“Freedom means I should take responsibility for myself and do things that I believe are good.” - Wiyaala (Ghana) 4/4

photo source: wiyaala.com

This is the final part of our conversation with Wiyaala, the Lionness of Africa. Wiyaala is from Funsi in the Upper West Region of Ghana. A global icon, she stands out with her distinct voice, her unique style and her dedicated engagement to support girls in her community to achieve their dreams.

In our conversation, she opens up about her childhood and her earliest influences (Part 1), and her journey as an artist, including bold choices about her music and stage persona (Part 2). She also talks about feminism and the work she does to combat child marriage and support girls and women in her community (Part 3). In this fourth part, Wiyaala shares her insights on life, freedom, and the impact she is influencing.

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You’re involved in social justice work, and one of the areas that stands out is the issue of child marriages. What inspired you to focus on child marriage as one of the causes you champion through your platform, your music, and your messages?

Well, I have seen child marriage so many times in my community, and in different parts of Africa. And as an African woman, when you go out there sometimes - maybe even all the time - you are like a walking gallery of all the problems and things that have happened. Many people are probably wondering if you have also been through it. Then, you are automatically turned into a mouthpiece. I believe that there are so many young girls who probably have even more talent than me. I have been lucky to have opportunities that they may not have had. So, if I find myself in a position to give a helping hand to a sister, a daughter, to make life better for them, I will do it. 

In my community, I can't be the only girl that can sing. I'm sure there are other girls, but they probably don't even know because there's no platform. There's nobody coming back to this community to even give them the time of day. Everything is done elsewhere, maybe in the big cities. I used to watch TV in the village, and they would be airing some children's shows. One day, I asked my mother when they would come to my village to do the show so that we could also perform. My mother would just laugh. Now I understand why she was laughing. The road to my village is not very good. Nobody even knows about Funsi. Even as I got very famous in Ghana, people didn't know where Funsi was until I started singing.

And what does giving a helping hand look like for you?

When I look back and think about all the girls who didn't get a chance, I do what I can to create those opportunities. 

When I was a child, I saw girls being taken from the market to be wives almost every market day. One day, it was supposed to be somebody who didn’t live far, and I was actually called to see if I could help, and I did. Then I decided that since nobody was coming to my community, and none of us had been able to do something, I'm going to create that platform that I wanted when I was a kid and I didn't get it. We all care but we can't all be at different places at the same time. So wherever I find myself, maybe I should also add my small contribution. So I decided to build these platforms, starting with an art center in the community to encourage the girls to come on that stage. I created a platform and we have beauty pageants. We have dance competitions. We have a drama club to encourage young girls in particular and also boys to use this platform to gain some self-confidence, show their talent to their parents, show the world, see themselves doing it and see the words of encouragement they are getting from around the world. I believe it will change a lot of things that some of them didn't know about. If I had this platform as a kid, only God knows, I would have cried. That is how I got involved in community and advocacy for the girl child. 

Have you seen an impact in your community, especially in terms of child marriage and its prevalence? 

For me, the impact has been great. I have seen it ever since we started the Girls’ Club. Actually, I wasn't the one who started this group. When I started going back home, one day about seven girls between the ages of eleven and thirteen came to my house and said, “sister Wiyaala, we are also dancers. We would like you to be our leader and teach us to dance. And when you're doing your shows, we want to come and dance for you.” 

I said okay, and each time we danced, they wanted to dance some more. So we formed the Girls’ Club. It was just the girls, and we started performing whenever we could. Their parents were happy, and other parents were like, “but my daughter can dance too, she must join.” Then during one of our performances, we had a talk with the whole community and I gave an example of myself and how all my talents would have been hidden if my parents had married me off.  I challenged them to think about how many girls’ dreams they’ve killed with child marriage. I encouraged them to allow the girls to go to school and gain knowledge, so that they would know what to do as they grow up. They will have enough knowledge to choose wisely. 

And did that make a difference?

The Club changed a lot of perceptions, because I also told them that their children need to be enrolled in school to join the club. So every child there has gone back to school. Some have become teachers, some are going to become nurses, and it's amazing. I didn’t even get involved financially. Some of the parents have seen what I'm doing, and they believe their daughters matter as much as their sons. They even asked us to also include boys, so we now call the group ‘Girls and Boys Club’.  And it's been really good because if you're teaching the girls, the boys should also join so that we teach one another, and change the mentality that girls must do things because they are girls, and boys must do things because they are boys. We get to know how we can all grow in a community and respect one another. We also have people always coming to give us advice and sending things to encourage the children and this helps them to become even more serious. So, that’s the impact for me. 

photo source: wiyaala.com

That’s very inspiring. I know you've touched a bit on the commodification of the bodies of female musicians and the timelines they give you within which you bloom. You're putting out your art and expressing yourself, and sometimes people describe it as provocative for a woman of your cultural background. What is your usual reaction to this? And how do you deal with some of those comments? 

I accept criticism, because even before I put out a video, I know it's not everybody that is going to like it. I always get people saying, “Oh, you're exposing your body. You're dancing too sexually” and all that. I am aware and it's my art. It’s part of my art. My dance moves, my dressing. What some people term as exposing my body has been done before. I'm not the first to do this. That is how I present my art. When I'm offstage, I'm in my normal clothes. But when I'm going on stage to portray my music and art, which is related to my African culture, all my costumes are inspired by traditional dancers. I enhance the traditional costume to fit my art and my body, because my body is different from any other person’s. So when people say I'm exposing myself, my dressing is not good, they're just hypocrites. And I refuse to agree with them that it’s raunchy. 

We have traditional sexy moves, we have traditional sexy songs that we sing so well. I have taken the same thing to the platform, and I'm singing about our culture. So sometimes I just don't let it get to me. It's art, and art can be crazy. I always pray that everybody would look at the beautiful side, but at the end of the day, I've psyched myself not to be angry because it’s not always going to be everybody that agrees with you. I concentrate on the people that see the art for what it is, and I just put my energy there. I don't have time for negativity because it takes me backwards and it’s a place I don't want to go to. I've locked that door. [Laughs]

[Laughs] It was interesting to learn that you design and sew your own stage outfits. How does that make you feel, using your hands and your many talents to create exactly what you want and present yourself that way?

Every time I'm making a costume and I go to pick the fabric, there's this excitement in my heart. I see the design in my head, the colour I want and how it's going to sit on my body. I always want everybody to know I decided to make my own costume by default. Initially, I couldn't make a dress. Well, maybe I could, but I just didn't know. And in those days, I'd go to a tailor or seamstress and they knew I didn't have money so they would have me going back and forth. I could only afford the material and I would ask them to help with making the costumes. If they agreed and I shared what I wanted, they would refuse because they thought I didn’t have money and so, I couldn’t tell them to make me short dresses.  They would just make the dress they wanted and tell me to take it. I would then take it home and cut it up into what I wanted. But when the tailor saw that I had cut the dress, they got really mad. This happened twice, and then I realized that I won't get the costumes I wanted from the shops. So I decided to make my own costumes. For the first few ones, I really destroyed the material. I wore it; it was in your face, but it made me stand out immediately. Some people were insulting it and I had to keep explaining until I said you know what, I'm not going to explain myself to anybody. If you don't like it, that's your problem. 

I kept doing it and getting better. Today, I have a very clear idea of what I want, and I know the body type I have, so I create what fits me. Now, I use traditional costumes more because it really makes the meaning of the dance and the music go together very well. It's like the music is talking to the dress and the dress is also talking to the music, and that is the power of African music. I design according to the dancing. I do a lot of African dances and I dance with my legs a lot so I cannot wear anything that will restrict my legs from jumping. That is how I make my costumes and I enjoy doing it.

That's wonderful! I know that you make a very intentional choice to honor African traditions and culture - specifically your own culture and tradition - while also pushing against certain things like child marriage that people have seen as part of our culture for a long time. How do you navigate that and create a balance between these two things that are clearly important to you? 

I’m able to do that, first with the help of social media, and then the messages in my songs. Yes, this is Africa, and this is who we are. But the world has moved and we have also moved. Yes, we are educated, but that doesn't mean that I will dump my traditional wear and wear only suits. Africa has changed. We have our troubles, but I will also show the positive side of Africa because the negative side has been shown almost every day. There are great Africans doing things; there are beautiful cities, towns, and countries around Africa.

There are some problems that I'm not waiting for anyone to come and help me solve because I know I can solve them myself. Every time I find the opportunity to solve a problem, I solve it. So that the rest of the world knows that we can do our thing. We are not perfect, just like any other place, but don't only project our bad side. That image will haunt us in different ways. So I will not allow that to happen. But at the same time, I do my best to still stay grounded because I'm from a home that will be embarrassed or a bit sad if I do some things that are inappropriate. Staying in my community has also kept me grounded, to always remind me where I came from, how lucky I am to be where I am and how I shouldn’t mess up this opportunity. For some of us, opportunities like this come every once in a while. 

So, keeping myself grounded has really helped me balance it all. I’m a human being, and I'm not perfect but I'm trying my best. It's not easy. That's why I can't wait to be able to also mentor one or a few singers, so that when they take on some of the work. I can’t do it alone. I need to involve more young women and even young men to join me in spreading these messages. I hope and I'm praying that I get the strength and the energy to get this done before the Lord calls me one day. [Laughs]

We hope there’s so many more years before that call. You touched on something very important, which is helping other young people, and I had a question about your connection to your community. We've seen videos of you walking in the morning to go get your Waakye and enjoying it. How has your community supported you with your music and also the causes you champion? 

The support I'm getting from the community has been good for the past three to four years. It wasn't like that when I moved back home. My community members were not ready to believe that I came home and still mingled with them. They would say things like, “You went to the white man's land. You went to heaven and you're coming back to this hell. This girl is not serious”. When I started with the girls that were dancing, some parents were not very happy. They thought I had failed and came to use the village children for my own gain. They wanted to see me in Europe living the “good life”, so they can believe that they can also go there. When I came back, it was not inspiring for them. 

I decided that I was not going to say anything. Just like my name, the doer knows what they're doing. I got my sisters and we started our own thing. We renovated some old buildings by ourselves, and within a few months, people started seeing something. They were like, “Wait a minute. We think this girl is doing something good. We shouldn't be like this. Let's help.” When we were building the Art Center and I explained to them what the center was for, they agreed that we didn't even have a place to meet for entertainment. So they came out and contributed free labor. Women fetched water, and men did the building. Everything changed. 

Now if I have a programme with the kids, I always have young boys come in to ask; “what do you need?” And before they realized, people were traveling from different parts of the world to Funsi to come and see the children play. Funsi is on the map. This is just something we all decided to come together to do. I can confidently say that people in Funsi have been very supportive. Ghana has become very supportive. And things are going well. My community members have been very supportive and protective. If you need anything, you just have to say it and they are around to help you. And they've seen the results of whatever impact that we have on the community. So it's become positive.

I’m glad it’s turned towards a positive direction. In a past interview you said, “I want to highlight the freedom to be free. To do things as a young woman.” This resonated, because my feminism is about freedom, liberation. It's about being able to do what I want to do, and achieve my dreams without all the limitations around me simply because I am a woman. What does freedom look like to you?

Oh wow! For me, freedom is… first of all, I'm happy. I'm comfortable and confident. I don't have to fight anybody for anything because I'm a woman. Things should be accessible to me, to exploit without being questioned just because I'm a woman. I should be listened to and taken very seriously, because I also have good ideas. And people should be willing to support me because they know I have something good, and not just because I am a woman. 

I should be able to speak my mind confidently without somebody coming to say, “You’re a woman, you can’t say that.” But more importantly, whatever a man can do, I am also going to do the same without being judged. I always say men and women are different. There are certain things that one can do and the other can’t do, and this is because of how we were born… nature. You can't fight the hand of God. But at the end of the day, we are all people and we should be free, given equal opportunities and allowed to try. 

Freedom is all of the things that I have mentioned: happiness, freedom to think, freedom to speak, freedom to choose who I want to marry, freedom to have a baby when I want to have it,.. free. Freedom also means I should take responsibility for myself and do things that I believe are good. 

And if you had all the freedom in the world today, what is one thing that you would do?

[Laughs] I don’t even know what I would do if I had all the freedom in the world. I would spread as much love as possible. Love will bring peace, joy, and work. It will stop egos, looking down on people, and fighting. When there is love, everybody is calm. With love, they say everything is possible. Everybody will be doing something positive. I will spread a lot of love.

That’s beautiful. And it reminds me; you mentioned that you love motorbikes. Tell us some more about that love.

I grew up riding motorbikes and running errands. I think one of the first things a lot of young people - both young women and men - in my region use is a motorbike. Everybody rides, and you don't even need a teacher. You teach yourself how to ride. Many of us start riding even before we get a license. So some of us really love motorbikes. In fact, we adore motorbikes. They are like number one, before even cars.

In my community, if you really want to impress someone, you buy them a motorbike, and you see the joy in their face. Our roads are such that a bike is faster than a car, so everybody loves it. I have another level of love for motorbikes, because when you ride a bike, it's like you're on top of the world. You're free, you’re flying, and you can feel the air. Motorbikes give me this feeling of freedom. I'm controlling the driver’s seat and I go where I want to go.

It's such a beautiful way to close out our conversation, taking that motorbike as a symbol of freedom. But before that, I’ll ask our Eyala closing question. What is your feminist life motto?

I would say: dare to be different. And I got this from people's words. They used to say, “You're so daring and different.” You don't care what people say. You are doing it in a different way. Don't be afraid to be different when you are doing it. Don't ask for permission. A lot of the time, we do that and we are held back. Just do it. When you are different, it’s good. So dare to be different. Go for it. That's me.

Thank you so much Wiyaala. I really enjoyed this conversation and I hope you enjoyed it as well. Is there something that you came into this interview thinking, “I'm going to talk about this” but our questions haven't led to that answer? This is your moment to share.

What can I say? I think I've said almost everything. Yes, I know sometimes people want to ask whether I’m married or not. That's another freedom part of my mind that I always say: as for that one, I like to keep it private.

[Laughs] And that’s a question we intentionally don’t ask. So we'll agree to keep that one private. 

Thank you Jama!

Thank you for the work you do to impact lives, and change communities and mindsets. Thank you so much, Wiyaala.

Enjoy the music!

Love Wiyaala’s music or looking for a chance to discover her incredible talents? Explore some of her songs on her website.

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

“My feminism is to empower myself and empower the next generation of young women” - Wiyaala (Ghana) 3/4

photo source: wiyaala.com

Our conversation with the iconic Wiyaala continues. In the previous parts, she shared memories from her childhood and her earliest influences (Part 1), as well as her choice to sing in her language, the reception to her music in different parts of Ghana and the rest of the world, and some of the challenges she has faced (Part 2).

In this third part, we dive deeper into her experiences as a female artist in a male-dominated field, and she shares ideas on what women can do to resist and thrive against the misogyny in the music industry. We also explore her thoughts on feminism, and how she shows up as a feminist in the spaces she creates and has access to.

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I’m curious about what your experience has been in a male dominated industry. Have you faced challenges that happen specifically because you are a woman thriving in an industry controlled by male gatekeepers?

Oh, yes! It was right in my face as soon as I got into the industry. In fact, it was so in my face that you could almost touch it. That feeling… you could almost touch it. 

In what ways did you experience this?

In the songs you are about to sing; you would even have engineers trying to tweak your songs to sexualise you so that you can sell. They are only looking at your pretty face and how they can use your sexuality to make you a sex symbol. Many women were also just seeing us as people who were out there for the highest bidder. They saw us musicians as people who were looking for the guy with money to come and marry us, and then we would disappear. There was just this belief - and I think it is still there - that a woman can't handle the industry. That we are too fragile and won't be strong enough. So when you get into spaces and it's all men, they will try to undermine you. But we are all here to do business. If I can carry a baby in my stomach and push out a life, why would you think that I can’t handle the music business? There's nothing that a woman cannot handle. 

It wasn't easy. They tried to sexualise you and influence how you dress. You do the shows and it’s mostly the men or young boys that will show up to watch. And you start “making it”, people begin to harass you about having a baby. They would tell you things like, “your clock is ticking.” I'm always saying: this womb is my womb. I decide what is going to live there. Maybe I'm not ready yet. Maybe I can't have a kid. Maybe I already have a kid, or maybe I have adopted.  We are all from different backgrounds and we have things that we might place ahead of certain things. 

Another thing I was hearing was, “you are too dark, you should lighten your skin.” I haven’t had anybody try that with me now. It has changed and I'm very happy. But in the past, I was encouraged to bleach my skin and I said no. I'm not touching my expensive skin. This is me. If you don't like me, I'm sure some people will like me. 

It’s wild the things that female artists deal with, both within the industry and the wider public. 

Yes! I was even told that I needed to increase my buttocks. If I had a big bum, then I could shake it. But then, I'm here to sing and I'm not singing with my buttocks. Someone also told me to slow down and take my time because the things people were advising me to do were like bubble gum and would disappear quickly. That I would be replaceable. The industry would give me a short period of time and then lift someone else up.  

I also think that the reason the industry is male-dominated and has become a challenge is because almost every corner is taken by men. I don't know whether it's because women are not interested in these roles, or that we have our own ways of handling these roles, but we are not stepping forward. For example, I used to pick ideas from the guys that I started with. Almost all of them had at least a laptop in their bedrooms where they could make their own beats before they brought it to the studio. But many of the female artists would rely on the engineers for help. The guys were buying laptops and other instruments to learn how to make basic things. And this really motivated me and I started to reinvest in myself. I decided to get a laptop and a guitar so that I could also write my own songs. I’ve become really good at the guitar, and some of those guys are also great sound engineers now. 

What can be done to have more women in the industry investing in learning and growth in similar ways?

I just believe there's a way we women can do things on our own terms, in our own way, with our own energy and just create the right environment. We need women engineers and producers. There are not many. I don't know how many women own record labels, but we need women in all these roles. We can learn a lot of these things online. We can invest in the equipment. We can beat the narrative of just being a “pretty woman” in the industry. 

And when we get some experience and have made it to the top, set up the space to help another woman. So that when a sister comes to you, we help each other and cut out certain things that a man may have tried to do that has nothing to do with music. If many of us do this, we can also dominate in our own way. Men can do their thing, we can also do our thing and we'll all meet in the middle. 

I think it can be challenging, especially hearing some of the experiences you have shared. But it may very well be the challenge that’s needed to change the current reality.

It’s not just a one-day job. When you stay true to yourself and you take things step by step, you build and you grow. When you love something, enjoy it. It will grow with you and the older you get, the better you can get. And it's going to be forever.

In the end, I can also help somebody. I can help a sister. Because the journey is not easy. It wasn't easy, but all in all, I survived. I survived.

You have, and in such a beautiful and powerful way too. Some people have to do the hard work so other people don't have to suffer through the same things… Let's talk about feminism. Do you identify as a feminist? 

I always say this. I tell somebody that I'm a woman. I have my rights and I also have my responsibilities. I will do what I can do. I will do what I love. You will not stop me or look down on me because I'm a woman. I will respect you but you will respect me, too. I will dare to dream and sometimes stand out and be different. And you will not shut me up. 

If this and so many other positive things might come out strong and intimidate any man to call me a feminist, then yes, I am a feminist.

When did you come to that realization? Was it something that happened in your life or things that you observed around you? 

I didn't even know the word “feminist” meant all these things that a woman stands for. I think that I have been feminist from the word “go”, because I didn't do the ordinary. I played my football. I am muscular. I loved it. I didn't hide it. If you are a guy and you are rude to me, I would reply with the same energy to the extent that I got physical with some people. When I was growing up, I didn't do the usual, especially just because I am a woman. And these were just things I was doing out of passion and love. 

I look back now, and even at what I'm still doing now, and realise how difficult it has been. People would call me stubborn and say no one would marry me because I didn’t listen and I showed my muscles. I was told that I was too independent and that I should allow room for men to help me because I needed them. I was also told that I am “too know”, which is an expression for people who think they are too smart. And that was how some people related to me, and I always resisted it. 

When I finally got to hear the word “feminist” and I got to understand what it means, I was like, “Well, I guess I am a feminist.” And if anybody doesn’t understand that, that's their problem. I am a feminist. My feminism is to empower myself and empower the next generation of young women who want to also go out there and do something for themselves, because it's possible. I know it's difficult, but it's not as difficult as some people try to make it seem. So that's why I know and I always say, yes I am a feminist. 

I think that's a story that many feminists actually share. We believed this for a long time. We just did not know there was a name for it. Talking about names, you are known as “the lioness of Africa” and it’s how you introduced yourself at the start of this conversation. Did you choose this name, or was it given to you?

Well, two things. First of all, I chose the name because of Africa. Lions are found in Africa, and are considered the kings of the jungle. And since I'm the lioness, I am the queen. I’m very, very proud. And I chose that because when I step out there, yes, I am an African and I'm out here, but don't think I can be manipulated. You're not going to look down on me and try to be racist. I am the lioness of Africa, the queen of Africa, and I'm here to tell you about my continent. I will roar and you will hear my name. I am not against you. I'm just here to make friends and make music and go. I'm not coming to intimidate you. Don't be afraid of me. I'm not taking anything from you. Let's be friends and go on. 

