a palm oil based economy. Without giving spoilers, The Woman King acknowledged the Agojie’s complicity in slavery while reimagining the African dream they should have fought for. You cannot change history, but you can reimagine it.

Critics pretend that the countless biopic movies and series about historical figures portray only morally perfect people. They often glorify abhorrent people, but where was the outrage during their release?

If you will boycott The Woman King, you must boycott The Crown, (which has a whopping  4 seasons) because the British monarchy colonized and enslaved Africans and Asians for centuries. Boycott the Elvis Presley biopic because he was a paedophile sexual predator. Boycott movies about Biblical events because Israelites invaded and enslaved other nations. Historical figures who contributed to society have always been controversial. In our portrayal of them, we must equally acknowledge their positive contributions and their atrocities, just as The Woman King does.

I’m not defending the Agojies’ failings, but the truth is mainstream media vilifies Black people more than White people committing the same acts. Mainstream media highlights African cruelties while ignoring those of the West because it feeds the stereotype of Africans being barbaric, bloodthirsty and the narrative of “Black-on-Black crime.” Europeans did the very same thing to each other. The Roman Empire, for instance; the “World” Wars were essentially “White-on-White” crimes, but history is written by the winners. Media is also harsher on women than men: Chris Brown’s career flourishes despite his abuse while Amber Heard had a smear campaign against her. And thus, the Agojie were reduced to their atrocities to discredit everything else they stood for - like fighting colonisers.

This movie isn’t about Benin’s entire history; it specifically focuses on the badass existence of a real all-woman African army equally feared by Africans and Europeans, something unheard of in Europe. Yes, the Agojie were imperfect, but we shouldn’t erase what their existence meant for Benin and for African women. What it meant for deconstructing a colonially imported misogynoir which created the scam that African women were voiceless and inferior to men. The Agojie fought side by side with another Dahomey male regiment as equals. While white women were begging for property rights, Agojie women were fighting wars and debating policy in the Grand Council. An African empire during the 1600s to 1904 was more progressive than European countries at the time - get over it.

This movie wasn’t made for Black women and feminists to feel good about themselves. It was made to raise the voices of outstanding African women who are historically erased, louder than the volume of General Nanisca’s afro. Commemorated African liberation heroes are typically men, but the bar for African women is higher. African women must be queens who fought colonisers like Queen Nzinga. They must be associated with powerful men like Winnie Mandela who fought as fervently as her husband. They must be revered in their community like Mbuya Nehanda, the only Zimbabwean heroine recognised because she was a spiritual leader carrying the Nehanda spirit revered in Shona culture. But the Agojie were normal women, social rejects even. They deserve to be highlighted to remind African women that even if history won’t remember their name, their existence is valid.

The movie allegedly relies on feminist tropes like “the girl who doesn’t want to be forced into marriage”, but the Agojie really were wives and daughters surrendered to the King for their disobedience. Film “critic” Armond White reduces the movie to a “laughable pseudo-political history lesson pitting women against men” yet the army truly was all-woman and coincidentally, the Oyo army was male-dominated. If you see this historical fact as promoting misandry, you are projecting your own intimidation and suspicion of feminism.

White’s article says “only teenagers should fall for this nonsense” but truly, only old American men with zero understanding of African culture and gender identity should fall for the rhetoric that The Woman King is “immature feminist Afrocentricity.” The film’s alleged  “gender flipping” is merely patriarchal Western gender binaries being projected on Africa, yet some of these gender roles never existed in all African cultures anyway. Academic Nkiri Nzegwu in her journal article excellently breaks down how African gender identity has always been fluid using Igbo culture as an example, wherein gender switches depending on role, function and context.

The femininity of King Ghezo’s effeminate male sage was never pointed out as peculiar in the film. This resonated because in my Ndebele culture, monarchs were advised by spiritual leaders who are typically  gender fluid because they carry multi-gendered spirits. When a female spirit is dominant at a particular time, a male sangoma is referred to with a female title and presents himself as a woman without question.

The Woman King doesn’t portray Dahomey society as a perfect feminist paradise. It acknowledges that although Agojie were seen as male soldiers’ equals, this didn’t automatically create all-encompassing gender equality for women. Women were shoved into a dichotomy where they could only either be dutiful wives, mothers and daughters, or ruthless soldiers not allowed to marry or have kids - no in between.

Do yourself a favour and watch this inspiring, powerful movie which breaks the glass ceiling of Eurocentric media. I, for one, will rewatch it endlessly until Viola Davis and Thuso Mbedu jump out of the TV screen to ask for water.

