“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.

“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. 

“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.