When some people call me, they expect me to come as an African with a calabash. To fit their image of an African who is not educated, and just something to come and look at. So it was an opportunity for me to embrace my African-ness with pride and show them. I am African! I will teach you about Africa. But I'm not doing that with hate and racism or through being full of myself. I will take my time and teach you about my continent. I'm in a position to make a change, and the change must start with me. My attitude. My mentality. I am not mentally enslaved to anybody and I wasn't born a slave. And nobody's going to do that to me. 

“I am the lioness of Africa, the queen of Africa, and I’m here to tell you about my continent. I will roar and you will hear my name. ”

You realise that you are like a gallery, and an opportunity to showcase Africa in a good light. And I don't joke with these moments. I actually let people know this is who we are. I am proud of being an African woman and going out there to sing in my own language. And I also appreciate that there's so many people out there who listen, support, buy and really want to know about Africa. In the end, we are friends. And you know, the lioness is strong, it’s independent, it's a very majestic, very intelligent animal. It can hunt for itself. It doesn't need the lion to do that. It has babies and takes care of them. For me, every African woman is like that. We are all lionesses in our own right.

In the final part of this conversation, we chat with Wiyaala about the work she does in her community to uplift girls. She tells us about the impact of her actions, the support she receives from the community, and her vision of freedom for herself and for all girls and women. Click here to read this part.

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

Learn more about Wiyaala on her website, and follow her on social media @Wiyaala.

“I learned that I have to sing in my language to get to my people.” - Wiyaala (Ghana) 2/4

photo source: galahala.com

We are in conversation with Wiyaala, the Lionness of Africa and global music icon from Funsi in the Upper West Region of Ghana. In the first part, she shared memories from her childhood, as well as the people and spaces that inspired her journey. 

In this second part, she tells us about launching her career, making bold choices about language and appearance, and the challenges she faced as she carved out a place for herself in Ghana and globally. 

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You are described as the only woman in the world singing in Sissala. What inspired this decision, and is this tied to the concept of home that you talked about earlier?

The concept of home, yes. It was an intentional decision, and I think I was inspired by Madonna, but not really influenced by her real life, the way she dressed, or the way she talked. I don't think I've ever really been that influenced to copy somebody so much that I became them. She inspired me through her music and her dancing, but when I started singing, I was nothing like her. My voice was different. And I was singing in my language. 

I already spoke English and I could write in English. So when I wrote these songs from Madonna, I had to sing them in English. I later started singing only English songs because unfortunately, I didn’t have access to the videos of any African musician that sang in their own language. I didn't even know the likes of Angélique Kidjo and Brenda Fassie. I had never heard of them. I never saw them. All I saw was African Americans or white Americans singing. So it took me a long time before I saw African women also singing with more power. There was no internet available at the time, and so I could not access any videos. The only time I heard African women singing was with the Shaka Bundu Girls. Those were the tunes that we danced to in the village. 

So I started singing in English, and it was good. There were really some nice people who encouraged me, but they only started with giving me compliments. They would say, “Wow! You have something good. Keep going. You can sing in English but you sound so much like Celine Dion and the pop singers around the world. I don't think anybody can help you in this part of our world. If only you were born in America, you would be like Celine Dion.” That’s what I was always hearing. I think they meant well when they said that, but part of me was like “no, I don't have to go to America to make it. You guys must also appreciate what I'm doing.”

Was that when you made the decision to sing in Sissala?

At some point, I decided to go to the studio and record my songs. I didn't have any money, so I told the sound engineer that I would sing if they needed a backup singer. In return, they would record my songs. He and a producer that was there told me that my voice was really good. He also said the same thing about being in America. But then, he also asked me to sing in my language so that they could get a feel of that, too. I listened to his advice and I sounded even better. And that was it!

I learned that I have to sing in my language to get to my people. If I don't sing in the language that they understand, they'll probably not even realize the talent that I have. So when I started singing in my language, people from the villages and towns around were so happy. And they would talk about the message in my music, too. That was when the magic happened within my community, and I just blew up locally. Of course not with money, but I was popular. And everybody was like, “Wiyaala, you can sing!” 

What were the messages in your song at the time? It seems there was a strong connection there. 

For some reason, I just chose to sing about good things… education. I even did some songs about when I was asked to take my education seriously. So I ended up becoming the “goody-goody singer”. The first time I tried to sing about sexy songs, I got a bit of backlash, but gradually people just got used to me and said “she's an entertainer.” 

So, some of the decisions were deliberate. It got to a point where I just knew that I had to sing in my language if I really wanted to let my people feel my talent and support me. Then when I got the chance, I started adding the English which I was already doing. And then they knew, “she's not going anywhere. She's here with us”.

What was it like moving from becoming popular in your community and having your people appreciate your music, to becoming the global icon you are now? 

Well, it became the opposite. When I left my community and I kept singing in my language, the sounds and rhythms were amazing. I was lucky to meet my manager John, who decided to invest in the sound because it was great. But after we played for a while, the production needed to step up. And he said, “your voice is as good as any other artists around the world. You need some investment in the sound. If it's a local production that you are doing, we will follow that same production and rhythms from your country, but we'll bring it up to international standards.”

With that, I got to the bigger cities, even within Ghana. However, a new problem came up. People told me, “we don't understand you. The songs are nice, but we don't have a clue what you're talking about, so we can’t play them for you.” Now when you go abroad, they don't care if they don't understand the language. They can just feel the beauty of the art through my voice, the emotion, and the instrumentation. And to top it off, I just came out as an African woman who wasn't even trying to be anybody. I was not imitating anybody. I'm just here to be happy and make music, make friends. I'm just a simple Sissala girl who is following her dreams and I'm hoping I'll meet nice people like me. So, the people abroad got it quickly. 

And that wasn’t the same in Ghana?

In some parts of my country, people said no unless I sang in their languages as well, not just English. I realized that it’s the usual “okay, you're not from this area or from the same ethnic group”. And this is something they do amongst each other… We all do it in Ghana. It’s only recently that people are giving up the idea, and thinking “if we are all saying let's stop the tribalism, it starts now. We have to stop and just enjoy the music.” So it wasn't really a problem on the international platform. In my region, I was also very popular. But it was not the same in the bigger city of my country. 

And then gradually, the people realised that I was out there singing, and perhaps started feeling embarrassed that people from outside Ghana were singing and dancing to the rhythms of our own country when they weren’t. I think that helped to change the perception of many people in Ghana. At the end of the day, everybody just accepted me for who I am. And thanks to the education I was encouraged to take seriously, I was able to communicate these songs on the stage and explain them to the crowd in English, which is widely spoken around the world. 

This helped me and today, I can choose to sing in English or sing in my language. I can still express myself. This is why I always tell every young girl: no matter the talent you have, get as much information and education as you can. It may not only come from the classroom, but get it and add it to your craft. It will take you far.

You talk about the initial reception in the bigger city in Ghana, and how this may have been because of where you come from: Northern Ghana. Do you think that the shift in relation to your music has also influenced a change in perceptions? Would you say that your music is helping to bridge the divide?

Northern Ghana has always been seen to be the poorest among all the regions of the country. In fact, it was - and is still - considered the youngest region. So it's like the youngest always gets the last of everything. Unless you are the parents’ favorite, which means somebody who is part of making the decisions is from your region, so you’re prioritized. Unfortunately, the North always seems to get the last of everything that has to do with development. 

Things have changed quite a lot now, but during the time I came out as an artist, that really affected me. Unfortunately, for the few northerners that started singing, many of them didn't go to school and could not speak English very well to express themselves. It was very obvious during the interviews, especially on TV, when they would speak and you could immediately tell that they did not have a good formal education. But when they express themselves in their own languages, the messages in their music are full of wisdom. You know that they are intelligent, but they didn't get the chance to go to school. And there was a lot of poverty. 

So when I was coming out, people expected me to be the same. Unfortunately, I was not the northerner that they had in mind. When I started talking, everybody was quiet. So, I used the opportunity to also educate people about the North. It will shock you that there were people in Ghana who didn't think I was a Ghanaian. People in the entertainment industry thought I was born in Nigeria, South Africa, Togo, or Burkina Faso because they didn't even know there was a place called Funsi in the first place. All they know is the North, and when they say “North” it means one town or one region; that’s Tamale and we all spoke Dagbani. They had no clue that we have four northern regions, and we all speak different languages. The cultures are similar, but so different. But they almost boxed me into one: “You’re a northerner, so you must speak indigenous Hausa.” I realized that this was my opportunity to educate many Ghanaians who don't know anything about where I'm from. 

And have you seen any changes?

I started projecting the North a lot. We are getting better. And I also realized that every time I went back home, I should let people know where I came from. There's nothing embarrassing about it. Let everybody know your roots so that at the end of the day, we know that we are all the same and we all start from somewhere. I'm just an ordinary girl that decided to go for it.

Initially, I took it for granted. I'd go home and just live my life, and when it was time to go out and perform, I would do it. Then one day I got back home and I showed my house; everybody was shocked. It was my opportunity to show the rest of the world and Ghana that this is Wa, it's not Tamale. Tamale is different; the Upper East is different. But I always want to show it in a good light. Because if I'm preaching peace and I'm not peaceful myself, what am I doing?

In the third part of our conversation, Wiyaala shares her experience as a female artist shining in a male-dominated industry, her ideas for the growth and development of women in music, and her definitions of her feminism. Click here to continue reading.

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

Learn more about Wiyaala on her website, and follow her on social media @Wiyaala.

“I'm just a simple Sissala girl who is following her dreams.” - Wiyaala (Ghana) 1/4

Photo source: wiyaala.com

For centuries, African women have used their voices and talents to lead and influence change in their communities. Art remains a powerful tool for social justice, and across the African continent and the diaspora, artists continue to contribute to our movements for justice and liberation. 

Wiyaala, the Lionness of Africa, is from Funsi in the Upper West Region of Ghana. A global icon, she stands out with her distinct voice, her unique style and her dedicated engagement to support girls in her community to achieve their dreams. 

In this conversation with Jama Jack, she opens up about her childhood and her earliest influences, and her journey as an artist, including bold choices about her music and stage persona (Part 2). She also talks about feminism and the work she does to combat child marriage and support girls and women in her community (Part 3). In the final part, Wiyaala shares her insights on life, freedom, and the impact she is influencing (Part 4).

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Wiyaala, it's almost surreal that we are on a group call with a global icon like yourself. Let’s start by having you tell us who you are. How do you like to introduce yourself?

My name is Wiyaala, the lioness of Africa. Because wherever I go, we roar! I'm a singer, songwriter, and dancer. And I do a little bit of acting.

Let’s get into the world of Wiyaala the lion cub. Where did you grow up and what was that experience like? What did you remember from your childhood?

I'm from a typical African home. My father is married to more than one wife. More than two, even. So you can imagine what the family system will be like. It's an extended family, where your father is also still responsible for his brother's children. And his brother is also kind of responsible for his children, in case he’s not around. That’s the system I grew up in: where a sister looks out for the sister’s children, and a neighbor looks out for the neighbor’s children. So, sometimes you are left with your neighbors when your parents go to work. 

As a child, I was running wild, playing, doing the usual things a typical African child will do. Sometimes we would go out and get into fun wrestling. You come back home and you are scolded a bit. I was in an environment where almost every parent took their child to school. It was like a competition on whose child was doing better. No one wanted their child to not be intelligent in the classroom. We would come home with our results, and if you did well, you would get treats. However, some of us were doing well, but not on the academic side. So childhood was a bit troublesome for me. 

In what ways?

I was seen to be a bit troublesome because I didn't want to write. I would rather be singing or dancing, which was good for me. However, they would tell me it was too much, and if I really wanted to go forward, I would have to like books and learn how to read and write. So that's childhood for me. I am the second born. We are eight girls and my mother is the first wife. And life has been up and down, up and down. I've lived in the village for a good amount of time to know how village life is. It’s either tough or fun, or very traditional. And I've also lived in a small town where life got much better. It also had a tough side, and then a really good side. Yes, I've grown in the village and in the town. But I still keep the balance. But now I'm back in the village.

You mentioned school and trying to find a balance between doing well with academics but also doing the things that you loved - the singing, the dancing. Where did the singing come from? What do you remember as the first time you started singing and thought: this is what I want to do?

Church! The first place was the church. Even though I had started singing, I didn't know it was a talent. I thought everybody was singing and so, I was also just singing. At the funerals in the village they would sing, and we all sang along. During wedding ceremonies, they would sing and then we all sang along. We used to have Jazz Night, too. 

But when I started singing, it just seemed to a lot of people that I was singing with a style that stood out. I was singing, dancing and drumming, and the excitement on my face made people laugh. For example, they could tell all of us, “okay, you're all going to move like this.” Everybody would move that way, but I’d put a bit of style into my movement. At that time, I didn't know it was even a talent until people started saying “she always does it extra. She's really good. You are very good at singing”. So that encouraged me. 

When I got the chance, I would go into the church, where they actually had a place just for singing after you pray. I just went straight to that section. That was also because my mother is a Catholic. And she used to take us to the church. And as she sang in the choir, I would babysit my sister. So every time they sang songs, I loved it. And I loved the piano they used to play. As time went on, I joined the choir. That was when I realised that I really liked to sing. And this was the only fun part of the church for me. Any other thing they are saying, I would always wait for the priest to turn around and say “now we're going to have something from the choir.” You would see me excited… then my voice would be there. So church was the first place. 

photo source: wiyaala.com

So you started nurturing it from childhood, then? At what point did you say, “I can make something bigger out of this?” Beyond just enjoying it as a child singing with everyone else in church, what was the click?

I saw people singing on TV and they were extra special for me, because they were wearing different costumes. They were singing, and there was one person singing and almost doing things I only do in my head. However, I was in an environment where nobody was telling me these other things that you can do when you are a good singer. Or teaching me things like “this is a stage and this person singing is a musician, a star, and then they dress up.” So in my head, I'm like “I've always been thinking about something like this.” But I was a bit worried that if I did that, they might not like it. 

Once I saw somebody singing, especially if it was a woman, I didn't care whether that was the best singer in the world. I saw someone singing for the first time and the music was so nice to my ears. People played musical instruments, and my brain went “poof”. This was what I wanted to be like when I grew up. I started imitating the singer, and the costumes were just amazing. She was almost everything I wanted to be, but I was just a kid growing up. When I tried to do that in real life, it was a challenge. People were like, “Are you crazy?”

How old were you at the time? 

I was just becoming a teenager. I think between thirteen and fifteen years. That's the age where you sometimes think you’ve conquered the world, and dominated it.

And this singer who you connected to so much… Do you remember who it was? 

It was Madonna! I remember it because it was the only tape that I found in my father's house in the next town. They had electricity, so whenever we went to spend holidays with him and my stepmom, his second wife, we got to watch television. So I just stumbled upon this tape, and it had “Madonna” written on it. I thought it was an action movie, and maybe the woman was the hero there. Then I saw this lady singing, and that was it. 

I can remember all the people around me at the time and what they said to me. I had just come from the village. I saw these things on the TV and as a teenager, still discovering myself, I would come out and reproduce the costumes in my own style. Then, I would start singing and some people would say, “you're making noise. Keep quiet! Seriously, this will not go anywhere.” Others would say “don’t mind her. You know she’s a bush girl, a village girl. She came here and she saw a TV for the first time. She’ll grow out of it. You know she's young, she doesn't know what she's doing.” 

How did that make you feel?

I don't know how, but there are some things that happen to you, and it doesn't matter how old you get, those words get to you. They stay with you. For me, I think they motivated me even though some of the words were very horrible. For some reason, I didn't get angry. I just used the anger in a positive light and I said, “I will show you that you are wrong about me.” It's like I was really trying to impress Madonna so much.

These were supposed to be bullying words, insults, or just innocent jokes they would laugh at me for. And I say they are bullies because nobody even said to me, “okay, this thing you like, maybe we should pay attention to it.” Nobody saw anything in music. All they saw was that music was only done in Europe. And it was done by women who were half naked and didn't wear clothes. So those people felt that they knew the distraction I was about to get myself involved in. 

In the next part of our conversation, Wiyaala talks about her choice to sing in her language, the reception to her music in different parts of Ghana and the rest of the world, and some of the challenges she has faced. Click here to read the second part.

Join the conversation

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

Learn more about Wiyaala on her website, and follow her on social media @Wiyaala.

"It's through the struggle that we have built our sisterhood" - Awa Fall-Diop (Senegal) 4/4

We are in conversation with Awa Fall-Diop, Senegalese feminist activist, educator and specialist in gender justice and social movement building. 

We learned about her childhood in a working-class neighbourhood in Senegal (Part 1), her upbringing and the beginnings of her feminist engagements (Part 2), and her analyses of the impact of the Beijing Conference (1995) on African women's rights (Part 3).

In this fourth and final part, we explore her thoughts on various topics such as the plurality of African feminisms, sorority and the importance of intergenerational relationships in activism.

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We speak as African feminists. How do you define African feminism?

Just as there is no such thing as feminism at the conceptual level, at the political level, at the level of reality, there is no such thing as African feminism either. We can't talk about African feminism, but about African feminisms, given that Africa is diverse and multifaceted. 

Africa has known different historical trajectories. Some countries were invaded by Christianity. Other countries were invaded by Muslim Arabs. Others have experienced one of the two, in addition to colonisation, either by the Dutch, Belgian, German, French or British. This gives our different countries different realities, and generates different cultures and different claims. Even if there is the strategic demand, the central demand that is shared, concerns equal rights, equal opportunities, equal chances among all social categories. I think it's interesting to ask the very question of the birth of this concept of African feminism: what was at the root of it?

What do you think it is?

African women, in all countries, didn't feel fully taken into account in the analyses made by the international feminist movement, which was essentially white, American-European-centric, and which therefore based its reflections and analyses on the experiences of white women. Black women as a whole, not just African women, but Black women, made the analysis that if white European women suffer gender oppression and class oppression, Black women suffer both gender and class oppression, but also racial oppression. That was the first level. 

What's the second level? 

African feminists, in a spirit of decolonisation, have added another dimension to show that, yes, Black feminists exist, but that we, as African feminists, suffer not only gender oppression as women, class oppression, racial oppression, but also oppression because we are women of the South. This has added an extra dimension to the parameters of oppression that we experience as African women.

And even there, as African women, we also had to make another distinction because the experience of women from the Maghreb is very different from the experience of South African women, who had to experience apartheid, just like that of women from Central Africa, West Africa, or East Africa. 

That's why you were talking about African feminisms.

Yes, this means that beyond the fact that we live on the same continent with specificities, there are also local realities that we need to consider in our analyses, as well as specific experiences. Don't you agree that we need to consider this? That's why, from my point of view, even when we talk about African feminisms, we must always carry out a contextual analysis to identify the mechanisms of oppression, the demands based on women's needs, and the appropriate strategies of struggle. That's my understanding of African feminisms, which I always use in the plural.

Intersectionality is a concept that allows us to understand that experiences of oppression are not uniform, and not to analyse them as isolated processes. Do you think our activism are sufficiently intersectional on the continent? 

Intersectionality, from the point of view of our analyses, is not yet a reality. I don't even mean from the point of view of our actions, but from the point of view of our analyses. We slip the word intersectionality into a sentence; we evoke it at the turn of an intervention to satisfy funders. We play with key concepts in our struggle. We play with the lives of other people whose rights are violated, who are denied all existence and who we'd like to wipe off the face of the earth.

For example, many cisgender feminist organizations are talking about it more and more, writing about it in their texts. But when we organize activities, it's always just us cisgender feminists. Maybe, from time to time, we'll invite a lesbian feminist, but we'll be careful not to let anyone know. Because we say to ourselves: there are safety issues. It's true that the issue is very complex, but I think we need to foster a revolution in our own ways of thinking, in our own organizations, and integrate intersectionality more into our thinking, our analyses and our actions.

I fully understand that we need to insist on a collective approach. These analyses must be collective if they are to be carried out properly.

Absolutely.

How have you experienced sisterhood in the course of your career? 

It was through the struggle that we built our sisterhood. In the movement, I remember - perhaps women's agendas have changed a lot since then with the hazards and rhythms of life, living conditions. But before, among feminists, even feminists who were in other organizations, we knew where they lived, we could go to their homes, and they could come to ours. We knew their families. We lent each other clothes and handbags. It may seem trivial, but it was important. That doesn't mean we didn't quarrel. Oh no, we quarrelled, we fought, we scratched each other’s eyes out. But that didn't stop one from sneezing when the other was cold. I don't know if you know what I mean.

I'm trying to understand. 

When one was cold, the other sneezed. This meant that what one of us experienced, the other felt. We had this assurance that, if something happened to me, the other was there with me. This meant we never felt alone. Not only in our country, but even beyond...

For instance, I'll give the example of one woman. Her name is Gisèle Yitamben. I think she's from Cameroon. I met her once. But to this day, at certain moments, I still hear her voice, I feel her presence beside me, I still see her gaze, and that comforts me. And I tell myself that I haven't seen her for at least 30 years. I saw her once, before 1995, so it's been over 30 years. But so far, she's been a comfort to me.

It's a strong bond. 

Yes. For me, sisterhood means I can trust you with my life, and you'll take care of it as if it were your own. That's what sisterhood is all about. It's not just giving me a hug, cheering me on, texting me. I don't know if you understand me. It's knowing that, when I have a problem in Senegal, I can run away and come to Benin, to Chanceline's, and I'll feel at home there, because she'll take care of me like she takes care of herself.