Join the conversation!

Zoleka Mazibuko is a BA Law, French and Political Science graduate currently studying her LLB Honours at the University of Pretoria. When she is not running her events management & decor business or writing her feminist African fantasy novel, she paints African feminist art and blogs social commentary opinion pieces with a feminist and African consciousness angle.

We’d love to hear your thoughts. Let us know in the comments below, or let’s chat on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram @EyalaBlog.

"Even when you pass the baton, you are still very much part of the team" – Lusungu Kalanga (Malawi)

Since our launch in 2018, Eyala has curated several spaces for conversation among African feminists. We have also had the opportunity to participate in many other spaces, as part of our mission to support African feminist movement building.

One conversation that always comes up? The tensions between different generations of African feminists. We noticed that most of these conversations circled around the problems and often led to finger-pointing and the usual blame game, leaving little room for discussions on possible solutions. 

This month, we explore feminist intergenerational tensions, with the hope that the conversations we bring forward will help us all to work past the real challenges we have identified and start building solutions that will keep our movements solid. 

Eyala Advisor Lusungu Kalanga launches us into this journey with an excellent musing that explores this theme. 

**********

I will start with a disclaimer: my generational identity varies depending on the spaces I occupy. In some spaces, I am a young feminist, while in others, I am the older feminist 😊

Recently, a renowned Malawian human rights defender, Emmie Chanika, passed on. A trained registered nurse, Chanika began her activism work in February 1992 when she founded the Civil Liberties Committee (Cilic), the first human rights organisation in Malawi. Emmie Chanika, like other women fighters for Malawi’s liberation including Rose Chibambo, Vera Chirwa and Emily Mkamanga, sacrificed so much to build Malawi’s women’s movement in extremely difficult circumstances with little resources. 

All of these women started their activism very young, most in their teens and early 20s. They may not have called themselves feminists (noun), but they were feminist (adjective). This trajectory is similar to many women’s movements on the continent and beyond. 

I reflect on these women’s work and the foundation they set for younger feminists and juxtapose this with the tensions that exist between older and younger feminists today. How do we honor these women in Malawi and across the continent while also recognizing that this work is like a relay race where we pass each other the baton? Even when you pass the baton, you are still very much part of the team. 

How can we make this a reality in our movements, recognizing all the intersections that exist, recognizing that we are not homogenous and most importantly, challenging the power dynamics that exist within the movement including the age differences and the fact that some have been doing this work for decades? 

Can we have meaningful conversations and intergenerational co-leadership?

In my feminist journey, I have had my share of ‘intergenerational’ conversations and panels that left me questioning what my role was supposed to be in the first place. One time, I was on such a panel as a young feminist with an older feminist, and the only words I got in were a greeting. I realised that I was there only as a token. 

We need to reflect on the power imbalances that exist between feminists who are older/well-known and younger/less-known feminists. How do we create a safe space for honest conversations that are balanced and self-reflective? We need to continue being careful and intentional when we bring younger and older feminists together so that the spaces are beneficial to all, and others do not feel stifled. This may sometimes look like recognising your privilege and refusing to be put on pedestals, passing on the mic and platform for new voices to be heard, and validating one another. 

Additionally, when there are collaborations between younger and older feminists, it is important that these should be based on equal partnership and resistance to the infantilisation of younger feminists. While younger feminists have to be assertive, the responsibility also falls on those who have been in this work for longer to provide the needed support and trust in the leadership capabilities of those new to the field. 

As one of my feminist mentors Jessica Horn mentions, feminist leadership is about compassion and revolutionary love, and this should be reflected in our interactions with each other, with the collective as the center. 

Can we learn from each other?

I have had the opportunity to learn from feminists, young and older across the continent and beyond.  Apart from the continued learning and unlearning from the experiences of other women and my own, I have also invested in reading about the women that came before us, learning and unlearning to shape our feminist politics. 

I believe this learning and unlearning should go both ways and I often wonder if it does. Are older feminists investing time to learn from younger feminists? Do those who have been in this movement for decades think younger feminists have something to contribute? Are they open to being challenged to see the world from the perspective of younger feminists? 

There has been an impressive rise of online activism led by younger feminists across the continent that cannot be ignored. This has also been reflected in offline work by the emergence of young feminist movements. For instance, in my country Malawi, we have the Young Feminist Network, PEPETA Malawi and She Decides Malawi chapter, all led and driven by young feminists fighting for reproductive health rights, political participation and to end violence against women. 