We weren't ashamed to show our weaknesses and flaws to the other sisters we worked with. Because we knew it would never be ridiculed or used against us, but that we would receive the support we needed. But we live in an age with so much individualism, with so many egos... Sometimes I look at some feminists, and I get the impression that they have the feeling that, if the sky fell, they'd only have to lift a finger for it to stop. Lack of humility is a hindrance to sisterhood. Lack of empathy, or the weakness of empathy, is a hindrance to sisterhood.

 I feel what you're saying.

We knew that if one of us fell, it was one less soldier in our army. And that we needed every single person to be well, ready to fight, because that was one of the necessities of our struggle. I'm not afraid to show my flaws within our movement, because I tell myself that's where I can get the help I need. She's the one who thinks more or less like me. She's the one who sees life as I do. She's the one who feels the way I do. So she's the one who can give me the help I need.

How do we build activist spaces that place benevolence and solidarity at their heart, including in conflict management and in mechanisms of responsibility?

We always say “don't throw the bathwater out with the baby”. This means that when one of us says something she shouldn't, it shows that she has a point of weakness on which she needs to be strengthened, to be guided. This doesn't mean that if you tell her "you made a mistake", she'll automatically accept it. But it does mean that this person needs a reference point. Because when we're born, we're born into a patriarchal environment. We receive a patriarchal upbringing. Even I, at my age, in my 69th year, know that I still drag around hints of my patriarchal upbringing that I have to keep working on. Feminist education is lifelong. A feminist who labels another feminist as "not feminist enough", is she herself feminist enough?

Aren't there any points on which she's still dragging on the reminiscences of her patriarchal upbringing? Patriarchal-capitalist? Those who haven't reached the other shore shouldn't laugh at those who are drowning. We have to help her keep her head above water. That's what sisterhood is all about: understanding that, as feminists as we are, all the messages we receive through the media, through our family conversations, through our states, even the subliminal ones, are patriarchal messages. And that we must continue to educate ourselves and each other, constantly, throughout our lives. That's what sisterhood is all about.

Lifelong feminist education.

Yes. Sometimes it shocks me a bit, the violence in spaces with young feminists. The denunciations between feminists, the attacks between feminists... You know, we were from different political parties, but once we got together within the feminist movement, in feminist organizations, you couldn't tell who was from which political party. You couldn't perceive the differences in party affiliation. And even when we blamed each other for things, we did so tactfully. We'd choose the right words to say to a sister: "What you've done isn't right," or "What you've done, I don't agree with”.

And that, for me, is also something important in sisterhood. Because you can't violently attack someone and then want to have a normal relationship with them. We're all human beings. We're all sensitive. I think if there's one thing the young feminist movement should be working on, it's how to reduce this violence within the movement. This violence that makes us almost insensitive to others.

Speaking of which, what's your vision of an intergenerational African feminist movement?

Intergenerationality is a must. In fact, I'm writing an article about it with another feminist. Right now, all eyes are on young feminists. I see a lot of young feminist organizations. But have you seen an organization of older feminists?

Hahaha

Is the feminist movement going to behave like the capitalist movement? In the capitalist movement, as long as you have the force of production, you're in the system. Once you no longer have the force of production, once you no longer serve the system, you're out. Is this how the feminist movement is going to work? 

I draw attention to this because intergenerational work, intergenerational relationships, are of great importance to me. First of all, I need to comfort myself with the idea that things aren't going to end with me and the feminists of my generation. I need reassurance on that point. It's completely emotional, completely psychological. And I assert that emotion. Then there are new issues emerging. Issues that we don't have, but that we see with younger people. And issues that the younger generation may not have experienced, but which can be read in the light of the past.

So how do you think we can build an intergenerational feminist movement? 

We often talk about intergenerational transfer. More and more, I'm talking about exchange. Because it's not only the elders who have something to teach the young, but the young also have something to teach the elders. It's this exchange that creates bonds. So intergenerational, inter-transmission too. Because no matter how old we are, we don't have a monopoly on the truth. Because it's been said that intelligence and knowledge are lost needles. An older woman can pick it up just as a younger woman can. The important thing is to find the needle. And just because you're older and more experienced in the movement doesn't mean you're any more feminist than the young.

The idea of inter-transmission is a fine way of approaching intergenerational movement-building.

I think I have an excellent example here in Senegal. There was a workshop on the Family Code. It was young people who took the initiative when the composition of the current government was published. They had taken the initiative to create a platform, a WhatsApp group. I was told about it. I said, "You've got to get me in there”.

There were other feminists older than me who were added. So everyone is in the group, and everyone gives their opinion. All opinions are treated equally. People agree with this? Let's do it. Agree with this? We do. People disagree with something? We don't do it. There are three generations in this collective. We take part in the meetings, but we don't say: "Oh no, from our experience, this is the way to do it.” No. We listen to each other, give our points of view and make decisions together.

That’s a fine example of intergenerational collaboration. 

I took part in the discussions, but I wasn't present at the workshop because I was on a mission. But I received the photos and, in them, people were seated without distinction of generation. In other words, we didn't put the elders on a separate table. They were seated as participants, period.

For me, intergenerational relations are like peer education. In other words, older people have a lot to learn from younger people, just as younger people also have a lot to contribute and learn from older people. And if we conceive it in this way, regardless of age, even between two elders or between two young people, in the feminist movement, every feminist, whatever her age, whatever her generation, has a lot to contribute and a lot to learn from the other, regardless of age or generation.

How do you live your feminist activism these days?

Over the last few years, my involvement has mainly been with feminist organizations. When I say feminist organizations, I mean cisgender organizations, as well as identity-based organizations. I support them because I feel it's my duty, my responsibility, to ensure that the chain is not broken.

How does it work? 

First of all, I learn a lot from young feminists. The conditions in which I worked are totally different from the conditions in which young people work today. The way of campaigning is different. And I bring my own experience to the table. I also learn a lot from sex worker organizations, LBTQ and so on.

From your experience, what strategy can we use to advance the fight against violence against girls and women on the continent? 

Teaching girls and women how to resist. Men will never give up their power. Where on Earth have you seen a person voluntarily relinquish their power without oppression? Men will never give up their power until they find resistance in front of them. He for She, positive masculinity... Pfff... It's all smoke and mirrors. Girls and women must be taught to resist and fight. Defend, resist, fight. 

And collectively. What is your daily feminist action?

My daily action is to love. To love unconditionally. To love every day. To love, quite simply.

One of the questions we often ask at the end of a conversations is: what's your feminist motto? 

Oh, I confess I've never thought about that. But I do know that what sums up my attitude, my thinking, my way of doing things, my way of living... It's three words: Resist, Fight and Win. And that's it. And that's also LOVE.

Thank you very much. It was a pleasure having this conversation with you.

Join the conversation

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

"I hope that with the current generation or with the next generations, we will experience a revolutionary revival" - Awa Fall-Diop (Senegal) 3/4

This is the third part of our conversation with Awa Fall-Diop, Senegalese feminist activist, educator, and specialist in gender justice and social movement building. 

We've learned about her childhood in a working-class neighbourhood in Senegal (Part 1), her involvement in Marxist and pan-Africanist organizations, and her fight for women's equality in education (Part 2). Now, we turn to her analysis of the impact of the Beijing Conference (1995) on African women's rights and the challenges facing feminist movements today. 

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This year, there's a lot of engagement about the 30th anniversary of the Beijing Conference. Were you at the Beijing conference or involved in the conversations when it took place?

The Beijing Conference in 1995 was my generation. I took part in the conversations. The African regional conference on women, preparatory to the Beijing World Conference on Women, was held in Dakar in 1994 and I participated in that.

Did you feel at the time that the specific concerns of African women were being taken into account in the 1995 Beijing conversations?

Yes, for instance, at the African Regional Conference on Women, in preparation for the World Conference on Women in Beijing, we said that we Africans had other concerns than those of European and American women. We said, for example, that the question of girls' education, the status of the girl child, and the question of girls' schooling were a challenge, a matter of development, of rights, and a priority for us. And so, with this battle waged by African women, the issue of the girl child was added to the Beijing Platform for Action. Every time I see the platform and I see this point linked to the girl child, it warms my heart because it's our imprint. It's the imprint of our struggle as African women.

Thirty years on, do you think things have changed? 

I believe they have. But not enough. Too slowly. Since Beijing, other texts, tools, and legal instruments have been adopted at the regional level in Africa. But why are the same demands still being made? How can it be that the same forms of violence and denial of rights are still taking place throughout the world? What have States and institutions done with these resolutions and declarations? How is it that the demands we were making thirty years ago are the same ones you're still making in your thirties? To me, things have evolved too little. Things have evolved too slowly concerning the promises made by international institutions, and too little concerning the promises made by the African Union, ECOWAS, and our various countries.

Feminists say that the Beijing Conference and subsequent processes have become institutionalized and reformist, even co-opted by neoliberalism and Western agendas. What's your take on this?

Let’s be honest. We live in neoliberal times. International institutions come from neoliberalism. We haven't had a revolution. We're not living in a revolutionary situation. So, we're trying to move within a neoliberal straitjacket. And that's something we need to be aware of. There have been revolutionary initiatives in the past. But our time, the historical time in which we live, is the triumph of capitalism in its neoliberal phase over socialism and communism. We are living and working in a neoliberal capitalist context, which is certainly in turmoil and deep crisis, but which has yet to be confronted by a social alternative of change and progress, a revolutionary alternative.

I hope that with the current generation or with the next generations, we will experience a revolutionary revival. I hope so and wish so because this can bring us closer to states and institutions with a human vocation and characteristics.

This is an informed analysis of the current situation!

The United Nations, as long as it is in this format, can only be made of neoliberal institutions because they were born in a context - and are the result - of processes stemming from neoliberalism. And we need to understand this objectively. Otherwise, we're going to lead fights thinking we're fundamentally changing things, but we're not.

What we're currently doing in the feminist movement is reformism. Sure, we're challenging patriarchal structures, but to what extent are we challenging them? We're still reformists. And that's something we're going to have to acknowledge if we're to enter a new revolutionary era. Personally, I don't yet sense the theoretical, practical, or organizational beginnings of a revival, of a challenge to capitalism and neoliberalism. 

Do you think there are key political issues that African feminism isn't addressing that we should be paying attention to or focusing on more?

Yes, the issue of neo-colonialism. I think that, until now, our analyses have focused on women, forgetting that, however much we may be women, we live in a social, political, and economic context and that we live in countries that have not yet reached their economic and political autonomy. What's happening in the Sahel region, with the Alliance of Sahel States (AES), precisely shows that in our analyses, there are political aspects that we don't sufficiently take into account.

Another example is what's happening today in South Africa with the land question, issues that should be linked to our analyses. Today, in this policy of land consolidation and redistribution, to what extent are the needs and concerns of Black South African women taken into account? 

Not to mention what's happening in Sudan. 

Yes, we need to broaden the political scope of our demands, linking them to issues much broader than the immediate condition of women. We need to take an interest in any situation or law that impacts our lives.

Even relations between the North and the South, relations between Senegal and France, and relations between the DRC and Belgium, when we analyse them, are issues that should interest us as feminists. Because there are still repercussions if we analyse what's happening in the DRC right now. These are still recollections of neo-colonial relations, of the colonial period. How do we analyse these facts? We need to take an even greater interest. And we don't do it enough. We need political education on these issues, because many feminists don't understand the specificities of the times we live in. 

How do we push this political education within our movements? One argument I often hear when these issues are raised is, "We already have enough problems in our own contexts."

All these questions are interrelated. It's like saying your whole body is dirty, but you’d rather wash your feet and hands, your head and neck, because that's what's most visible to people. Others will say: no, the most important thing is to keep your sexual parts clean, because that's what counts most. No. You can't dismember women's lives; it's not possible. Maybe we can have a focus, but we can't ignore the fact that there's an interrelationship between all aspects of our lives, whether cultural, political, social, economic, religious, etc. There's an interconnection. I'm sure that if we pushed the political question, we'd see that within our movement, we still have cracks in our political awareness. If we didn't ask ourselves the question, we wouldn't know. 

Do you think this affects our movements?

I tell myself that so far, we're winning on one side, but all the while, there's another side that we don't consider to be urgent yet. And when we win on the right, we realize that the left side is gangrenous. We tell ourselves that we must stick to the left side, and we forget about the right. And before we've even finished the left side, the gangrene has spread to the right. I give the example of what is currently happening in Senegal with the Family Code. The Family Code was adopted in 1972, a consensual code, albeit based for the most part on the Islamic religion, but which at least allowed progress in terms of conjugal rights for women.

What happened next?

Once the code was passed, we put it aside. From time to time, we'd talk about it, but we felt that there were more urgent matters, such as gender-based violence and rape, which are essential issues that we need to address. But in the meantime, we forgot about the Family Code. Muslim religious organizations, on the other hand, have continued to work on this code. Recently, they organized a major demonstration for a revision of the Family Code based entirely on Sharia law. Everyone was scared. There was an uproar. We made financial contributions and organized a workshop to define our own proposals. But the others had beaten us to it. And now we're trying to catch up. This means that our ability to anticipate is something we need to work on. 

There's this idea that we're always reacting instead of organising deep resistance. 

What enables us to have this capacity for anticipation is precisely understanding the global movement in which we find ourselves, and every aspect of which has an impact. For example, I wouldn't deny it if someone said there was a link between the election of Donald Trump and the vitality of Muslim religious organizations in Senegal. I wouldn't say there's no link. Because we know where Donald Trump stands on the issue of abortion, on the issue of gender, on the issue of identities and sexual orientation, on the issue of marriage, on the issue of the family.

And I'm sure that - well, it's not just in Senegal - that if we interviewed other feminists across other countries, we'd realise that the fact that Donald Trump is in power is having an impact on organizations that generally weren't as active but now feel truly reinvigorated.

His election and his comments about people of diverse genders have raised a wave of homophobia and transphobia in our region and online.

And so, in the spirit of anticipation, we can tell ourselves: with Donald Trump in power in the United States, what repercussions could this have in our lives, in our organizations? The damaging capacity of anti-rights and anti-gender organizations is their ability to anticipate. On our side, the weakness is our blindness to global issues and their repercussions in our own lives. 

Sometimes things happen, initiatives exist, but we don't know. Do you think the lack of connection between the different parts of the movement creates this?

Precisely. Since we don't know what's being done elsewhere, we get the impression that nothing is happening. You're right to bring that up. We need to talk to each other more, communicate more, and have a platform for conversations. We need to map out our interventions. At least to be able to identify areas, claims, and strategies deployed by others. Everything we do has to consider the connections between different aspects that are happening even outside our country. And, of course, within the limits of our capabilities, given the limited resources at our disposal.

The question of resources has a major influence on what we do and what we can do.

Exactly. Somewhere along the line, the responsibility of the funders is involved. Our organizations are so deprived, so precarious, that we don't have the strength to resist a funding proposal. As soon as we know that funding is available in a certain area, we sometimes even try to reformulate certain elements of our strategic plans, what word to add, what qualifier to change so that our mission and objectives fit in with this or that funder. And this is precisely due to the weakness, the financial precariousness in which we live as organizations, as activists, unfortunately.

In any case, I wouldn't criticise anyone or any organization for having this attitude. But we must realise that it weakens the impact of our actions and that it would be interesting to develop our capacity for political analysis. Because if we don't, we’ll never come to grips with the issue but keep on searching for its trail.

In the fourth and final part, Awa Fall-Diop shares her thoughts on topics such as the plurality of African feminisms, sisterhood and the importance of intergenerational relations in activism. Read more here. 

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

“As long as there is oppression of any kind, there is a need for feminist movements.” - Awa Fall-Diop (Senegal) 2/4

We continue our interview with Awa Fall-Diop, Senegalese feminist activist, educator and specialist in issues of gender justice and social movement building. In the first part of this conversation, she shared with Chanceline Mevowanou the defining moments of her childhood. 

In this second part, we explore the beginnings of her commitment, the construction of her feminist convictions and her fight for equality in education.

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To introduce yourself, you said, “I am a pan-African feminist, a revolutionary activist for the liberation of Africa, the liberation of the human race, and the liberation of all women. ” How did your political convictions come about?

I think I was brought up to be a feminist from birth. In my family, when we praise women, we only praise what they've accomplished. I know the women in my lineage back through 20 generations. These are women who didn't let themselves be pushed around, even though they were not at the same level of political awareness as I am. I was born into a lineage of women who don't let themselves be pushed around. I'm not saying that “being born into that” is enough to absorb that education because there are other people in the same family who don't share my opinions. Perhaps what converted the feminist attitude into a feminist consciousness in me was my enlistment in Marxist, Leninist, Maoist organizations. I think that allowed me to structure my temperament and my upbringing into a political vision. 

How did you join these organizations? 

It was at the time of the single-party system in Senegal. The creation of other political parties was forbidden. These organizations came to raise awareness and used theatre as a tool. We used to perform theatre in my neighbourhood. What was being said resonated with me. What they were calling for corresponded to what was inside me. It resonated with me. That's how I got involved.

Do you remember the first organization you joined?

Yes. And its name meant “Act together”.

How has your involvement in these organizations helped to shape your feminist and political vision?

These organizations had training sessions on Marxism, class struggle, Pan-Africanism, Kwame Nkrumah, Amilcar Cabral, and Julius Nyerere. So, in this training course, we inevitably talked about oppression. It was easy to see the oppression of women by men, even within the organization. We began challenging them on certain practices that were far from being Marxist and, therefore, far from liberating. We were told that we had to work for the revolution first and that it was the revolution that would solve the problems of the people and the problems of women. We refused. We said there were issues that we had to solve here and now. We were not going to suffer while we waited for the revolution. We wanted to sort out the relationship between male and female activists within the organization. 

What you say is still relevant today. Many young feminists find it difficult to engage and collaborate with certain organizations that claim to be pan-Africanist because their vision of the continent's liberation does not include the concerns of women and other marginalized groups.

These organizations, which call themselves pan-Africanists with such a vision of African liberation, have certainly not read Samora Machel, Amilcar Cabral, or Thomas Sankara, who spoke specifically of women's liberation. We actually need to address some issues, such as the ones women and other marginalized groups face, to speed up the revolution.

What does feminism mean to you? 

For me, feminism is a political vision, a political commitment to fight against all forms of oppression between men and women, between women, and between countries and continents. As long as there is oppression of any kind, there is a need for feminist movements. 

You say, "It's a political vision, a political commitment." Could you explain what you mean?

Yes. Political is different from partisan. People often confuse the two. Partisan indicates which side you're on. For example, Chanceline, are you in the Republican Party to save Benin? Are you in the Democratic Party? That's being partisan. To be political is to have a global conception of the world, of how the world should be organized, how it should function. What is the place of each element, of each entity, not only human beings, but also animals, trees, flowers, seas, rivers, soil, sky, earth, air. That's what it means to have a political vision.

You've also defined yourself as a "revolutionary activist". What does this mean to you?

I'm a revolutionary activist because I'm convinced that change is the most enduring thing in the world. For example, since this morning, we've been calling you Chanceline. But the Chanceline who entered this room at 8 a.m. is not the same as the Chanceline who is sitting here right now. Are you aware of that? 

I know what you mean. 

Whether it's human beings or things, everything changes. Being revolutionary means accepting this principle. Not only accepting it, but also trying to provoke it, where there is resistance, where there are attempts at conservation. You know, even in the ecological movement, I'm against nature conservation movements. You can't conserve nature; you preserve it. Because nature carries change within itself. So, to be revolutionary is to be against any form of conservation, any conservative ideology, any conservative movement. It means being aware that change is inevitable. 

What actions did you get involved in, at the start of your feminist commitment?

We've done a lot of awareness-raising to change perceptions on various subjects: rights, equality, dowry, excision, and girls' schooling. I even remember that we were doing one of these awareness-raising sessions once, and the police came and picked us up, telling us it was forbidden. I've done a lot of work on these subjects through shows, public appearances, and speaking engagements. And petitions, too. I remember there was a time when a working woman couldn't pay for her child's medical expenses. Her male colleague with the same job and the same pay grade could pay for his child through the social security system, though. Other friends and I started a petition called "We are mothers, we are workers". It was based on this petition that the trade unions took up this demand. 

Trade unions in which fields?

Teachers' unions. I was a teacher. I taught French in elementary school. As we had friends in the regions, we circulated the petition throughout the country and got a huge number of signatures. Each of us pushed at their own union level to get the unions to take collective responsibility for this demand.

Have your feminist convictions influenced the way you taught at school?

Absolutely. To the point of creating an organization called ORGENS, Observatoire des Relations de Genre dans l'Éducation Nationale au Sénégal (English: Observatory of Gender Relations in the Ministry of Education in Senegal). As a teacher, I looked at the textbooks and saw that all the women in them were either sweeping, cooking, carrying a child, dancing, braiding, or styling their hair. The men in the books, on the other hand, were principals or had other jobs. One day, I took the manual and went to the Ministry. At the time, André Sonko was Minister of Education. I told his secretary: "I'd like to meet the Minister.” She said, "Do you have an appointment?" I replied, "No, I don't, but I must meet the Minister."

You were driven in your approach

The minister was coming out of his office. I said, "Minister, I need to see you." He replied, "About what?" I started talking, and he told his secretary, "Give her an appointment." On the day of the appointment, I came and explained my concern. I told him: "Mr. Minister, in the textbooks, there are 20% women, whereas they make up at least 50% of the population. In our country, there are female teachers in schools, but in the books, only men are represented in these positions. The books don't even feature a female teacher. In our country, there are midwives, female doctors, and female lawyers. But that's not shown in the books...".

I continued: "How do you expect the girls of our country to be able to project themselves into a future where they are something other than nannies, sweepers, housewives? How do you expect the school enrolment rate to increase if girls don't see themselves in a future where they occupy other positions of paid responsibility? How do you expect parents who look at these textbooks to change their view of girls?" He set up another meeting with the Department heads. And I came back. 

That’s impressive.

I came back. When I came in, a manager said to me: "Miss, you've made a mistake. What meeting are you going to?" (Laughter) I replied, "I'm going to the meeting with the Minister of Education." He said, "Really? With the Minister of Education?" I said, "Yes."

Sexism...

Yes. Then the minister arrived, and I explained. I was told, "Yes, we've taken note... But the books, the cost has to be paid off first, before we can change them." Later, the textbooks were changed. Some girls were looking through a magnifying glass, scanning the sky. Others had a globe.

Bravo for this initiative. What other actions has Observatoire des Relations de Genre dans l'Éducation Nationale taken in Senegal? 

We have developed training modules for teaching staff on introducing gender equality into teaching-learning situations. And we have trained quite a few of them. Today, if gender is introduced into textbooks and learning environments, it's thanks to this association. Once that was done, we said to ourselves that our mission was accomplished, because we aimed to institutionalise gender in the education system.

I saw that your experience with the Observatoire des Relations de Genre dans l'Éducation Nationale in Senegal was highlighted on your profile as an Ashoka Changemaker Innovator.

Yes, our concept was simple: If you want to change a society, this change must happen where the society is created. And you create society in the family, at school. Many teachers said after the training that they didn't realise what was happening because nobody had opened their eyes to it. You see, that's why you should never have the prejudice that it's not going to work. Some people behave in certain ways because they don't know any better. But once they do, they're able to change their behaviour.

What is your fondest memory as a teacher?

As a teacher, my fondest memory is finding one of my pupils in one of the biggest banks in Senegal. Now, this is the capitalist system, of course, and I'm fiercely opposed to the capitalist system because it is oppressive. But as a teacher, I was very pleased to see that she managed to rise to the top. Another time, we were at a political protest, and I saw two of my students who were reporters. Things like that give me great pleasure.

How did your feminist commitment evolve?

I'll have to think about it. The truth is, I've often let myself go with the flow. In other words, I go somewhere and see that people are making demands, and I come along and join the fight. And as time goes by, I find myself at the forefront of the fight. That's how my activism developed. I never thought specifically about how to develop my activism.

In the third part of the interview, Awa Fall-Diop shares her analysis of the impact of the Beijing Conference (1995) on African women's rights and the persistent challenges facing feminist movements today. Click here to read part three.

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

“When I think of myself, I see a free Awa.”- Awa Fall-Diop (Senegal) 1/4

Awa Fall-Diop is a Senegalese feminist activist, educator, and specialist in gender justice and building social movements. Her attachment to the values of justice, resistance, and conviviality was shaped by her upbringing in a working-class community and is now reflected in her activism.

In this interview, Chanceline Mevowanou speaks with Awa Fall-Diop about her activism and her feminist journey. 

In this first part of the conversation, we will learn about her childhood, as well as the story of her mother, a woman from whom she takes her strength of character. Awa Fall-Diop also tells us how her upbringing and her activism within Marxist and PanAfrican organizations helped shape her political thinking and build her feminist beliefs. She also discusses her fight for equality for women in education and training (Part 2). In the third part of our conversation, she shares her thoughts on the impact that the Beijing Conference has had on African women’s rights and on the challenges that feminist movements face today. Finally, we discuss topics such as the diversity of African feminisms, sorority, and the importance of intergenerational relationships in activism (Part 4).

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Good evening, Maman Awa. I hope you are well.

I’m doing great.

Could you please introduce yourself to our community?

My name is Awa Fall-Diop. I am a pan-African feminist, a revolutionary activist for the liberation of Africa, the liberation of the human race, and the liberation of all women. 

Thank you for agreeing to chat with me. I’m curious to know what shaped your journey. Where did you grow up?

I was born and raised in a well-known working class community of Senegal called Grand Dakar. In Senegal, saying “I’m from Grand Dakar” is enough to indicate that a person has experienced things, has a temperament, and doesn't tolerate any form of oppression or subordination. This is our neighbourhood’s trademark. 

It’s a neighbourhood built by our parents since the colonial era, where I grew up and where I remember that every family was mine. I could eat with any family, if I didn’t like what we had at home. I could walk past a neighbour’s house, smell a dish that I found appealing and go in to eat, no questions asked. If I were in a backyard talking to other people and it was getting late, I was allowed to safely stay over and sleep in the house.

What you’re describing is wonderful. What memories come to mind when you reflect on your childhood in Grand Dakar? 

This solidarity and conviviality between the families is something that always stayed with me. I believe it is also one of the foundations that make me feel comfortable in movements. Thanks to the way the neighbourhood was set up, it was easy to go from one house to another without ever getting into the street. There were passageways between every house. Sadly, it’s no longer the case today because of urban violence, burglaries etc. Now, everyone shelters themselves in their homes. That’s a shame, because it hinders human relationships and solidarity.

Where did the conviviality in your neighbourhood come from back then?

It was in the way the neighbourhood itself was created. Most of our parents were the first people to live there. They were young couples of originating from farming communities, who came to work in the city as labourers. There was a similarity in generation, origin and social status among them. As a result, the children of one family were like those of another. And it lasted. People like me still reside in the neighbourhood… Many folks were born in Grand Dakar and still live there. We even got married to one other. (She laughs).

It must have been an amazing experience to grow up there.

At some point we planned a huge reunion with the natives who are still alive. Those whose parents had to sell their houses or who lived in other areas also joined us. It was a wonderful gathering where we reminisced about our childhood and shared stories. We were all together again and vowed to do it every year, because the way we lived there is truly the area’s trademark.

This reunion must have been moving. You said that a person coming from this area was perceived as someone who rejected all kinds of oppression. 

Yes, as someone who is driven.

Could you explain?

It may be because of our parents’ backgrounds; they left the rural world and wanted to succeed in the city. They did not only want to shape their destiny for themselves; they also wanted to shape their children’s destinies. That means educating the kids, setting them up in an environment that allows them to be people who know how to defend themselves, who know what they want, people who are driven. That requires a lot of determination.

Are there specific stories from your childhood in Grand Dakar that come to mind?

I remember two stories. Someone had rented out a room in the neighbourhood. He was a teacher and I was in the second grade, so I must have been 9 or 10 years old. A friend of mine lived in the house where he rented the room. Sometimes when we were passing by - we were a group of girls - he would call us and give us some money, 5 or 10 francs. Back then, 10 francs was a lot of money. Or he would give us candy. We would clean his room or clean his glasses. One time, I was passing by and I was by myself. He called me and said, “Clean my glasses.” I cleaned them and then he asked : “Are you menstruating?”* I immediately replied “Yes” and I left in a hurry. I went home and took my schoolbag to get my rulers. *(In French menstruating and rulers are the same word : règles)

My older sister was sitting nearby and she asked me “Why are you so frantic? What are you looking for?”  I replied, “I’m looking for my rulers.” She said, “Why are you looking for them? I don’t see you studying.” Then I answered, “No, someone asked me if I had my règles.” My sister stormed off. I saw her leave, and she went out to hit the man. I was mad at her.

Why were you mad ?

I was angry with my sister because I thought : “She’ll deprive me of candy. She’ll deprive me of the 5-10 francs I'm given all the time.” She said to me, “I don’t want to see you go to his room ever again.” The next day when we woke up, the man had moved. I blamed my sister. It’s only years later that I understood what had happened. This man wanted to know if I was pubescent. You see, when we talk about gender-based violence, sexual abuse and rape of little girls, it’s real. And this reality is not new.

Unfortunately, it is still a reality in our communities. What is your second story?

This one impacted me positively haha! One night, we organized a party. The boys, without telling us, had rented a room next to the venue. During the evening, from time to time, one of them would leave with his girlfriend to go into the room. If you didn’t go into the room, you wouldn't know it existed. But I'd noticed that when a couple went out, it wouldn't even be five minutes before they came back. I couldn't understand why. When it was my turn, my boyfriend said, “Come on, let’s go somewhere to spend some time alone.” As soon as we turned into the street, we ran into the grown-ups who were there and they said, “Hey, go back to the party.” That's how I understood why every couple who went out came back in less than five minutes.

Hahaha… Speaking of grown-ups, what was your relationship with your parents when you were a girl?

I had a strained relationship with my mother until I turned 22 years old. Because I do whatever I want. When I think of myself, I see a free Awa.  I was free. Unrestrained in my words, free in my actions, free in my movement. I didn’t like being prevented from doing what I wanted. Thankfully, I’m a fairly reasonable person.

Is that what caused friction in your relationship with your mother?

Yes. My mother was an extraordinarily strong woman. Allow me to go off topic for a moment, I’m going to share a part of my mother’s story.

Please do.

This is mainly about two years of her life. My mom was a Lébou. The Lébous are a community of fishermen in Senegal. They’re an inbred community, so my mom first married one of her cousins. She was the one who told me the story. She stayed married for eleven years and never missed a period. They lived in big compounds, so her husband’s brothers lived there with their wives and kids, too. At parties, the other husbands would buy several loincloths for their spouses. My mother would only get one. She was told, “Since there’s no one around to dirty your clothes, one loincloth is enough.” In the house, when she would call a kid to send them to the store, they would tell her: “If you want to send a child to the store, you should have one of your own.” Do you see this violence? When we talk about domestic violence, it’s not limited to assault and battery. It’s not only financial. The violence can also be psychological or emotional. She went through that for years, and then one night, she was grinding millet… You know, when you do that, you get blisters.

Yes, they form on the hands.

Exactly! She had blisters. At some point she stopped and wondered: “Who am I grinding for? No one gets my clothes dirty (meaning that no child urinated on her). Who am I grinding for?”. She put the pestle down, went to her hut, packed her belongings and went back to her parents’ home. And she was done with that marriage!

Two years later, she was on the train and she met my father. The train was crowded and a man (my dad) gave her his seat. That’s how they met and how their story began. Then my mother had her first pregnancy. She didn’t know she was expecting because she thought she was infertile. So she drank herbal concoctions, etc. When her first pregnancy was confirmed, her first husband came back. He came back to say it was his child because some children hide in the ribs for years before they’re born. They even went to court. My dad died later on. His brothers came and told my mother: “You’re a woman, you cannot run the household. So you need to sell the house and go back to your parents’.”

It’s sad that this still happens today. Many women are seen as incapable or unlawful, while they are the core of our families.

My mother refused. She told them: “The house I shared with my husband until he passed, is the house I’ll live in until I die.” They replied: “If you stay here, we won’t come to give you anything, not even a grain of rice. ”My mom said: “One day, I’ll be the one to bring bags of rice to your homes.” And that’s what happened. Later on, each time my uncles had challenges, she was the one who fought to fix their kids’ food, education and health issues and so on.

I understand why you said that your mother was exceptionally strong. How old were you when your father passed away?

I was 6 months old and my mom was 32 or 33. At the time, in 1956, she was young and there was no female head of household. In our neighbourhood, she was the first woman to be a head of household. She was this woman with a strong personality, who maybe raised me to be like her, and inevitably two strong personalities clash. Our relationship became more peaceful when I turned 21 or 22. That’s when we became confidants. 

How did it go ? 

She would always wait for me to be present to talk about serious topics. My older siblings complained. Before passing away, I’m the one she called to tell me : “Awa, I entrust you with the family.” Maybe because I’m the one who inherited her personality and her character the most.

Could you share some of the significant conversations you had with your mother?

We talked about many things, including sexuality. For instance, my firstborn is a daughter. She would tell me : “You have to massage her clitoris. If you don’t, she won’t be a real woman later.” You see? Or she would say : “You know, sexual intercourse isn’t penetration only. You can play.”

That’s so different from the narrative of these issues being taboo in African families. Do you think this open-mindedness influenced other areas of your life?

I believe that she passed that on to me as well. I have no taboos. I talk about sex, pleasure and life because it is a part of life. There’s no aspect of life that I do not talk about with complete peace of mind and serenity.

That’s inspiring. What was the socio-political climate for girls when you were growing up?

Girls’ access to education was not as important as it is now. The realisation of the necessity of educating girls was not as significant as it is today. However, my mother, who was illiterate, thought that every child had to go to school. Do you want to know why I know French so well?

Tell me

During the holidays, my mother would buy a dictionary and give it to me. I had to recite it.

Laughter…

I knew the dictionary by heart, le Petit Larousse. Her logic was simple: if you want to know Islam, you learn about it in the Quran. If you want to learn French, you learn it with the dictionary. And you couldn’t play until you recited your page.

In the second part, we'll talk about the construction of Awa Fall-Diop’s political and feminist convictions, shaped by her upbringing, her involvement in Marxist and pan-Africanist organizations, and her fight for women's equality in education. Click here to read the next part.

Join the conversation

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

"We need more feminist convening spaces where we can talk about our realities." - Marie-Bénédicte Kouadio (Côte d'Ivoire) 2/2

Our conversation with Riane-Paule Katoua, Marie-Bénédicte Kouadio, and Mariam Kabore continues.  In the first part, we talked about their feminist awakening, the realities and concerns they face, and how they live out their feminist convictions.

In this second part, they discuss their relationship with reading, feminist education, the importance of documenting African women's stories, and their dreams as feminists.

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How do you deal with the fact that people are always out there trying to attack feminists, bringing up the tough questions? 

Marie-Bénédicte: It was hard at first. Because I like to respond to everything. When I'm attacked, I immediately respond. So, I tended to be on the defensive all the time. When someone attacks me, I react. The more you engage in the movement, the more you see that there’s more to it than that. We’re indeed all human, and often some words are very strong. Some things are said that truly hurt and you wonder, should I answer, shouldn't I answer?

Now, I think you must learn not to respond to everything. At worst, you simply make fun of it and move on. Whatever you say, they'll keep attacking you, putting you down. So, it’s better to move on and focus on the important battles. The ones that will be useful for our mission and make women's rights move forward. The advice of my predecessors also allows me to take a step back. Sometimes it’s indeed really annoying and I still talk back, but these days I try as much as I can to stay out of debates that don't make the movement move forward in any way. 

It's not always easy, but we'll get there. Getting back to books, are there any feminist books you've read that have had an impact on you?

Marie-Bénédicte: Yes, many, many books have had an impact on me. For example, there's a French book called Féminisme et Pop Culture, by Jennifer Padjemi. It's a book I came across totally by chance, but it truly impacted me because it tackles feminist issues, the main issues. The author, a woman, does it with examples from everyday life. She chose pop culture, cinema, music, and TV series, and uses these examples to show the progress of feminist struggles. For instance, in the book, she talks about the representation of Black women in TV series. So before, you were in a pattern where there were no Black women at all in series, or if they were there, they had the role of the nannies or housewives. They were made invisible.

That’s really interesting. 

Marie-Bénédicte: This is one of the first books I recommend. It's an easy read, even though it's quite bulky. There's another book I read not long ago. It's a kind of autobiography by an Ivorian feminist, Madame Georgette Zamblé. It's a sort of autobiography, and at the same time, it deals with feminist issues, how she discovered herself as a feminist, how she managed, to effectively change things in her community, how she fought certain battles and all. I thought it was a very interesting read because it brings you comfort as a young woman, as a young feminist. It’s a confirmation that you're not actually crazy. If there are ladies in their fifties talking to you about the very things you're going through right now, the battles you're waging, it's clear that you're not crazy. You haven't made anything up as people say. You didn't bring it from the West, as they say on Facebook.

Would you say that the books you read contributed to your feminist education?

Marie-Bénédicte: Absolutely. Books, regardless of the genres we read, inevitably influence our culture and our personality. So, reading books that have to do with feminism, clearly shapes you. It allows you to go deeper into certain notions, to even learn about the history of feminism. In any case, it makes you realize that these are just battles, that they're worth fighting, and that you're doing the right thing by doing your bit. It's always good to have more culture and more arguments. You obviously won’t want to get into every discussion, but it’s good to know how to defend your opinions when necessary. And it's always good to have examples to back up what you're saying.

Mariam, did you have access to books and feminist content to educate yourself?

Mariam: Internet! Thank you, Internet. I’m someone who likes to research a lot and I found some books. I think the first one I read was a book by Simone de Beauvoir. There are books I couldn't get my hands on because even when you go to the library, you can't find them. I’ve also read a Nigerian author, I think. Otherwise, most of what I read to learn more was either articles or academic theses.

How do you think we can popularise more feminist content to enable more girls and young women to educate themselves?

Mariam: For me, the best thing would be to have books about feminism in libraries. Most high schools and universities have libraries. And you’ll never, ever find a feminist book on their bookshelves. If you find a feminist book there, it's because someone snuck it in. You might stumble across it. But if you look for a feminist section, you’ll never find it. So, if this kind of effort were already being made at a library level, we'd make progress. I remember that when I was in high school, I spent a lot of time in the library reading everything and anything. So, I think it would have been very instructive. And that was going to start from a young age. Now we also need more bookstores and specialised libraries, like 1949 Books. We need a lot more feminist bookstores because we need to highlight feminist messages. 

I see that more and more feminist associations have feminist libraries in their headquarters.

Mariam: Yes, we need book clubs, for example. We get together once a month and discuss books. And then there’s something that we can all do: share feminist messages, all the time, like evangelists.

A bit like Jehovah's Witnesses.

Mariam: Frankly, if I had the determination of a Jehovah's Witness, I would achieve anything in life. With that kind of determination, anything is possible. I can imagine what it would be like if feminists did that. We knock on doors, and people open. And then we say: “Do you know what feminism is? No? Let me explain” (bursts out laughing).

That would be amazing.

Mariam: Let me explain. Do you know we live in a patriarchal society?

Hahaha. bell hooks, an African American author, brought up a similar idea. She said, “Imagine a mass feminist movement where people go door to door handing out texts, taking the time (like religious groups do) to explain to people what feminism is...”

Mariam: She's not wrong. Because when you're indoctrinated, it's hard to change if you don't get the information.

Riane, how did you end up working at 1949 Books?  

Riane-Paule: So, I had finished my studies. And I was scrolling on Facebook and following Edwige DRO, the director of 1949 Books. I was doing some research, because I wanted to interview her for a personal project. And so, I followed her Facebook page, and she put out the call for the internship. I thought, “Why not?” I was aware that I didn't know enough African women writers, Black ones too. So, I said to myself, “Okay, why not? It will allow me to understand, learn, and discover. To acquire knowledge.” I was accepted and started working there. 

Since you've been at 1949 Books, what have you liked the most about working there?

Riane-Paule: Many things. The first is to learn, to discover. Because each time, I discover the writings of Black women writers. Women who look like me. Black women writers, writings, stories. Through their stories, through their works, I learn about the other realities for Black women all over the world. Other theories, other women writers, other women writers from past centuries. Then there's also the fact that I’m working with the founder. I don't talk much about her, but she has a huge knowledge of history. So, I'm still learning from her. And finally, I like that I can share what I'm learning, what I'm discovering, with the people who come to read. Young people, children, they're used to coming here to read.

And what books have made the biggest impression on you at 1949 Books?

Riane-Paule: Well, the first one is "Les traditions-prétextes: le statut de la femme à l'épreuve du culturel" by Constance Yaï. I didn't know there were theory books like that. I didn't think some Ivorian women thought like that and could even write about it. There's that and Maryse Condé's book, "Moi, Tituba sorcière…", which I love. As time goes by, I think there will be several other books that will impact me through my reading.

Have books influenced the way you experience feminism?

Riane-Paule: Awareness is also knowledge. I think that as I've read more and more books, I've gained confidence. I've gained confidence now because I know, I'm learning. So, I know how to defend my feminism better. So, I don't know what people could say to try and discourage me, to make me think that what I'm doing is wrong. So that makes me more confident. I've also become aware of everything that women go through too, everywhere. Confidence and self-assurance. That's what it gives me.

That's true, yes. Knowledge is power.

Riane-Paule: That's why we must learn. Because when we learn, we can defend ourselves and we can try to share and attract other people who are in doubt. In other words, even feminists must keep learning. It's good to be an activist, but it's also good to acquire knowledge. We don't write much either. We need to write more. Books, articles. Write our history, write how we think, the life or society we'd like. Read, write, and then share. Always share. Even in the smallest corners. That's how I see it. 

It's a bit like sharing feminism, like Mariam said.

Riane-Paule: Yeah, exactly. I'll give an example of stories. I mean, if every woman wrote her own story, there would be fewer people talking for us. I feel that men talk too much for us. That's how we used to be. You see the guys on Facebook saying: “Ah, our moms. Our moms used to be like that.” The funny thing is, it's not true. If the moms of yesterday could write about what they went through, even if it was only in a home, recounting everything they went through, and their feelings, I don't think we'd be hearing all this nonsense.