Just as younger feminists continue to draw from older feminists on showing up, courage and consistency, there is a lot older feminists can learn and tap into from spaces younger women have carved for themselves in terms of horizontal leadership, rest, and centering those at the margins.  

Can we recognise our differences and find ways to support each other?

One thing we emphasise as feminists is that we are not homogenous. We have different priorities recognising the intersections that exist among us. With regards to the age gap, it is also clear that there are many differences in priorities. This is not a bad thing, and it should not draw a wedge between us. 

We can do better at practicing curiosity about each other’s lived experiences, needs and challenges and use our power to support and create multiple entry points into our movements to validate each other’s struggles.  Paraphrasing Audre Lorde, we are not free while any other woman is unfree, even when our shackles are very different.  

Relatedly, we should resist the patriarchal narrative that when we disagree on ideas or ways of working, we are enemies. We should recognise the old ‘pull her down syndrome’ that is amplified and reinforced by misogynists to pit us against each other for what it is: a distraction. Granted, we cannot invalidate individual lived experiences and should hold each other accountable. However, we should also be conscious not to let these patriarchal narratives be our story. 

There is power in the collective…

On 9th August 2018, Eyala celebrated its launch by convening 40 inspiring women in Dakar. Each woman shared a word that best captures their experiences of what it means to be a woman and a feminist. The conversation moved from this offline space to Twitter, calling on feminists to share our words. My word was ‘resistance’. A word I went away reflecting on was by another feminist mentor of mine, Zimbabwean feminist, Everjoice Win. She wrote:

“My word is COLLECTIVE. Whatever we do it has to benefit the COLLECTIVE. The COLLECTIVE is a source of POWER. Yes, you can fight for your own rights. I can and should take action. But by working in a COLLECTIVE, I can contribute to a bigger and sustainable change. “ 

Eyala turned 4 this year and I found myself looking back on that thread and reflecting on this word and others that were prominent too: love, freedom, radical, courage… but at the center of these: the collective.  

Feminism is a political struggle, and everyone has a role to play in the fight for our freedom. The patriarchy continues to reinvent itself and adapt. We can see this through the regressive right politics that have become louder, high rates of violence against women and gender diverse people on/offline, and the fight against our reproductive health rights, for example. 

My hope for the present and future is that we continue to leverage on each other’s strengths as a collective and make space for learning and unlearning together. There is room to have honest conversations that translate into action, and there is room for co-leadership. 

Now more than ever, we should continue to build and strengthen our movements and lean on each other. 

Join the conversation

Lusungu is a feminist and activist, and is a member of the Eyala Advisors Circle and self-proclaimed no.1 fan. She is Co-creator of the Feministing While Malawian podcast and Co-founder of Growing Ambitions. Follow her awesome musings on Twitter: @lusukalanga

We’d love to hear your thoughts on this topic. Let us know in the comments below, or let’s chat on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram @EyalaBlog.

“Whether you think you can or not is neither here nor there, I believe you can…” - Edwige Dro (Côte d'Ivoire)

Accra / Prampram – Ghana

For the past five months, we’d been solely meeting online, and chatting via WhatsApp as we planned the content of Eyala for its relaunch, as we dug deep into Eyala’s vision: To be a platform by, for and about African feminists. As we went through the treasure that Françoise had gathered throughout the years. Watch this space!

Throughout those five months, we wondered whether we had what it took to be the aunties with the mostest for Eyala, with Françoise not even having a care in the world as to the welfare of her baby.

“Whether you think you can or not is neither here nor there. I believe you can; otherwise I would never have come to you,” she said, and we had to believe her, that we could manage without dropping the baby on its head.

And while we did a lot via Zoom, well, Zoom is not able to replace human interactions nor does it allow for silence, or for those conversations that veer off, seemingly having nothing to do with the topic at hand but containing in them the seed for something fantastic. And that is why the retreat had to be, because we had to meet to dig down with the relaunch of Eyala, to meet with our wonderful community in Accra, and to actually meet!

And meet, we did.

We will spare you the search for a coffee percolator that had us go from a coffee shop to a mall to a supermarket. Phone calls were even made, dear readers, and half a day of meeting flew off, but we found the coffee percolator, a coffee plunger aptly named Kofi the Coffee Maker. Once it was found, we then continued on our journey to Prampram. For the next three days, from 9am until 6pm, with two hours allocated to lunch, we planned the relaunch of Eyala… looking at materials that we already had, things we had to write about as conversations veered off, and the values we stood for, among which, lovingness and kindness as we engage with African feminists and with African feminist conversations. Most importantly though, we got to meet, get to know each other, and we got to have fun! The love is real, and not just via Zoom.

Jama is not only a boss of a content strategist and planner, but she is also the sister with all the quotes. As for Nana, we are unanimously calling her the Executive Coordinator-in-Chief. Nothing fazes that woman, not even being in an environment she has never been in before, organizing working spaces, whether that space is a conference room or tables by the ocean. Françoise’s confidence-boosting chats during lunches and dinners, and the openness and the transparency she wore every day. Then there were the cards we exchanged as we wrapped up the retreat. Cards with such uplifting and encouraging words that demand no other response but, “Just step into your power already!”

   Then it was back to Accra, where our Accra-based Afrifem community gave us the warmest of welcome, shared what they were looking forward to, and asked how they could be of help. How wonderful to be supported, uplifted, and challenged by women, even when you make them drive around Accra in search of a coffee percolator, as I did!

Did I mention the laughter? Oh, the laughter! Laughter during our meals as we protested the bonfire the resort was trying to push on us and demanded instead that they bring back the Kelewele. Laughter as we were regaled with the very on-point quotes by Jama Jack. And laughter as we pondered the what about-ism that has seems to rear its ugly head every time feminists reflect or do anything to dismantle the ever-pervading patriarchy entangling everyone.

Need I add that we all looked forward to getting home, and getting to work, while making plans that these Eyala retreats should become a tradition. 

“Taking my foot off the accelerator… ” – Edwige-Renée Dro (Côte d'Ivoire)

Recently a friend wrote a portrait about me. In it, she mentioned all those things I undertake in the following words:

She is Program Coordinator for AYADA Lab. She is a Miles Morland fellow working on her first novel, a translator, and a reader for the Commonwealth Foundation. All this takes place alongside running a library, residencies, literary judging roles, leading writing and literary translation workshops, publishing and writing short stories, her favourite genre, and translating.

She went on to add: I’m in awe of all Edwige does.

Put like that, even I am in awe of all that I do. Another friend once asked me, “How do you manage?” and I replied, “As long as I have 8 hours’ sleep, I’m good to go.”

It is very much true that I require 8 hours’ sleep – not 9, not 10 because then I get up groggy and tired and cannot do anything. So, eight hours. No less, and no more. On those occasions I have thought that I could do so much more if I slept less, probably after reading some silly books that tell you to sleep for five hours to achieve more, or when I have listened to capitalistic soundbites like, I’ll sleep when I’m dead, I have not achieved more. In fact, I have ended up being tired and lethargic, and not productive at all, thereby not achieving anything. I have also come to realise that I do not do all the things I do because I’m on a course to achieve something, to be the Madam on Top; I’m just a passionate person and all the things I do are natural sequences of all those things I’m passionate about. 

When I take part in interviews or I’m asked to send my bio, you will always read these words: Edwige Renée Dro is a writer, a literary translator, and a literary activist. 

It isn’t the fact that I wrote down somewhere that I would become a writer, and then I would do A, B, C and D and move into translation. No, rather, these things have been natural sequences. I’m a conversationalist. I love politics and its impact on our lives and I’m that person who believes that everything is political. So in choosing to translate literature and other things that feed into my politics, I was interested in bringing in new voices to whatever conversation was happening then, and at that time, the conversation was very much focused on Africa being the future, the hopeful continent, the place to watch; these soundbites coming in very much from the West, and living in Africa, I’m very much aware of how the continent can still be confined to its linguistic borders, so I was interested in bridging the gap and for me, stories bridge gaps. 

When I set up the 1949 library in Yopougon Abidjan, I wanted to address the social inequalities I see in the city of Abidjan. I adopted a feminist approach because I was sick and tired of seeing the stories of African and black women being buried or the edges of their stories softened. And now, being the French content writer for Eyala is another one of those natural sequences.

During the reflection period for 1949, Eyala was one of those platforms I consulted often. I appreciated the accessibility in the language, the musings and interviews that called for reflection and conversations and pondering in a kind of let’s gather and chat way. The desire that shone through to have a collective where individuality shone. I enormously appreciated the fact that the platform was French-English bilingual – nobody was playing catch-up on that platform.