You make a good point.

Riane-Paule: My cousin came to the library recently. The first question he asked me was: are there any books explaining feminism in Côte d'Ivoire? He's too much into his privileges, you see. Because he sees it as a Western thing, you know. So, he was looking for a book that tells the story of Ivorian feminism. I told him, “Brother, read. I suggested some books. When the girls, college girls, come to the library, I give them a book by Mariama Bâ first.

You're doing the right thing.

Riane-Paule: That's right. We must read what's going on here. I'm not going to start with feminist theories, by the way. I say read Mâriama Bâ. You'll find out. Then, beyond books, feminist content must be diverse, i.e., books podcasts, or articles.

Marie-Bénédicte: For example, there's ORAF, l’Organisation pour la réflexion et l'action féministe (EN: Organization for feminist thought and action), which has a library and some very good books too. These are places where subscriptions don't have to be expensive. You can spend part of your Saturday there, reading a bit, discovering new things. It's always very interesting to participate, to go to places like that.

That’s very interesting. In your opinion, how can we ensure that today, teenage girls can begin to have access to education about feminism?

Marie-Bénédicte: Teenage girls aren't necessarily on the Internet, many of them don't even have cell phones yet. They're in schools, they're at home, so it's really about creating small spaces, going out and talking to them. Not necessarily even about feminism, but already talking to them about their rights as young girls, talking to them about consent, talking to them about periods, trying to deconstruct the taboos within them. That's the first step.

Then there's reading. We've talked about it. Many of us have been educated on these issues through reading as well. There are more and more books intended for this age group, teenage girls, which give them the first tools to understand what feminism is all about. I'm thinking, for example, of "Nous sommes tous des féministes" (We should all be feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie), which was produced as a comic strip. It is much easier for them to read the comic and understand it. There's also "Dear Ijeawele, the Manifesto for a feminist education". There are little books like that, which aren't difficult to read, which aren't very long, and which will already give them the basics of what feminism is. The older they grow, the more these notions will be a part of them.

That's right. How would you define feminism in your own words?

Marie-Bénédicte: As I see it, feminism is the fight to consolidate women's rights and a fight to welcome new rights, because the acquisition of rights is not yet complete. Many things are still denied to us as women. Being a feminist means ensuring that women's rights today are not violated, that we don't backtrack, and fighting to welcome new rights.

What are your dreams as a feminist?

Marie-Bénédicte: My greatest dream is that feminism in West Africa will reach a point where women are no longer seen solely through the prism of marriage and the household. That they are truly seen as human beings, and that from then on, they are recognised as having all the rights that should be recognised. I want the weight of African tradition on the status of women to be lifted. My other dream is that the bonds of sisterhood that Ivorian and West African feminists have forged should not, for whatever reason, deteriorate, and that we should continue to make these bonds strong because it's together that we'll be able to achieve the ideal we want.

You talk about sisterhood. How do you think we can consolidate this sorority?

Marie-Bénédicte: I think we've already understood a little and we're making progress. For example, we had our small conversation circle here at the 1949 Books. So, you don't need 100 or 1000 people for bonding. Whenever we can get together, we shouldn't hesitate to come, whether it's for a book club, a conversation circle, or an activity organized by another organization. You always must be where your sisters are, to support them, to let them know that you know how hard they're working for the cause. I'm there to support them in case they get tired or need me. So, I think we need to multiply feminist meeting spaces and make more single-sex spaces, where we can talk about our problems and our realities. That can only strengthen our ties.

Being a sister means being connected.

Marie-Bénédicte: Exactly.

Riane, what does sisterhood mean to you?

Riane-Paule: So, sorority is a bit of a complicated term for me, you see. I don't know how to say it, but it means "being together". I think that, first, women don't all have the same experiences. Even in the feminist context, we don't all have the same experiences. So, being aware that we're different and trying to understand others while remaining united on the same objective. You see, the ultimate goal is women's liberation. That's how I see sisterhood.

How would you define feminism?

Riane-Paule: Simple: women's freedom of choice. That's how I've always defined feminism, or at least that's how I define it. Freedom of choice, the freedom to let women choose what they want, and how they want to live their lives. How they want, without forcing them to follow societal rules. Freedom of choice for women.

Do you have a dream that's close to your heart as a feminist?

Riane-Paule: Yes, I have a dream that's very close to my heart. I'm planning to host a podcast on the representation of women. I've always been interested in women's representation. So, my feminist fight is more about representation. I'd like to have more women in different spheres who inspire us as young girls, even those younger than me, in different spheres. Free women. More free women. More women with clear goals. More women who don't follow society's dictates. That's my dream.

That's what you started doing with the Meet Her Podcast.

Riane-Paule: Yes. It's early days, so I'm taking it slow. 

Congratulations! What about you Mariam?  

Mariam: One of the things I love about cinema is that you can express yourself through it. And when you can express yourself, you can say anything. I'm very keen to do that in my future work. Through what I'm going to create, maybe create representation for young girls. Because there's really no representation here. There's very little representation, even in cartoons. I would have liked to see a woman in the cartoons I used to watch, who doesn't want to have children. A representation of a woman who says, "Okay, I don't want to have kids. I'll do what I want." But there's no such thing. Maybe in foreign films, but here, you won't see any film where a woman says she doesn't want to have children.

The film I made this year is a bit about that. The title of the film is "Memoirs of a Mother". I haven't uploaded it online yet. It's about a woman. Because we live in a society where women are pressured to have children. Whether it's outsiders you don't even know or family, this is exhausting. And that’s how nervous breakdowns happen. It forces some women to do things that put their lives at risk.

Definitely! To wrap up, there's a question we often ask in our conversations. What's your feminist motto? Is there a thought, a phrase, or something that particularly animates us or is close to our hearts as feminists?

Mariam: I don't know. But personally, in everyday life in general, I like to go by what I feel. So, when I can fight, I fight. If I can change something, I do my best to do so...

Marie-Bénédicte: Well, I wouldn't say I have a motto per se but I do have a phrase that sums up everything I think as a feminist about what surrounds us. I usually say, for example, that the patriarchy is lying to you. That's my phrase. There are many, many inequalities today in male-female relations because the patriarchy lies to us and doesn’t stop. And until we get out from under its lies, many people still won't be able to understand what feminist struggles are about. It would be more than that, but my phrase as a feminist, which I won't stop saying, is that the patriarchy is lying to us.

Riane-Paule: For me, it's learning, reading and sharing.

Thank you, Mariam, Riane and Marie-Bénédicte. It’s been delightful to talk with you.

"I don't want to convince anyone. I simply want to act in my own feminist way" - Riane-Paule Katoua (Côte d’Ivoire) 1/2

Riane-Paule Katoua, Marie-Bénédicte Kouadio, and Mariam Kabore are young feminists from Côte d’Ivoire who advocate for women's rights. Marie-Bénédicte is a trained lawyer and a feminist activist in the Ligue Ivoirienne des Droits des Femmes (English: The Ivorian League for Women's Rights). Riane-Paule is also a trained lawyer and a librarian at 1949 Books the library of women's writings from Africa and the Black world. She is also a host of the “Meet’Her Podcast” podcast. Mariam is a young filmmaker, and a photography and art enthusiast who loves discovering new things.

We met them in Abidjan, Yopougon, during a gathering organized by Eyala at 1949 Books. Chanceline Mevowanou engages them in conversation about their feminist awakening, their journeys as young feminists, and their experiences of living feminist values and struggles at a personal level.

This conversation is in two parts. In this first part, they speak about their concerns, the realities that prompted them, and how they live with their feminist convictions. In the second part, they discuss their relationship with reading, feminist education, the importance of documenting African women's stories, and their dreams as feminists.

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Hi Riane, Bénédicte and Mariam. I was delighted to meet you at 1949 Books a few weeks ago. It was a wonderful moment of connection with in-depth exchanges. Thank you for agreeing to share your feminist journeys with Eyala. Could you introduce yourselves?

Marie-Bénédicte: I’m Marie-Bénédicte Kouadio. I’m a trained lawyer and a feminist activist. I work with the Ligue Ivoirienne des Droits des Femmes (English: The Ivorian League for Women's Rights), precisely in their legal department. Apart from that, I love reading. All kinds of genres, feminist literature and literature in general. It truly is my favorite pastime. I have a blog where I share my reading notes with my followers.

Mariam: Mariam Kabore. I’m a young filmmaker still in training. I've just finished my degree. Yay!

Riane-Paule: Hey, I'm Riane-Paule KATOUA. I'm 24 years old. I studied law. I work as a librarian at 1949 Books. I love reading, too. I love discovering content, i.e. films, books, and authors. I love learning about new things.

You're all passionate about works of the mind and books. We met in a library, and that makes perfect sense, haha! Riane, where did you get this passion for reading, books and all?

Riane-Paule: As far back as I can remember, I've always loved reading. Ever since I was a little girl. I remember that in primary school, the pupils were rewarded with books at the end of each year. I always got books, and my mother also bought me books. So, that’s how I discovered the stories. They were more stories about pharaohs, that sort of thing. That's where my love of reading and history started. When I got to secondary school, it began to get on my nerves because the books we were offered were boring. So, I stopped reading in middle school. It was just after graduating high school that my feminist spirit kicked in. I said to myself that I had to read, I had to understand more about what it was all about. That’s how I started reading again.

Indeed, the books on the college syllabus weren't always the most interesting.

Riane-Paule: Not at all. In any case, I couldn't find myself. I spent all that time thinking that I didn't like reading anymore. And it was only after high school that I said to myself, well, I've got to start asking myself some questions. What books would I like to read? What would I like to learn? And that's when I started reading again, and so on. So, I read feminist books, sometimes historical books. There are different types of books, but it's all about my interests and what I'd like to learn and discover.

And you, Bénédicte… how did your passion for books, literature, and writing come about? You read a lot and even share your book reviews online.

Marie-Bénédicte: I'd say since I was very young too. I cannot say exactly when it started, but as far back as I can remember, I've always loved to read. I used to ask for books as Christmas presents, and as soon as I was old enough, I started going to the library. So, I've had this passion for reading ever since I was a little girl. And logically, the more you read, the more you develop your writing skills. So, writing came much later, but that's okay. I quite like it too.

So how did your feminist journeys begin?

Mariam: It all started at home. I'm the youngest child of the family. And when you're the last in the family, you're everyone's “slave” in a way. And at one point, I realised that there were certain tasks that I was being asked to do, that my brothers weren't being asked to do. My brothers, like my cousins, are older than me, but I believe we all have the same body parts. Why do I have to do this for them? At home, I intentionally refused to go near the kitchen. I have no problem with cooking. It's important to cook because you need to be able to feed yourself. But I intentionally decided to stay away from there because I was told “Because you're a woman, you have to know how to cook”.

Also, when I was little, I wanted toys. I always loved video games. People used to buy me dolls. What for? I asked, I cried, and eventually, they stopped buying me dolls. They only bought me mixed toys. I was given Legos, game consoles, and these sorts of things. Well, I can say that my fight started there, unconsciously when I was a child.

And outside of home, was there anything that struck you about how women were treated?

Mariam: Yeah, it happens all the time. For example, the film industry, which is my field, is a very sexist environment. I know a girl in my class who’s a production major. And every time she goes for an interview, she's offered sex. Automatically. There are no half-measures. In other words, each time she goes for a job, she's offered something else and told: “If you don't want it, leave it. And you won't have a job”.

It's infuriating to see how sexism and gender-based violence are everywhere.

Mariam: And that's one case among thousands. I've spoken with many other women in the film industry. And it's very common. There's one thing I've noticed again at work. I was an intern on a series here. I had a position where we were with the photography team. With this team, there's a lot of stuff to lift. There are tripods. There's a lot of stuff, you know. And I felt like my natural abilities were being minimised. I mean, I can carry a tripod. It's not heavy. I don't know about that. They intend to help you… except that you don't need help and you didn't ask for help. And in the business, that happens all the time, all the time. It's like good intentions. But really, you feel like... I don't know if you know what I mean.

Yes, I understand. It's ordinary sexism. When did you start talking about feminism, using specific terms to address these realities?

Mariam: Actually, I started putting words to it very recently. It was during the first year of my cinema degree. I knew about feminism from afar, but I'd never fully gone into it in depth, reading and informing myself. I hadn't done it. I just knew the definitions. And then, for me, it was just common sense. So, really, everyone should be a feminist. When I was a freshman… this must have been in 2020, there was a thing called 16 Days of Activism. And it was right next to my university. I decided to check it out. That's where I first met Riane actually. She was already in an association called Mouvement Femmes et Paroles (English: Women and Words movement). When I went there, I discovered a whole universe. I saw women and people who talked about various themes. They talked about gender-based violence and period poverty… And that's when I realised just how big the issue was, and how much there was to do. After that, I even joined an organization

And Riane, you mentioned talked about your feminist awakening. How did that happen?

Riane: So, feminism was something within me before I even knew it was feminism. I was frustrated by everything I was going through. In our house, there's one really popular dish: foutou. Every lunchtime, we had to mash the plantain. And my grandmother would always get offended: "Why don't you mash it? Why don't you go and sit next to your aunt and mash the foutou?" It annoyed me. So, I had to force myself to go and sit down to watch how to mash the foutou. But as time went by, I couldn't pretend anymore. So, I stopped cooking. It was truly boring to me. I was always told that I had to know how to clean and cook because "your husband...", that I had to know how to do everything assigned to women, that I had to know how to wear dresses... It annoyed me.

Obviously.

Riane: At school, too, the teachers had sexist words at every turn. "Why do girls outperform boys in such and such a subject? Why?" Sexism all the time. Misogyny and harassment bothered me. And the looks on the outside, the inappropriate gestures that were commonplace. It all frustrated me.

I thought I had to find out what it was all about. And strangely enough, I did some research. I didn't know what I was looking for, but I did some research and came across videos, for example, of Christiane Taubira. I think that's how I discovered feminism, through her too. I learned about her struggle, and what type of politician she was. I said to myself, ah yes, that's feminism. I continued my research, read books, and so on. Actually, I read more articles than books at first.

The first feminist content I read was also articles.

Riane: I read a lot of articles to try and understand it step by step. At first, I saw it as a European movement. I didn't know it was a movement here. In other words, I didn't think there was a feminist movement here. The more I read, the more I saw writings and theories coming out. That's where my awakening to feminism began.

What about you, Bénédicte?

Marie-Bénédicte: I'd say it came from certain inequalities I witnessed in my own home, even before I had social media. There were a lot of unfair treatments at home. Men had a lot of privileges that I didn't have, and I always wondered why. For example, in my house, boys didn't wash the bathrooms, simply because women showered there too. My dad used to say that a boy couldn’t clean where menstruating women also showered. So, right from the start within our family, we were already locked into these shackles of gender roles, a woman's place, a man's place. I didn't think it was normal.

These stories of women's place, men's place, hum...!

Marie-Bénédicte: And the more you grow up, the more you have access to social networks, and to the media, you see that there are women who are killed simply for being women. Or that some women are raped, beaten by their partners. We don't have to go through that. Because there are very few men who experience this kind of situation simply because they're men. This kind of inequality and trampling of women's rights that I noticed in our society pushed me to get involved too.

So how did you start to speak out about these realities?

Marie-Bénédicte: At home, long before I defined myself as a feminist, I didn't follow all these rules about what boys and women should or shouldn’t do. I was a bit stubborn. People back home were already used to it. When I started identifying as a feminist, it didn't really surprise the people at home. It's more the people outside, the friends, the people who will tell you that you've joined the feminist group, the girls who hate men club. You've joined their group, you're going to start waging war against men. But actually, that's not it at all.

This is just absurd, eh?

Marie-Bénédicte: People start to see you as a man-hater, someone out to fight against the established rules of society. It was more difficult when it was in the eyes of my friends. Even now, there are some people I can't talk to about this because they're closed off to conversation. They don't even try to understand. They immediately say that when you call yourself a feminist, that means you hate men, and that you want all men to disappear from the face of the earth.

I've noticed that you express yourself a lot online. 

Marie-Bénédicte: Yes. I discovered some Ivorian activists like Carrelle Laetitia, Meganne Boho, and Marie-Paule Okri on social media.  There was a woman who had been a victim of violence. So, they all got together, and as they say, they raised hell. At one point, they were the only ones you could see. Although not everyone liked what they were doing, they were the only ones you could see. I said to myself that I wanted to do what they did because there's a lot of inequality in our society. Women’s rights are disregarded. And that's why I wanted to get involved as a feminist activist. I joined the League. 

Mariam, when you started talking about feminism, how did people react? 

Mariam: At home, it's a bit of a problem. People disagree. But I’m used to it. We don't stop talking just because some people disagree. So, sometimes, I get into endless debates with the people at home. I stand firm in my opinion, on my position. Frankly, it's like every day outside. It's all the same. I cut ties with some friends of mine because I found out I couldn’t stand them. So, for the sake of peace, I left. There are others too… maybe they do it to tease me, but as soon as something comes up, they tell me: “Yeah, the feminist will have something to say now.” They do it all the time. Sometimes there are negative connotations to it. I don't know why. Anyway, you know how people are.

The sloppy jokes, the bizarre allusions... Anyways!

Mariam: But there's nothing negative about being a feminist. 

Would you say that feminism has changed you and how you live or do things?

Mariam: Yes. As I was learning more and more about feminism, I realised that there were a lot of things I was unconsciously doing and thinking, “Wow, this is wrong!” For example, you can say things and unconsciously exacerbate rape culture.

That’s very serious. There are certain things that, now, I wouldn't allow myself to say at all. So, yes, there was a huge reassessment, even professionally. In the films I watch, I've realised that there are more male directors than female directors. And yet, there are as many female directors as male directors. It's just that female directors are made invisible. Now I’m mindful, and I watch movies made by women. It also came with a wave of independence. The independence I had before is stronger now. 

Ah, that's great.

Mariam: Yes. Even in my way of watching films, especially African ones, I'm very judgmental. For example, I remember seeing an Ivorian film. I don't think anyone saw the problem. Maybe it was just me. How do you say again? I am probably paranoid. In the film, there were two children. They were sitting in the back, and the parents were there saying something like, “Ah, he's your husband, you'll be a good wife, you'll cook.” And I thought it wasn’t the kind of message children should hear. I thought it was inappropriate for children.

You're not paranoid. What you say about movies is important. Society shapes us through the mass media, and films often convey messages that need to be questioned. What do you think it means to be a feminist in Côte d'Ivoire?

Mariam: Being a feminist in Côte d'Ivoire? It's a 24/7 battle. First, because it's easy to get into situations where you meet people who make inappropriate comments. We're also in a country where, from my point of view, for example, pedophilia is very trivialised. There was a case of a little girl in primary school who became pregnant by one of her teachers. And in an article, they wrote that they had a relationship. I was outraged. A minor. Anyway, like I said, it's a constant battle. There are misogynists everywhere.

I read some articles about this case, and it was rather unfortunate. Riane, you said that you initially didn't know there was a feminist movement here. How did you later discover this movement?

Riane-Paule: It's also through social networks. I saw that there were associations. And there were quite a number of them. There was the League, Stop au Chat Noir, and Mouvement Femmes & Paroles, the organization I'm currently working with. It's an association that works to combat sexism and gender-based violence through education. So, I found myself more connected with their work. I think education is the best tool to try and change people's mentality. So, I felt more comfortable with the association I'm part of. I joined them in 2021-2022, I think. And that's where I started my activism.

And when you started naming yourself as a feminist, what was the reaction of those around you? 

Riane-Paule: I remember once, someone asked me “Ah yes but are you a feminist?”. I said, “Yeah, I'm a feminist”. They replied, “But why are you a feminist? You can't call yourself a feminist with all the jokes you see on Facebook.” I asked what they knew about feminism. No answer. And that's the funny thing.  You see people misunderstand feminism. And then there's dishonesty. Dishonesty, in the sense that there’s the option to look things up. People could decide to be informed about it, to understand it, but they have no desire to do that. They choose to do nothing and say: “Oh, they're frustrated, that's it”. A parent told me once:  “Oh yeah, those frustrated girls aren't going to get married. So, you want to stay in that group too”.

The reactions are almost similar everywhere!

Riane-Paule: This won’t change anything about how I feel or my activism. I prefer actions anyway. Yes, you must try to convince people. But I don't want to convince anyone. I simply want to act in my own feminist way.

In the second part of our conversation with Riane-Paule Katoua, Marie-Bénédicte Kouadio, and Mariam Kabore, we talk about their relationship with reading, feminist education, the importance of documenting African women's stories, and their dreams as feminists. Click here to read part 2.

Afrifem in Action: Edwige Renée Dro and 1949Books, the feminist library in Yopougon, Côte d’Ivoire

In 1949, more than 2000 women staged a march in Côte d’Ivoire, walking from Abidjan to Grand-Bassam in protest against French colonial rulers, and to demand the freedom of their compatriots. However, when the story of this remarkable movement is told, the role of these women is often reduced to that of wife and mother to male political leaders.