So, when Françoise asked me if I would be interested in being part of the adventure, absolutely, I said yes. I also said yes because this adventure would be getting me out of my comfort zone, if simply for the fact that I would be writing in French and not English. But again, writing in French at this moment in my life is another natural sequence. I have noticed that the conversations around feminism in Africa, and even around the world, are very much English language focused. Even references seem to be dominated by what is happening in the anglophone African sphere. It feels like a woe betide situation if you should not know some African feminists, all because said feminist had been lucky (what other word is there?) to be born in the English-speaking part of the continent. Like that time, I pretended not to know a particular big name because of that hegemony, and I was met with, “How can you not know…?” 

In the same way you don’t know Constance Yai, or Awa Thiam. What’s the problem?

So, as I let myself be taken in by these natural sequences, I want to embrace stepping outside my comfort zone: by writing in French, yes, but by also laying down some of the many things I do. Before I would be saying yes to this and that,but here I am, choosing to cruise along and take in all the sights, listening to all the sounds, and just being attuned to the natural sequences of the little things that make up life.

“I pray my feet will always take me where my heart leads” – Jama Jack (The Gambia)

I cannot remember when I first started writing, but I know that it is my most comfortable means of expression. When I speak and people praise my eloquence, many among them do not know that I would rather write than speak. 

My journey with my voice has taken so many turns in the thirty and some years that I have existed in this world. With each turn, there is an awakening to this true gift of expression that I am reminded to embrace as a blessing. 

When I was young, living timidly in my little shell, you would always find my nose (or maybe my whole body) buried into a book. My appetite for reading was fed by my mother who would always buy us books to read and made heavy investments in quality education for us. I remember when she went to study for her Master’s in the UK and brought a big box of books for my sister and me, instead of the fancy party clothes we had been requesting in the year she spent away. 

My uncle - of blessed memory - would also come home daily and give me the newspapers he brought home from work. Sometimes we would read them together and analyse the news. I also remember Sarjo, one of our domestic workers from my childhood who once told me that I will be stolen by jinns because I had developed a habit of picking scraps of paper on the streets to read what was written on them. 

The more I read, the more I wanted to write; and the more this desire filled my chest, the bigger my courage to put pen to paper and express my thoughts, whether in my padlocked diaries or through poems and short stories I wrote for school. 

As I grew up and found new understanding of the world around me, my voice also grew, each time in alignment with my values and the things that I was passionate about but picking up courage to discover new horizons.

It grew from the 10-year-old voice demanding the respect of children’s rights and advocating for support to People Living With HIV, to the 19-year-old voice that had found a name and community for her feminism, to the 31-year-old voice that continues to learn and grow in the ways it comes out to me and to the world. 

A while ago, I tweeted about being grateful that my paid work included a lot of writing, thinking of how it may fit into a ‘dream job’ ideation. However, I also recognised the challenge of lapses in creative drive when I have deadlines hovering above me and activating bouts of anxiety. In understanding this feeling, especially over the past two years (because pandemic writing), I have been teaching myself to move into a space of grace and patience for myself and my creative process. I am accepting, with each new challenge, that my words come to me when I am ready, and sometimes force me towards the medium through which I will share. 

Respecting and trusting in the process has allowed me to say a resounding ‘YES’ to many things that I would have thought impossible or unreachable. I have very happily embraced the transition from writing only for a blog to writing for the big screen and immersing myself in the world of filmmaking. Though tedious and sometimes scary, that journey has been so beautiful that I often find myself daydreaming about a future where all I do is make films, write books, and explore my creativity fully. 

One thing that has remained consistent in those dreams is that I wish to do all this in ways that serve humanity and align with my feminist journey. 

This is why even when self-doubt hit me a million times, I chose to say YES to Eyala and the new journey we are taking together. I remember speaking to a friend about my Eyala role in the early days and describing it as the very intersection of feminist creative storytelling that I wish to exist in forever. Doing this with a community of awesome colleagues is the cherry on top of this wonderful cake, and I hope my feelings of excitement ahead of team meetings never leaves me. Who gets excited for 2-hour Zoom meetings, eh?

I still wake up on some days feeling very anxious about the trust that has led me here, and the expectation (really from myself) to excel and give my absolute best. But, I also know that I don’t have to do this alone, and there is great beauty in sharing journeys and building community with people who don’t see your dreams as “too big” or dismiss your fears as unnecessary. 

As I continue to read, write, and create, I pray my feet will always take me where my heart leads, because she has always found great spaces and fulfilling experiences for me.