In this edition of our AfriFem in Action series, we chat with Edwige Renée Dro, African feminist writer and founder of 1949 books, the library of women's writings from Africa and the Black world. We learn about the story behind the 1949 March, how it inspired the creation and name of the library, and what it means to run this space in the heart of Yopougon in Abidjan.

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Edwige, it’s an honour to feature you for our #AfriFemInAction series, especially as someone who has been a part of our team. How do you introduce yourself?

Thank YOU! This is one of my best interviews. I am Edwige Renée Dro. I’m from Côte d’Ivoire and I now live in Abidjan. It’s one of those things I never thought I would do; I thought I would live maybe in Yamoussoukro – I’m not a great fan of big cities but here we are. I’m a writer and a literary translator. I am also a literary activist.

And that’s exactly what we will be talking about. But first, what does being an African feminist signify for you?

It is evidence that feminism is not some strange thing that fell on “evolved” African women, whatever people mean by “evolved”. It is even laughable when people decide to throw stones at you by saying that if you are a feminist as an African woman, you are westernized. I’m not mincing my words because saying that an African woman who knows she is worth being treated as a human being is westernized makes me weep and makes me angry. How can you completely decide to erase the stories and the contributions of women like Abra Pokou, Akwa Boni, Aline Sitoé Diatta, Tata Adjatché, Marie Angélique Savané, Andrée Blouin, and I could go on. These are women who didn’t see or let anyone see them as inadequate because they are women. And in their freedom, they inspired other women (and men), fought for the dignity of their people, people everywhere.

And as an African feminist, especially with the mentalities we see today, because many people do not educate themselves, it is important for me to use my privileges to say that I’m not doing anything extraordinary. I’m actually chilling. I read about Andrée Blouin, a feminist, and Patrice Lumumba’s Chief of Staff, and I’m blown away. Blown away! But some of our people imagine that these were the meek women that they want us to be today. Oh no! They were the original grandes gueules. We are our ancestresses!

I love the passion, and the very clear resistance against a single narrative of who African women and African feminists are. How would you describe your journey as a writer in relation to your identity as an African feminist?

Listen, your politics transpires in whatever you do. The more I evolve in my journey as a feminist, the more I want to be free in what I write about, in the projects I choose. Also, I started writing professionally in 2012; I identified as a feminist in 2016. But I started questioning things and people around me at the age of 5. That’s my earliest memory of when I questioned something. And that’s how I describe my relation between being a writer and being a feminist. They are both my identities. I can do nothing but write; I cannot be anything but a feminist because I refuse to be limited by the fact that I was born a woman. I mean, being a woman is the most beautiful thing ever.

You are also very passionate about translation, and you have talked about it being political. Can you tell us more about this?

Everything is political in my world. I’m very much a political and politicized woman. And I have chosen to identify as a literary translator – notice that I always precede “translator” with “literary”. I believe in the power of stories, and people have the right to tell their stories in whatever language they choose. As translators, we have the duty to render that and respect everything that went into it: cultural context, register of language, etc.

So, if someone writes “Ivorians do”, I will translate it as “les populations ivoiriennes font”, so that when we come to the pronoun, I will use “elles”. I don’t even want to use the “iels” (a contraction of ils and elles, for they in English) or “ivoirien.ne.s” (to designate Ivorian men and women) or God forfend, “travailleur.euse.s” (for workers, both men and women workers) because if you notice in those examples I have given, the masculine pronoun still leads. So, right now, my work is that the masculine pronoun doesn’t lead too much. Now in the work of fiction, it is a bit difficult, but then again, there lies the challenge: to choose work by writers with a political and feminist consciousness. This doesn’t mean that the writers whose projects I choose to work with are always feminist; sometimes, that is not the case. And that’s very fine. But it’s important that the work has consciousness.

What does that work of political translation mean for African feminist movement-building?

We need more and more translation; translators that are aware that we are not just replacing words with their equivalent meanings. Translators who want to push for translations of lesser-translated texts. Translators who want to bridge the gap. There is such a linguistic imbalance in feminist materials out there, so much imbalance, that we might be tempted to think that African feminism is English-speaking. One thing I loved with Eyala, and still do, is the way translation is done. When you are introducing Lorato Modongo, you don’t try to explain to us in the French-speaking world that Lorato Modongo is a powerhouse in Botswana. Eyala respects our intelligence, and this compassion in activism was very inspiring to me when I was in the reflection stage of 1949. Yes, standards will be high. Yes, it will be an intellectual place, but we will come with a desire to learn from others who have other qualities. We’ll be compassionate. I learn from people who get stuck in, for instance. It is not a very strong trait of mine. I live in my mind. I think a lot, I process things better through writing, etc.

You mentioned 1949, and I want us to get into that. It’s your baby, the African Feminist Library. What does the name signify?

I love that you say THE African Feminist Library. I call it THE library or LA bibliothèque and I like that. It is not an undefined library (laughs). 1949 is the year women politicians of the PDCI (parti démocratique de Côte d’Ivoire) and the wider RDA (Rassemblement démocratique africain) marched against the French colonial administration in Côte d’Ivoire. Now, this march was not an organized march that we might think about when we think “march”. To evade arrest, they went in groups of two or three women at a time, and they pretended that they were going to the farm or to visit a friend or a family member. And it is how some 2,000 women arrived in Grand Bassam.  

What was the inspiration for the creation of the library, beyond the story that lends its name?

The library was set up on 5th March 2020, so we are four years old now, and therefore still at pre-school. The inspiration is the name, and I chose that name because either that story of the women’s march is all but forgotten or when people remember it, they say that more than 2,000 women marched to liberate their husbands (7 men) from prison, thereby negating the stories and the sacrifices of these women.

And going back to that first question about being an African feminist, you see why it is super important to bang on again and again about the contributions of women.

The inspiration for the creation of the library was also about NOT rounding the angles. One of our inspirations at the library is Stephanie St Clair. We don’t hide the fact that she was a gangster in Harlem in the 20s. So, in the same way we mention that she played an active role in the civil rights movement, writing and giving money to the movement, we also mention that she was a gangster. The two are not exclusive. Or we speak about the Nana Benz. I spoke earlier about inspiration. Some may say that their work as Nana Benz benefitted only their children and not the many other women in Togo, Benin, or Ghana. But what’s wrong with inspiring one’s child? And are we sure it is ONLY their children they inspired?

We who look on the actions of women who came before us, women who are more visible today… we must cultivate compassion. I tell you, when you are not in the thick of the action, there is so much you would do better.

And I think there is value in us looking back at what those things are and doing that ‘better’ in our time. What are some of the activities that you engage in at the library? I imagine it’s not just a space for reading, like most other libraries.

We are always doing something or the other at this library. I tell you, it’s the pre-school age!

We host feminist conversations every other month– we call them Le bissap féministe. We drink bissap (hibiscus juice), we choose a theme, and we talk about it. We also invite experts: lawyers, doctors and more. If we are holding a conversation around the mortality rate among women, we will invite a doctor, a gynaecologist so that when a woman leaves that conversation, she knows where to go, and she knows what shouldn’t happen to her. The library is in an area where the socio-economic background is lower, and we take that into account in our programming.

We also have conversations with young girls every fortnight – young men are allowed to join, but if they are not coming, we are not going to drag anybody from the street. We actually don’t do that, dragging either men or women off the street; we just want to be soooooo good that we give people no choice but to come to us. I mean, solely women’s writings, from Africa and the black world, organising things with names like Le bissap féministe! In Yopougon! Hahaha! So yes, we have conversations with young girls, and we read together. We play, by inviting a voice coach. If we want women, young girls to speak up, well, they need to be taught HOW to speak up. And if you speak in your throat and your voice is monotone, nobody is going to listen to you.

We also do storytelling with children aged 5 to 8 years (pushing to 10 years old because no one wants to leave); we only read stories written by African and Black women. It is hard work. We need more stories for children that are not seeking to wrap things up with a nice morale at the end.

I like that you have something for people from different generations. What key plans do you have for this year?

Pre-schoolers never have a program. Hahaha! Their teachers do but they themselves don’t. For World Book Day, we decided to showcase the five Ivorian women to read. We now have a bookstore. We are doing creative writing masterclasses. We must document, and to do that, we must learn to document. We must learn how to tell a story. Sometimes you meet people who want to tell you the story of their suffering, but what makes the story of your suffering interesting? Suffering is suffering, to various degrees, but how do we say it? We’ve hosted two residencies so far, one a writing residency for women writers in Côte d’Ivoire at the beginning of their career, and one a research residency open to Black women from anywhere in the world. We’ve had one play: a group of women griots. We’re used to seeing men griots but here we had women.

In a nutshell, we don’t have programs; we do things as we’re inspired, and thankfully, they are all sticking so far. Some of them, like the podcast, we’ve had to put on hiatus, because funds, because time, because human resources. Research takes a lot of time!

I can’t wait to listen to the podcast when it launches, and we will be happy to share it with the Eyala community. How has the library been received in your community and beyond?

Listen, no one had any idea what we were doing, and I didn’t do anything to help myself by choosing the books I did or holding the kind of conversations I do. I’m a fun person but I tend to say things as I see it. I do it with a lot of compassion and care, but I say what is what.

The library has a restaurant, and one day, we had a man who came to eat, and he was amazed that we had all these books. Then he said: “I hope it is a panafrican library hein! You Africans these days.” I replied that it is panafrican. He looked around, and I suppose because he didn’t see Cheick Anta Diop, asked what makes it panafrican. I answered that a library that has works by Mariama Ba, Marie-Vieux Chauvet, Ken Bugul, Maryse Condé, etc. is as panafrican as panafricanism goes. He conceded grudgingly but said that I knew what he meant. I replied that I didn’t. I knew exactly what he meant, but what’s the fun in life if you’re going to shake the cobwebs in people’s minds?

Another parent decided not to allow his daughter to visit the library when he saw that on the back of our T-shirts, we’d written: the library of women’s writings from Africa and the Black world. I just asked him what was wrong with highlighting the contributions of African and Black women.

It’s interesting how much people can lose out on by holding on to their limited views and perspectives.

At our first bissap féministe, there were five people: me, the two guest speakers and two other people. Haha. At the first storytelling session, there were two kids and one of them was mine. Today, we do bissap féministe where 30 people attend, ages varying between 20 and 65 with most of them living in Yopougon. We have people who are not involved in feminist conversations. We have storytelling activities on Wednesdays and Saturdays with 20 kids attending each time.

During our first year, nobody knew there was even a library in the neighbourhood; today if you are lost, they will show you where it is. Beyond the community, we have had people telling us that the library was too far, and I have always wondered: far from what? Who? Where? Now, people come.

And what would you say is the impact you’re seeing from this space. Does it align with the vision you had when you created the library?

I see that we are focusing on the literary productions that put women at the centre of conversations. That parent who didn’t want his daughter to come to the library has now allowed her and even pays her subscription fee. That’s the vision. And it aligns.

I love that now, teenage girls come in and spend the time reading, whether we have an activity or not. I love that we open the doors 6 days a week from 10am to 9pm, and sometimes, nobody comes in! This, I always tell people. That’s why I love telling the stories of starting events where 2 people come, where nobody wants to come but keeping at it, pursuing the vision and the objectives you set out for yourself. My ambition with the library is not to run around like a headless chicken.

What three tips would you give to someone who is looking to set up a similar library somewhere in Africa?

• Decide why you want to set up a library that focuses on women’s contributions.

• Know that you will not and cannot do everything, and that this is very fine.

• Know that there are some conversations that you will not be able to hold now; write them in your notebook and either find a way to have them in a creative manner or later.

Let’s talk more about your personal connection with this library. How has running the library impacted your work as a writer, an African woman and as a feminist?

Oh, as a feminist African woman, I know the value of sleep. Siestas especially. I love nothing more than stopping everything at either 1pm or 2pm and just going for siestas – and my siestas are long! Basically, I sleep. So, I might wake up at 3:30, light some incense, drink tea, then start work again. I realised, the more I read, that the women who came before me, the women I admire today, they made time for themselves. And everyone has a way of making time. For me, it is siestas, it is choosing to not see people. It is choosing to read. Or going for a swim. It is definitely not a massage, for instance.

You don’t make the kind of music they did/do, wrote/write the things they did, paint(ed) without taking time for yourself. That’s why for the residencies here, we do not insist on creating. It is okay to go away to sleep, to read, to eat, to go for short walks, to drink great wine, to sleep some more, to be with yourself. In fact, one of our mottos at the library is: I have so much to do that I’m going to read.

We have so much to do. Our continent has so much to do. Let’s rest and read instead of running around with an obligation to produce.

As a writer, I want to learn how to write plays and show them. In the case of Côte d’Ivoire, some 51% of people cannot read or write French (and perhaps the 70 other languages of Côte d’Ivoire). But also, we have an oral culture and personally, I’m interested in the orality of literature. But I make time to write. I close my office door every Monday and Tuesday to write. I read every morning.

What is your biggest dream for the library?

The dream is too big that I cannot mention it.

Cheers to big dreams and hoping that we witness it all come to life. What writing can we expect from Edwige the writer soon?

I’m busy editing a novel – mine – and writing a collection of essays.

How can the Eyala community support you and the library?

We always need great books. We need volunteers. And funding! Which means fiscal sponsoring. It’s a long story but I’m prepared to talk about it if anyone is interested.

Let’s finish with our favourite final question: what is your feminist life motto?

Question always. Be free. Be compassionate.

Thank you so much Edwige. We look forward to joining you for a bissap féministe someday soon.

Discover 1949Books and Support the Library

For more information on 1949Books, explore their website and follow their social media pages on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

Let us know what you think about the library and our conversation with Edwige! Join the conversation on our on Twitter, Facebook or Instagram @EyalaBlog.

Afrifem in Action: Salématou Baldé and Aude N’depo Discuss the Mes Menstrues Libres festival in Côte d'Ivoire

Menstrual Hygiene Day is observed each year on May 28. This awareness day highlights the importance of good menstrual hygiene management, and many activities are usually organized to commemorate the day.

In this conversation, Salématou Baldé and Aude N’depo share their experience as members of the organizing team for Mes Menstrues Libres, the first festival focused on menstrual dignity in French-speaking West Africa. This year’s festival took place from 25th to 26th May 2024 in Abidjan.

We spoke with them ahead of the festival. Explore the interview to learn about how African feminists created this space for conversation, awareness-raising, and advocacy to tackle period poverty and deconstruct the stigma around menstruation.

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Hello Salématou and Aude! Let’s start with introductions. Please tell us who you are.

Salématou: My name is Salématou Baldé. I am a feminist activist, president of the NGO Actuelles, and a co-organizer of the first Mes Menstrues Libres festival in West Africa. NGO Actuelles is committed to promoting respect for the sexual and reproductive health and rights of girls and women, including people with disabilities. Our programs focus on fighting against sexual and gender-based violence. We also engage in knowledge acquisition, skills development and training, as well as advocacy, a strategic area for the organization. Particularly advocacy for adopting a law on reproductive health in Ivory Coast.

Aude: I’m Aude N’depo, project coordinator for the organization Gouttes Rouges, a co-organizer of the Mes Menstrues Libres festival. Gouttes Rouges is an organization that works for menstrual dignity. We fight against illiteracy and period poverty.

Tell me about the origins of the Mes Menstrues Libres festival.

Aude: The festival was created by two great African feminists who work against period poverty: Amandine Yao, the president of Gouttes Rouges, and Salématou here.

Salématou: This will make you smile. Amandine and I have been involved in research on period poverty in Côte d’Ivoire. Our work is to make menstrual hygiene products accessible to young girls, restore their dignity, and make them understand that menstruation is normal. One day at the airport, we were traveling to Niamey to attend the first feminist Agora. I said to Amandine: “Wait, we’re going to Niamey and we’re going to meet other feminists and then we’ll fly back to Côte d’Ivoire. Don’t you think that this year we should do something special for Menstrual Hygiene Day?” She replied “Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Then I said, “How about a festival?” And she said “That’s amazing! Let’s talk about it when we get back.” That’s how we got the idea, at the airport while we waited to board our flight.

Haha, that’s amazing!

Salématou: Then the idea started to grow. What kind of activity could we offer? Who would participate? What were we going to talk about? How would we get funding? After we left the Agora, we continued the ideation process, and then it became necessary to find a name.

We had several names in mind and then Amandine asked: “What about Menstrues Libres?” This fit perfectly with the idea we had of the initiative. That’s how this great adventure began. Initially, there were two of us, but we brought in people from outside our organizations to help with the brainstorming. Then we agreed that it was necessary to bring together the organizations working to tackle period poverty, whether in prisons, markets, communities, or schools. So we got everyone together and organized the first edition with limited resources, thanks to the commitment and dynamism of our members. And now, we're hosting the second one on May 25 and 26, 2024 in Abidjan.

Aude: The idea for the festival was great. We’re two organizations that work on the issue. We know the realities that girls and women face. We know how sacred the woman’s body is. That it’s not something people talk about. Creating a festival where we open the discourse around it was necessary.

Absolutely. A festival like this is necessary. The taboos around menstruation are burdensome. There’s a lot of stigma and stereotypes. Do you remember the first time you had your period?

Aude: I remember being in the eighth grade when it happened. I was very embarrassed and I didn’t want to talk about it. And so, I didn’t. I went home. Since I have older sisters, I watched them. I managed alone, I didn’t have any pads so I found a cloth that I folded and wore. At some point, it got so soaked that my sister noticed and told me. She asked me: “Since when have you been on your period?” She taught me what to do, explained how things would go, what I had to do, and so on. I told myself that if I had been educated on the issue, things would have gone differently.

Later I began hanging out with other girls, and they told me that in school they couldn’t talk about menstruation because their male classmates mocked them. That’s when I realized how stigmatized and taboo it was. This is why I advocate for this cause.

 What are the goals of the festival?

Salématou: When we organized the Mes Menstrues Libres festival, we aimed to break the stigma and foster the sharing of experiences. Let’s take the example of girls who think that after their first period, they will get pregnant when a boy touches them. That’s a belief that’s been around for a while. Breaking the silence on this issue is crucial to begin sharing relevant information. It is necessary to offer a place for discussion, awareness-raising, and networking. We cannot neglect intergenerational conversations to let young girls know that they’re not alone. That it’s something natural that our mothers and grandmothers experienced before us. And that some of them still experience. Our next goal is to set up a framework for reflection on how to tackle period poverty in Côte d’Ivoire.

By starting the festival, I imagine that you also had some goals for engagement with the State and other stakeholders.

Yes. We wondered how to make the State consider the issue of period poverty as a major social issue. How can we face all of this? To answer all these questions, we need lots of people and an environment convenient for discussion.

There are some pads and menstrual cups in Côte d’Ivoire. Tampons aren’t fabricated here but they are sold. We therefore needed to find a way to gather these supplies in the same spaces, and bring in healthcare professionals. The composition of sanitary pads is often questioned.  How can we assemble them, initiate conversations, and find solutions? These were our initial goals with the festival.

This will be the second edition of the festival. How did the first one go? How did people react to it?

Salématou: On the first day, as soon as we started talking about it, people would say: “Wait, a festival on menstruation? A festival? These two don’t go together! Festivals are for having fun and dancing. But you’re talking about periods. No, no, no, no you need to tell us more about this.”

That’s true! I had the same reaction as well. But more in the sense of “Oh, this is a space where we can discuss serious matters with joy.” I love that! I am tired of symposiums and heavy spaces.

Salématou: And that was the idea. We knew that we often organized panels, webinars, and talks. However, for young people, it is necessary to bring them together in the places they’re already in. And festivals are great for that; the name only sparks interest. The first edition took place at the Koumassi Agora. This is a place for gatherings and community life. There are many schools nearby, as well as neighbourhoods with young people. They showed up and were very interested in the activities. There were some activities on a rolling schedule, and some that were available throughout the festival period. 

For instance, we had the painting workshop for which we couldn’t welcome a large number of participants. It was limited. Many young people couldn’t join. We vowed to do better for the second edition.

What was the most significant thing for you during the first edition?

Salématou: What struck me the most at that year's event was the attendance of the deputy mayor of Koumassi, to whom we had sent an invitation letter. He arrived and visited the stands. At the end of the festival, we submitted the report and during our discussions, we decided to return to the municipality for the second edition. It's a good start for collaboration and commitment from the authorities.

What about you Aude?

Aude: What struck me was the commitment of the young girls I saw. We had girls aged 9, 10, and 11 who were fully involved, listening to the panels, and asking questions. Above all, we had a special room called “The Experience Room” where everyone could come and tell their story, an anecdote about their menstruation experience. There were so many surprising stories and I thought it was truly a great idea to do this festival. We really helped people to speak out.

What’s the experience room?

Salématou: It's an empty room with a table in the middle, filled with papers and pens. We had some ropes hanging above and also had some pegs. So, when you arrive, you take a piece of paper, in any colour you like. You choose the coloured pen that suits you best, that you’re most comfortable with. You tell us about your menstrual experience anonymously. Anonymously. And when you've finished, you take your clip and put it on one of the strings. The idea is that the girls who come into the room can look around, read about the experiences, and think: “look, I'm not the only one going through this. This other person already did.” That's what the experience room is all about.

That’s wonderful!

Salématou: Yeah! It’s a great idea that we got from Amandine. It’s my favorite thing at the festival. Because each year we get to read wonderful stories.

Aude: The other thing that struck me was the festival’s impact. I am working on another project called Club Rouge. Through these clubs, we organize workshops in schools where I talk to young girls. These girls were invited to the first edition. When I went back to their school, their friends would come to me and say: “We weren’t invited, but here’s what our girlfriends had to say about the festival. We would love to get involved. We also have things to say. We don’t have toilets in our school, so we can’t change during our periods.” That means that there was feedback. The young girls who went to the festival shared their experience with their friends and in turn, motivated them to speak out.

We often talk about menstruation. However, it is not very common to hear about it from a feminist point of view. What does the festival contribute in this regard?

Salématou:  Well, the festival is run by two feminist organizations. The foundation is already clear. We can’t separate menstruation and feminism. We’re tackling an issue that concerns women and girls. We can’t let others speak for us. We can’t let girls grow without the right information. We must explain to girls what it's all about, and boost their confidence, self-esteem, and dignity. We need to deconstruct the myths and preconceived ideas imposed on us by society. We must be part of something and build it. This festival is also about creating and instilling a feminist spirit in girls.

You mentioned dignity. I increasingly see “menstrual dignity” instead of “menstrual hygiene”. Why is that?

Aude: We traditionally talk about “menstrual hygiene”. These words give a hygienist dimension to menstruation. It’s like accepting the notion that menstruation is dirty, something that needs to be washed because it’s not clean. We use the word “dignity” because menstruating is normal and natural. Some communities celebrate it. We don’t want to reinforce the preconceived ideas about menstruation. For us, it’s not dirty, it’s natural, the renewal of a cycle. This is why we talk about “menstrual dignity”.

Indeed, the term “menstrual hygiene” implies that menstruation is inherently dirty or something to be ashamed of. And that fuels the stigma around it. Saying “menstrual dignity” helps tackle these taboos and highlights the fact that this issue is also about ensuring people who menstruate are educated and have access to period supplies and sanitary facilities without being discriminated against. Does the festival also offer a space to talk openly about sexuality?

Salématou: Yes. Do you know about the Minou Libre workshops? We'll be hosting a Minou Libre workshop during the festival. There will also be talking circles and panels on various topics related to sexual and reproductive health.

That’s great. What are the activities planned for this second edition?

Salématou: Well, this year it will take place at the Koumassi youth center. The  mayor’s office offered us this space. For fixed activities, we have the workshops, the experience room, and the exhibition corridor, where partners and organizations working in the field of sexual and reproductive health come to exhibit and discuss with attendees. This year, there will be sewing, painting, and sculpture workshops. We also have a shop with mugs and tote bags for sale. The idea behind the event is to raise funds to renovate toilets in schools, especially in middle schools and high schools. This will enable young girls to have safe spaces with dignity so they don't have to use mixed toilets. Then there's the “Us” room. It's a room for resting and networking. We know that when you come to a festival from morning to night, sometimes you get tired. You can get a bit sluggish. So we've actually set up a room where you can rest, network, and chat, but in a very intimate and safe way. Those are the fixed activities.

As for the rolling activities, there are panels and discussions with experts. There are talking circles with a small, very intimate group. And of course, we have our evening presentation of the production of initiatives and organizations that we've called “Period party”. Because when we say festival, we also mean music and dance. We're going to have fun, we're going to dance.

That’s very interesting.

Aude: Yeah. The Mes Menstrues Libres festival will be awesome. The first day is open to everyone, we’ll have panels like last year. There will be activities to demystify menstruation. Then, there’ll be women-only workshops, to share our experiences, and help open the dialogue. We’ll talk about the initiatives set up to fight period poverty. We’ll share their best practices, learn, and draw inspiration from them.

Salématou: The new interesting addition this year will be our feminist charter. The charter will allow us to handle, or define everything that will be done at the festival, whether it’s words, gestures, or comments. Everything must be done in alignment with a feminist spirit. The charter will be presented to the festival-goers and all of our partners.  We also made some headway in the scientific structure of the festival. What can we do? What can we discuss? We thought about our feminist sisters from other countries; who can enlighten us, co-create? This also shows everything we have in mind to nurture the festival.

What challenges did you face with organizing the festival?

Salématou: I’d say one of our biggest challenges in setting up such a huge festival is first and foremost financial. The partners get involved a bit late. The first edition was difficult because our partners got on board during the week of the festival.  It’s tricky because we have productions and orders to place. The other challenge is time. Time is always against us. Sometimes we are under the impression that we have enough time before realizing that we don’t. We know the festival is happening in a week and we’re super busy.

Do you have further plans for the festival? Like making it happen in other countries?

Salématou: Yes we do. Amandine and I are currently thinking about it. The first and second editions took place in Côte d’Ivoire. If we have the partners to support us, why won’t we have the third edition in another country? I’ll keep the surprise.

What is the festival's demand from decision-makers?

Salématou: We have many priorities regarding sexual and reproductive health and rights (SRHR). We’re using this festival as a platform to make these demands. We're talking about the importance of having a legal framework in which girls and women can enjoy their freedoms and rights in terms of sexual and reproductive health. This is an obstacle in Côte d’Ivoire. Without a legal framework, everything is skewed. There’s a legal void.

The second priority is information on sexual and reproductive health. Young people very often don't have the right information. They have information, but not the right information about their sexual and reproductive health. So for us, it's also a priority that young people are informed, that they can make informed decisions. The other priority is linked to the first. It is to increase the commitment of the authorities and governments to take sexual and reproductive health into account in their agendas, and to have them acknowledge that it is a priority, and a public health issue.

Aude: We have invited decision-makers to the festival because we want concrete measures in the fight against period poverty. We’ll share a glimpse of what has been done during the festival while demanding more.

At Eyala we often ask this question to our interviewees: what is your feminist life motto? It can be a thought, a phrase, a quote, or anything that inspires you as a feminist.

Salématou: I’d say my motto changes because I have several. First, I believe every girl and every woman must have access to their rights regarding sexual and reproductive health. My other motto would be love because we need love, sisterhood, and intersectionality. We need to address these jointly. We live in a world that’s undoubtedly evolving, but is it moving in line with our beliefs? Is it moving according to what we want? We need to move together. I believe in sisterhood, listening, empathy, respect, kindness, and open-mindedness. And for me, love encompasses all of that. Love makes us strong. Love makes us powerful and makes us thrive.

Exactly. Our movements need so much love and sisterhood, especially now with everything happening in the world. I don’t think we can succeed without love and benevolence.

Salématou: Exactly and we’re the ones who have to build them.

What about you Aude?

Aude: As a feminist, mine is “My body, my choice”. I think that as women, we must be free to make our own decisions about our bodies because they belong to us first and foremost. We aim to dismantle this system that imposes on women what society wants. So my motto as a feminist is “My body, my choice”.

This is my biggest wish for every woman: that we all belong to ourselves fully. Many thanks to you both. This was a great conversation. We wish you the very best with the Mes Menstrues Libres festival.

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"Being a feminist artist means using your art to help the movement grow." - Mafoya Glélé Kakaï (Benin) 3/3

This is the third and final part of our interview with Mafoya Glélé Kakaï, feminist lawyer, painter, and poet from Benin. 

In the first part we explored her childhood, marked by a love of reading and writing, and her questions about gender inequality. In the second part, she shared her reflections on her relationship with her mother and gender stereotypes, particularly the social expectations associated with the role of women. In this final part, we explore her personal and artistic journey, her conception of artivism, her creations, her feminist vision, and her future plans as a feminist artivist. 

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As an artist, activist, and feminist, how would you describe the way all these roles are interconnected in your daily life? 

I'm a woman who grew up in a patriarchal society and my art is a bit of a diary in some ways. I have a lot of abstract stuff, but I have a lot of work that expresses what I see. I'm very sensitive to the status of women, and quite often when I paint, I transcribe how I feel about being a woman and what I see around me, regarding the treatment of women in society. When you're a woman living in a patriarchal society, when you talk about yourself, it’s impossible not to talk about the realities of women. You cannot avoid talking about the pain that comes with being a woman. Being an African woman is full of pain and difficulties.

So, even without wanting to, even without looking for it, my art naturally becomes a way for me to resist. There's poetry too. I tend to link some of my paintings to poems. I can write an activist poem and then paint a canvas that corresponds to that activist poem. So, I sometimes have paintings linked to poems. 

If you had to talk about the themes at the heart of what you create, at the heart of your artistic work, what would they be? 

First, women. The way I see women, especially African women, because I'm an African woman. I also talk about the way society sees women. I have a painting that can be found on my Instagram page that’s called: Femmes invisibles (Invisible Women). I think that's how I called it. It's a canvas that, for me, expresses the way women are present in the world. They make the world, but they're also invisibilized and ignored. I'm also talking about myself, my feelings, my emotions. Many of my paintings simply reflect my feelings at a given moment. 

What do you think artivism is? 

Artivism is about using art to express our vision of society, to express what we'd like society to be, not just what we see. What we see, yes, but what we'd like to see in society. It's a way of using our art to denounce what we find wrong with society and to use that art to fight oppression. And that's what I do. I call myself an artivist, a feminist artivist. As I've already said, I create works that show women's experiences and, at the same time, the change I want to see. 

I also run art workshops with feminist activists in Benin. In November 2023, the Fondation des Jeunes Amazones pour le Développement (FJAD), a women's and feminist organization, organized LA TRÊVE FÉMINISTE (The feminist truce). This was a safe and soothing space where women could participate in wellness workshops, therapy sessions and relaxation activities, promoting their physical and emotional recovery. I led an art therapy workshop. Art therapy allows us to externalize our feelings and recharge our batteries. I know that for me, for instance, when I'm very angry and I go into my studio, paint, and put that anger on canvas, I feel much better afterward. I feel reborn, alive again.

Having done art therapy with activists, I know that it's an activity that truly allows us to relax and express ourselves. I think we need to use art more often in the activist community as a means of expression or regeneration. It's an interesting idea because, as you know, activism is extremely exhausting. We're trying to navigate an environment that's not favorable to us. 

How do you think art can be used to further feminist causes? 

Art has never been separated from feminist struggles. As far back as the 70s, there were plenty of artists who used art to talk about the violence women experienced and to denounce the way society treated women. Art is a tool, a reflection of society. And when you use art to denounce society, you manage to reach layers that you wouldn't necessarily have reached outside art. There's graffiti, for example, which is an art form that was originally used to subvert society, but which women artists have also used to denounce gender-based violence, sexist and sexual violence.

Art also provokes discussion. I have a lot of work right now that I've painted for an exhibition that is fully feminist. I've shown them to my private circle for the moment and the works have generated a lot of discussion. These works can create feminist conversation and I look forward to showing them publicly. I'm bubbling over with anticipation just thinking about it because, among these works, there are themes and things that are truly specific to me in my personal history and that I know many women share. This is how art serves the cause. 

Beyond that, many artivists have used part of their income as artists to fund feminist collectives. Personally, it's an idea that appeals to me a lot, and one that I'll probably do when I can really make a living from my art.  Actually, being a feminist artist is a way of using your means of expression to help the movement grow. 

LE SEXE FAIBLE | Artwork BY MAFOYA GLELE KAKAÏ

Very inspiring. How would you describe your creative process? 

I have different creative processes. Often, it starts with an impulse. You could say an intuition. I see the final work taking shape in my head and then I go into my studio and paint. Or if I can't be in my studio, I always have a little sketchbook with me and I make little sketches of the idea and then I go and paint. With poetry, it's the same. It starts with an impulse, an intuition, a feeling, and then I start writing. 

And sometimes, a situation presents itself to me and I want to create something out of it. That's when I do my research. I gather my thoughts. I define the medium with which I'm going to express my idea based on the situation I've seen or heard. And then I do the research. I take out my little notebook and try to imagine how I'd like to express what I've witnessed. Then I take my time. It's no longer like an emergency, whereas my first process was really based on urgency, i.e. I must externalize it at that moment. It's like a pressing need. I have to get it out, so I don't lose it. If at that moment, it's poetry and I'm in the middle of a conversation for example, I stop the conversation and ask the person to excuse me. I take out my phone or my notebook, write or draw my little picture and come back to it later.. 

Do you intentionally practice any rituals to stimulate your creative process? 

Yes, there are activities or situations that I intentionally create to trigger a creative process. For example, if I want to make a purely feminist piece, I'll get in my studio and start listening to a feminist podcast. And it often inspires me. I can listen to the podcast, and the host or guest will say a word or a phrase that will give me the idea I need to work with. 

What materials do you use for your artistic creations? 

I create with acrylic paint, sand, shells, cowrie shells, flowers, objects, beads, and papier-mâché́ that I make myself. I use quite a lot of beads in my work. 

Do these tools have specific meanings in your work in general? 

Yes, they do. When I use the cowrie shell, for example, every time I use it, it's to symbolize the female sex. The cowrie's shape already resembles a vulva. So, every time I use cowries in my work, it's to express the female sex. It's true that I've drawn it before, but I often express it in an abstract way, trying out cowries in select pieces of work. 

And the flowers, depending on the flower… I've been using isaora a lot lately. The isaora is a flower that symbolizes strength and courage. And when I use isaora in my work, it's very much to symbolize the strength and courage of women in the face of adversity. Because to live as a woman is to live in adversity all the time. The beads… if you notice, I use tools that are quite socially associated with femininity. We African women wear beads on our hips, we wear beads on our ankles, we dress in beads. I really like these reminders of femininity when working with beads. The sand and shells are simply a reminder of the earth and nature, to which I'm very close in my work. 

I saw that you have a lot of creations with Afro hair. Does this have a specific meaning in what you create, like the elements you just mentioned? 

Yes, absolutely. I have to say that when I discovered natural hair - it’s very funny even for me to say that because it's something you're born with. It was in late 2015 when I was caught up in the wave of transition back to natural hair. I was passionate about it. I had a certain fascination with Afro hair because it's rooted in our history. Today, I would say that wearing natural hair is a total political act. Incorporating this into my paintings is a way of recalling the naturalness of the African woman, which is her Afro hair. It's a way of living in a society where standards of beauty are not necessarily set by us, but we subscribe to them. I want to show in my art that Black women are beautiful with their natural hair, and even beyond beauty, that it's acceptable to wear your Afro hair. 

How do you feel about all this personally; talking about yourself and women through your art? 

That's a good question because I haven't really asked myself this. For me, it's much easier to express myself through art than to sit down and talk to someone. I'm a very private person. With art, I don't ask questions, I don't think, I just express myself. It's my own state of expression, actually. When I started painting again, it was often on impulse, and it was like my secret garden, but not so secret. Especially since I don't do figurative work and that it takes a bit of interpretation to understand, especially the paintings that have to do with my own feelings. How do I experience it? I experience it as liberation. 

“ For me, it’s much easier to express myself through art than to sit down and talk to someone.”

Who are the women artists who inspire you? 

There's Frida Kahlo. Honestly, how do you put it? It's a bit of a cliché to love Frida Kahlo when you're an artist, but her work, the way she was, the way she expressed herself in her art, the way she made herself vulnerable in her art, it's something I've always been drawn to. Even back when I didn't know her, there were certain works of hers that I'd seen on the internet which fascinated me. When you talk about artists who reveal themselves totally in their art, Frida Kahlo embodies that. She talked about fairly sensitive subjects like the loss of children, in other words, things that many women can experience, but which we rarely see women talk about because of the taboo that surrounds them. 

Among African women, there's a Senegalese painter I truly like: Younousse Sèye, because of her pioneering work. She's one of the forerunners of contemporary African art, and I love the way she arranges the cowries on a canvas. I think those are the two I can name right now. 

What challenges do you face in living, creating, and living as a feminist artist? 

For the moment, the challenge is to be visible and make myself known. It's quite complicated for me, as I'm not naturally an extrovert. But I do try to get out as much as I can, to show my work and, there's this intimate side to my work. Given that a lot of what I do comes from deep inside me and that I'm an introvert, I tend not to necessarily want to... I find it hard to show what I do because I feel I'm being exposed. But I know it's important for me to show because I don't have that much to share. I don't have that much to share to keep it to myself. I must get it out there. So, I'd say for now, those are the challenges I have. 

What are your projects, not only in the field of art, but also combining art and feminism? 

I already want to put together exhibitions and show my work. I want to evolve more in the art world and make myself better known. Secondly, I want to use the artistic influence I've gained to influence the feminist cause, to feed it some more, and to give a greater voice to my sisters working in the field. I also want to work with communities that need art, to draw inspiration from women's stories to create art and show their experience through my art. 

You'll get there! Do you experience a certain sisterhood with other women in the practice of your art? 

I'd say I've met a lot of women artists and it's always a pleasure to talk to them, to realize that we have so much in common. I have a project and I've already talked about it with a few Beninese women artists, and I hope we'll be able to pull it off. It's to create an organization of Beninese and African women artists because I don't think we're going to close ourselves off with activism. And it will be an interesting way of living and building our sisterhood. I'm always talking to other women artists, and that's been a real eye-opener for me. Because we advise each other, we discuss career paths, we give each other tips. From what I've seen, and from my own experience, I'd say that women are pretty united in this business. 

And beyond the artistic community, I'm trying to cultivate my relationships with other women more and more. Given that we grew up in a society that didn't encourage us to reach out to each other. 

Today, I take great pleasure in bonding with other women, and talking to other women, even though I'm an introvert who finds it hard to reach out to others. When I meet other women, especially in the activist world, I try to chat with them. I've had some very nice encounters in the activist world, I've had lots of opportunities thanks to the women I've met, and I'm happy to say that we're in the process of building this sisterhood. It's something I feel very strongly about because I'm a fervent believer in the fact that it's the sisterhood that will truly enable us to go all the way, to overcome the constraints of patriarchy and even to defeat it. 

I'm a firm believer in that, too. What does being a feminist mean to you? 

For me, feminism is about standing up against the things that oppress us as women and prevent us from being fulfilled and being ourselves. It's about working so that women, the other women around us, can do that too. That's how I see my feminism. Because I know that we don't all have the opportunity to make the choices that will set us free. So, for those of us who do have the opportunity to make that choice, we must do so for others and work in whatever way we can to enable other women to make those choices too. 

And to end what has been a wonderful conversation, what is your feminist motto? 

Wow! That's something I hadn't really thought about. Do I have a feminist motto? I don't know if we'll call it feminist. I often say that I want to be a woman who will leave her laughter as a legacy. Because often, as African women, what we leave as a legacy is our suffering. When we talk about our mothers or the women who lived before us, we focus much more on what they did, how they suffered, how they died out, and how they sacrificed themselves for society. And we rarely talk about happy women, who were fulfilled. And that's what I want to leave as a legacy. That's my motto. I've written it in my notes, I've written it in my diaries. I want to be a woman who leaves a legacy of laughter. 

Thank you so much for chatting with us, Mafoya!

“I didn't want to be a good woman in the eyes of society” - Mafoya Glélé Kakaï (Benin) 2/3

Our conversation with Mafoya Glélé Kakaï, feminist lawyer, painter, and poet from Benin, continues. In the first part, we talked about key moments of her childhood, notably her strong bond with her grandparents, her love of reading and writing, and her questioning of the gender inequalities she observed. 

In this second part, she shares her thoughts on her relationship with her mother, gender stereotypes and social expectations of women's roles, and the beginning of her journey as an artivist. 

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How did your parents react to your questions? 

I was lucky enough to have quite open-minded parents who never put a stop to my impulses. Especially my father, since it's his family we're talking about. He was always there to answer my questions when we went to Abomey. He answered my questions as best as he could. And when I told him that I didn't agree with the way things were going and that there were things that disgusted me, he let me express myself without restricting me.

But sometimes my reactions shocked my father a little. When I discovered the word feminist and started expressing myself about feminism and everything, I bought a T-shirt that had “feminist” written on it. The first time I wore it, when my father saw it, he smiled and said, “You don't need to write it down, we already know”. 

Did your relationship with your mother play a role in your questioning and realizations? We haven't talked about it much so far. 

Yes, my relationship with my mother played a role, but not in the sense of encouragement. My mother is an exceptional woman. She excels in her work. She's a real professional role model for me. She's very organized. She trained as a French teacher. Then she trained to become an inspector. And to do that, she had to go back to school when she was already working. But some things were a bit difficult. When I observed my mother, and how uncomfortable she was, especially at parties, I felt pain. It made me want to get away from the model she was. I thought she worked too hard, did too much, and risked her health in the kitchen. 

My mother could spend a day or two preparing for the party, and by the time everything's ready, by the time the party's supposed to start, I would look at her and she was tired, exhausted. She couldn’t enjoy the work she'd done; she couldn't eat. She was still on the lookout to make sure everyone was enjoying themselves, that everyone was feeling good instead of relaxing and enjoying the party too. And when the party was over, there’s the tidying up that follows immediately. It was work upon work.

I think that was the first thing I noticed that made me decide I didn't want to be a woman like that. Because if being a woman means working so hard, with no rewards other than “Wow, that's delicious! Truly Madame GLELE, I don't know how you do it all. You’re an exceptional woman”, I don’t want it. There’s something my father’s family used to say to her: “A non sin asou”. And that’s something I didn’t like because, if you translate it into French, it sounds a bit like “you celebrate your husband, you truly submit to your husband”. I didn’t like it. It’s very paradoxical. 

Why do you say that? 

Because in her work, my mother never let herself be pushed around. She was always brilliant. She gave me a love of literature, and we often had discussions about characters in books. She'd give me books to read, and then, since I studied literature in school and she was a French teacher, we'd discuss and work on what I'd read. When I read books like So Long a Letter by Mariama Bâ or Caught in the Storm by Seydou Badian, we'd discuss the female characters. I'd tell her what I thought of the way a particular female character had been portrayed. I'd tell her that I didn't always agree with the way a certain character or a certain thing had turned out. And she'd tell me what she thought. Our discussions were very intellectual. 

I've often noticed this paradox too. Between what some women are as themselves and what they are when they try to conform to the expectations of patriarchal society, it's not the same thing. 

When I saw my mother struggling, despite her frail health, and doing everything to please, well, to fulfill the social role she'd been assigned, I said to myself, “Oh no, I don't want to live that kind of life.” And that was a big argument between her and me, because I told her I didn't want to. Fearing how I was going to be perceived in society, she told me I had to do it, to be a good woman in the eyes of society. I made her understand that I didn't want to be a good woman in the eyes of society, that I wanted to be a whole person. A whole human person and not just a woman in the way society sees women. And I struggled a bit with her about these things. 

How did you deal with this? 

I took great pleasure in learning to cook the things I liked to eat. Unfortunately, it caused her a lot of worry and pain. Precisely because I told her there was no point in me learning to cook something if I didn't like it. And she would say, “But what if your husband likes it.” And I'd tell her that he would cook it himself. I've seen my father cook several times and my mother, as I said, has health challenges. When I was a child and she had to be in hospital because of her illness, my father used to cook for us.

So, for me, it's normal that if you like to eat something, you know how to cook it. When we cooked something or when my mother cooked something he didn't like, he didn't tell my mother, “Go and make me something else. I want to eat that.” He'd go into the kitchen and make himself what he wanted to eat. And it was these little examples that showed me that there were other models for couples that could be possible. 

It’s an example that we don’t hear about very often in our contexts.

Another thing: when my brother was having fun and she told me I had to come to the kitchen to learn, that irritated me. I would say to her, “There are two of us, why do I have to be the only one?” And she'd say, “Well, he'll have a wife and you'll have a husband.” It made me angry because I understood where she was coming from. She didn't want me to look bad in society. She often told me about the famous mother-in-law test, the cooking test, and she would proudly tell me how she passed her own test, which was given to her by one of my father's aunts. And she'd tell me how she passed her test with flying colors, and she hoped I'd pass mine with the same success. But I didn't want to learn to cook just to pass a cooking test. 

I've heard of it, but only very vaguely. What's this cooking test? 

The cooking test is often carried out at the mother-in-law's house or in the home of one of the future husband's aunts. During a visit, they would ask the future daughter-in-law to cook certain things. And it's a test in the sense that you're not automatically asked to cook when you meet your in-laws. It comes out of the blue. You'll arrive one day and they'll say, “Oh, there's such and such in the kitchen. Can you cook so we can eat? Can you help me out today?” But it's just a test, and at the end, when you've finished cooking, they'll say, “Ah well, you've cooked well, you've tidied up well, you're ready to be our son's wife”. It's something like that. But there's really no test. On the other hand, you'll rarely hear that the daughter's family has tested the future son-in-law in some way. It's always a test for the daughter-in-law. 

It's one of the practices that reduces women to cooking and housework and perpetuates sexist stereotypes. 

It's unbelievable and outrageous for me. Having said that, I'm happy to say that today, my mother is freer from this burden. And I'm happy to have contributed to that. We both influence each other. And over time, my feminist stance has opened her eyes to certain things. For example, last March 8, she asked me to help her write a text that spoke of the very essence of International Women’s Day. She refused to buy the uniform cloth, but engaged in some feminist outreach, instead. I was proud of her. I thought, “Wow, that's my mom”.

When she goes to school assemblies to discuss sexuality with students and talk about consent, and sexual and reproductive rights, I'm happy because I say to myself, in real life, we talk a lot, but she listens when I talk to her too. Now, when she reflects, she realizes that society is evolving and that, yes, I don't necessarily need to learn how to cook this dish or another, because there are plenty of catering services. And I tell her, beyond catering services, if you like to eat something as a human being, you need to know how to cook what you like to eat. 

“Over time, my stance, my feminism, opened her eyes to certain things.”

Well done! In the beginning, you introduced yourself as a painter, historian, and poet. Can you talk to me about that? 

After graduating from high school, I studied diplomacy and international relations in university. It wasn't a personal choice. I didn't exactly know what to do when I graduated, because what I was passionate about was art, poetry, and writing, but there wasn't any artistic training. Today, I know there's a school on campus, but there wasn't one before. There was also prejudice against artistic work in our country because there's so little financial security in this profession that parents don't necessarily encourage their children to pursue this career. 

I was told about diplomacy, how I could travel as a diplomat, and all that. I also saw this training as an opportunity because with traveling, I could talk about art. So, I thought, why not? I was also passionate about history, and it's a course where you talk a lot about history and geopolitics. I'm not going to say that I hated my training. I truly enjoyed studying diplomacy and international relations. I learned a lot. 

So, while you initially went into diplomacy and international relations, you still had a passion for art, poetry, and writing. How did you experience the transition between your academic studies and your decision to return to your artistic passions? 

Two years after my diplomatic studies, I enrolled in law school to obtain a law degree. I hadn't finished that when I heard about the UNESCO Chair and the master’s in Human Rights and Democracy. I'd already started reading up a bit on feminism. So, I said to myself, by doing a master's in the defence of human rights, I can also end up doing something that will enable me to contribute to the defence of women's rights. So, I did my master's. 

In the meantime, I had a chat with my father, and he said to me, “You've got a degree now. I think it's time you got back to your passions: drawing and art. Now is the time to devote yourself to it. You've already got a diploma, so if you need to find a job with a diploma, it's already done”. I must admit that I had begun to doubt my ability to be an artist, even though I think that, whether you make a living out of it or not, when you're an artist, you will always be one. It was after my master’s that I said to myself, well, I can't go on like this. This is something I love. It's something that's... I can't explain my connection with art. I must try. I bought some art supplies and started drawing again. 

How did your passion for art come about? 

It's something that came naturally to me because I don't know anyone around me who draws or paints. It came naturally to me. I know that drawing was one of my favorite classes in primary school. I've always been drawn to creating something that doesn’t exist, something that comes from me.

As a child, I used to crush chalk. Both my parents were French teachers. I used to take the colored chalk sticks they brought home and crush them, then mix them with water. And on A4 paper, I'd make little drawings and so on. For Mother's Day, for example, I'd give my mother drawings or little paintings, which were always abstract at the time. Or I was already interested in collage at the time. Collage is a technique I use a lot in my artistic practice today. I used to take seashells, make flowers out of them, and glue them onto paper or old calendars to make them last longer, and give them to her for Mother's Day. It just came naturally to me. 

In the third and final part of our conversation with Mafoya, we talk about artivism, her personal and artistic journey that combines her art and her feminist convictions. Click here to read part 3. 

“I feel that I was born with this desire to make women look good.” – Mafoya Glélé Kakaï (Benin) 1/3

Mafoya Glélé Kakaï is a young feminist artist from Benin. She’s a poetess, a painter, and a self-reflective sculptress engaged in personal exploration through her artistic work. She uses art as an authentic medium to tell her story, express her emotions, and share her experiences as a woman and those of other women from her perspective. Mafoya calls herself an artivist because of her activist art that serves feminist causes in many ways. She is also a blogger and a human rights lawyer, with a focus on defending the rights of Beninese and African women.

In this conversation with Chanceline Mevowanou, Mafoya talks about her feminist journey and her engagements as an artivist. In the first part, she shares key moments from her childhood, especially her strong bond with her grandparents, and her love for reading and writing, as well as questions related to the treatment of women that she observed, particularly in traditions and social attitudes. In the second part, she talks about her relationship with her mother, gender stereotypes and social expectations related to the role of women, and the beginning of her artistic career. Finally, in the third part, the conversation focuses on Mafoya’s personal and artistic journeys as they relate to art and her feminist beliefs.  

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Hello Mafoya. Thank you for agreeing to chat with me. Please introduce yourself.

My name is Mafoya Glélé Kakaï. I'm a lawyer, painter, and feminist poet. I'm the coordinator of the Girl Talk program in Benin with the Choose Yourself organization. I'm also a blogger. My blog is called Agoodojie. It's a feminist blog that aims to break social taboos by tackling issues such as menstruation, female sexuality, women's physical and mental health, and also social issues that affect women. I'm originally from Abomey, more specifically Sinwé-Lègo. I grew up and live in Cotonou. I don't know if you can tell from my surname. I'm a descendant of a royal family in Benin. 

Yes, when I heard your surname, I figured. So, what is it like to grow up as a descendant of royalty? 

I grew up in Cotonou, as I was saying. I spent my early childhood in Akpakpa with my parents. We didn't live very far from my maternal grandparents. We spent a lot of time with them. Our parents were at that stage of life when you're building yourself up and you're working a lot. So, our grandparents were there. That meant we had trusted adults who could take care of us during the day when our parents went to work. When I say our parents, I mean my cousins and me. I had a pretty quiet childhood, a pretty good one, so to speak. I was quite a sensitive and curious child. I asked a lot of questions. 

It seems like your grandparents left their mark on your childhood. What were they like? 

I felt very close to my grandparents. There was this respect we had to have for grandparents, but they were also quite open to us, their grandchildren. They were very involved in our lives, above and beyond the respect we owe our elders, so they had a big impact on our childhood. 

Of the two, I was closer to my grandmother. At that age, she was my best friend. I was very moody and had a very clear-cut way of thinking, which meant I wasn't necessarily accepted in my immediate environment. My cousins and I often argued. And my grandmother was the one who understood me. Today, I wouldn’t say she understood me, but she accepted me fully and completely. Whenever something went wrong, I would go and take refuge with her. She often put me on her lap while she cooked. I don't recall us talking, but there were these little moments when I could take refuge in her. 

As for my grandfather, he was a veterinarian. I think it was he who gave me my love for animals. We'd always go and feed the animals in the henhouse. We usually went with my cousin, who's a few months older than me, and he used to hold her hand.

How old were you when these moments occurred? 

From when I was born to when I was 6-7 years old. 

Apart from your relationship with your grandparents, were there other significant things from your childhood? 

Yes, books! There was the first time I was enrolled at the French Institute, which was called the Centre Culturel Français (CCF – French Cultural Center) at the time. I think I was between 7 and 8 years old. It had a big impact on me because I've always loved books. I've been devouring books since I was a little girl, and I remember the first time I was taken to the CCF and went into the library, I felt like I was in paradise. My mother had taken me there. It's something we share, this passion for books. And it was a positive experience for me. 

And what books did you like to read back then? 

It was mainly collections of stories that I read. As a child, I was influenced by the tales of Ahmadou Kourouma. I also read Pourquoi le bouc sent mauvais (Eng: Why does the billy goat smell) and other tales from Benin. These were the story collections that fascinated me as a child. I also wrote poetry. My father is a published poet, and I grew up with this man, for whom everything had to stop around him for him to write, whenever he was inspired. He would gather us in the living room in the evenings - my brother, my mother, and me - and read us his poems. 

Do you remember the first time you wrote a poem? 

Yes, there was a contest organized at my school when I was in primary school, where we had to create objects that would be put in a treasure chest to be opened in 2050 to show the children of 2050 how we lived back then. I wanted to take part, but I didn't know what to do. I'd been drawing since then, but I didn't feel like using drawing as a medium. The day we had to hand in our ideas… because first we had to hand in the ideas and the best ideas would be selected. And when your idea is selected, you go through the next stages. I remember the day we had to hand in the ideas, we were back in school after the Christmas vacation. I was in the bathroom showering and I remembered my father writing. I said to myself, I'm going to try my hand at poetry. 

My idea was selected, and then I wrote the poem. My parents read it and corrected the minor mistakes I made. My poem was selected and I had to recite it at the ceremony where the works were then locked in the trunk. For a super shy kid like me, it was an event that left a lasting impression on me and made me want to write even more. 

That’s amazing. Anything negative from your childhood? 

Yes. The death of my grandparents for a start. They died within two months of each other, and then we moved. That's when we moved to Fifadji, the neighborhood I live in now. The death of my grandparents affected me tremendously. 

Oh, I’m so sorry.

Then there were the moments of inequality that I noticed. In primary school, when it came to electing class leaders, it was always a boy who was first in charge and the second in charge was a girl. As if girls couldn't hold the position of responsibility as well as boys. At the time, I didn't have enough courage to put myself forward for election, but whenever a girl ran for the elections, even when the boy opposing her was a very close friend of mine, I always voted for the girl. I feel I was born this way, with this preference, this desire to make women look good. So I was always on the side of women, no matter what. 

“I feel like I was kind of born this way, with this preference, this desire to make women look good.”

In 2006, when Marie-Élise GBEDO (the first Beninese woman to run for president) ran for office, I was asked at school, "If you could vote, who would you vote for?” I always said I'd vote for the only person who looked like me among the candidates: Marie-Élise GBEDO. She was the only woman I saw, so that's who I was going to vote for.

The first and only play I wrote was in the fifth grade. We had to create an end-of-year show, and I wrote a play about a woman who was going to try to convince the people of her village to vote for her in an election, and who ended up winning the election. This play was clearly inspired by Marie-Élise GBEDO, because when I was in the fifth grade, she used to run for elections and people were generally against her.

And I think that, too, was a feminist awakening, even if I didn't know it at the time. For a long time, I thought that I was weird, that I was an alien, because what seemed so legitimate to me - equality, gender equality - was not legitimate to others, and I couldn’t understand it. 

Speaking of feminist awareness and related things, are there other moments that come to mind?

There were also my observations on the imposition of colors. I wasn't happy about people trying to impose their love of pink on me, supposedly because it was a feminine color. I didn't like the fact that colors were gendered. To me, they were just colors. And for someone who has been artistic since childhood, I've never really had a favorite color. I like them all because, for me, they express different things at different times. And the fact that someone wanted to impose pink on me, irritated me. When there were so many objects to be handed out, and someone said to me, “Oh, you're a girl, you've got to use pink”, it truly pissed me off.

It was a moment of feminist awareness, even if at the time I didn't know why. I just started hating pink so deeply, that I couldn't comprehend why. However, now I've reconciled myself with color because not gendering colors means accepting all colors as they are and not rejecting so-called feminine colors. 

You mentioned being a descendant of a royal family. Are there things that you’ve observed within your family that also raised your awareness?

Yes, when we went to Abomey with my parents, for example, I could see how my brother was treated compared to me. When the adults asked me about my brother, they would usually ask “What about your older brother?” and I'd reply “I don't have an older brother. He's my little brother and he's fine.” And they'd say “Ah, even if he's a year old and you're seven or six, he's your big brother here.” And I'd say “No, I'm the older one, I'm the big sister.” 

When you have to greet the king or the community leaders, the men just rub their foreheads on the ground. I didn't understand why women had to annihilate themselves so much. I rarely kissed the ground. I did it the men's way. I also didn't like the fact that at every ceremony, the men sat around laughing and that it was the women who were in the kitchen. I always thought at the time that this was a life I didn't want for myself. These are things that negatively impacted me. 

In the second part of our conversation with Mafoya, we explore her thoughts about her relationship with her mother, gender stereotypes, especially social expectations related to the role of women, and the beginning of her journey as a feminist artivist. Click here for part 2.

“We must break past the barriers of selfishness and contempt” -Constance Yaï (Côte d’Ivoire) 2/2

We are in conversation with Constance Yaï from Ivory Coast. In the first part, she told us about the birth of her feminist engagement and the creation of l'Association Ivoirienne des Droits des Femmes (AIDF - the Ivorian Association for Women's Rights), and its actions.  In the second part of the interview, we hear about her vision for an intergenerational feminist movement in Africa.

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Let’s talk about intergenerational collaboration. It’s a topic at the core of the feminist movement. In your time, did you have older feminists or women who supported you at all?

Yes. Some women supported us. But I must admit that in 1990, the term was scary. Women would tell us in private “We support you”. 

Speaking of privately supportive women, it reminds me that indeed, there is a fear of speaking out, claiming to be a feminist, or declaring solidarity with the fight that is still publicly present. I believe one of the reasons is that African feminists who express their vision of feminism are told that they are fighting the wrong battle, that feminism is an invention of the West to destroy African culture. Is this also a rhetoric that you have heard?

Nothing was imported. Women’s oppression isn’t something that we created. It exists in our societies. And feminism is the response to women’s oppression. I was born in this environment. I didn’t make the patriarchy up. These fights emerged when there were issues to tackle. Nowadays, many realize that feminist movements are gaining momentum. African women have done nothing but take part in a large international movement from which we were absent. Women would fight alone, isolated, and no one would know about them.

When I think about our beginnings, you know, it was hard to get invited to a television program. We were young, in our thirties or early thirties. We had little means and didn’t benefit from any financial support nationally. Those who did invite us tried to mock us, bully us, and discourage us. You would come and people would tell you “Madam, are you sure you’re talking about Ivory Coast? Are you sure that the women of the country need that? Don’t you think you’re coming to shake up marriages? Are you coming to throw this country’s peace off balance?” You are introduced as this rebel, who came to cause trouble when everyone was happy, where all is fine.

So, you can imagine that being isolated in your country is surely not the best thing. I believe that people react like this because African feminists have become more vocal, are more visible, and most importantly are build a network.

Indeed.

When I take the list of laws that we contested… For those who say that feminism is a movement imported from abroad, we tell them to look at the Ivorian civil code. It is a copy of the Napoleonic code. This is what was imported to suppress African women’s rights. Since our countries became French colonies, women's rights have regressed, in the sense that they used to participate in political life.

You mentioned the support of older women in private. Don't you think that today, young feminists need public support from their elders?

We need to openly express our support for our daughters and young sisters because the patriarchy is a smart system. It has created spaces and ways to create conflict among people who are fighting for the same cause.. What I hear being unfairly said to young feminists is “You’re just lost, your mothers or elders were more compliant…” Nonsense! These are only lies told to say that there are good and bad feminists. I support them because they're honest and because the fight must end. If we break that bond… It’s over! We must support them. I feel no shame, and I openly and publicly support them. 

So, how do you support young feminists now? 

First, through visibility. The means and opportunities that we have now, allow us to amplify young feminists’ voices. I’m thinking about social media. I believe they also have a space to take. We need to participate in having them effectively on the field and distance ourselves from those who trivialize their fight; we can do this by openly being by their side. In Ivory Coast as much as in the subregion. They need our support and our presence. When it comes to Ivory Coast I tell young feminists, if you need my name, use it. You don’t even need to ask for permission. As elders, let’s be a steppingstone for the young generation.

How can we strengthen intergenerational cooperation within the African feminist movement?

You said the keyword: cooperation. We don’t need to lead the same actions, but we need connections. We need to get together. You’re not less efficient because you’re younger or older. Some have time to spare. Others don’t. Some offer training, advice, and programs. Some are simply present… All this matters.

I know a woman who was the Deputy Secretary-General of the Ivory Coast’s biggest workers’ union, UGTCI – Union Générale des Travailleurs de Côte d’Ivoire. From her, I asked nothing but her presence. I told her “Auntie if you want to speak, please do; if don’t want to, that’s fine as well. Your presence is more than enough for me”. When the debates started, she wouldn’t be able to contain herself and she would speak out. She became part of us, and we were very happy to work with her. 

We’re talking about intergenerational cooperation within the movement. It also implies conflict management. How do we go beyond conflict or differences to keep on doing what brings us together?

I believe that conflicts are inherent. But we must ask ourselves: what are the values that unite us? Why are we here? Why are we together? And to have that in mind often so that we can transcend the small conflicts. Kindness for me is the foundation. When another person speaks, it's based on their perception of things at that time. When kindness is the foundation of our relationship, I listen to you.

Feminists have a lot to contribute to humanity. We must not be an obstacle to ourselves. I forbid myself to be responsible for the delay of this fight. On the contrary, I must be the one my sister relies on to move forward. We have no choice. We must break the barriers of selfishness, the barriers of contempt. We are the future of the world, we are the future of politics, and we are what will allow the world to put an end to wars, to put an end to injustice, to put an end to suffering. A movement like that has a future.

This is a beautiful articulation of what sisterhood is.

Exactly. Without using the word, that's exactly what I'm saying. Thanks to feminism today, I always look at other women with kindness. Feminism has taught me to be in solidarity with women in struggle. I can't attack other women. My sisterhood forbids it.

You were Minister of Solidarity and Women’s Advancement in Ivory Coast. Many young feminists have political ambitions. Tell us a little about this experience in politics. 

I think that feminists will be stronger if they accept to break the barriers that are considered political. Everyone chooses the political party of their choice. Feminists must transcend these choices and get together. They do not have to support the same party. I dream of a collective of feminists from political parties in our countries.

Why?

When I was in the government, it was a single-party majority, and I was not in the majority, unfortunately. But when I arrived at the council of ministers, I took the time to speak. In the beginning, we were only two women in this government. And the other lady, who was much older than me, was very much listened to. And she is precisely the one who became the first woman in charge of an Ivorian institution, Henriette Diabaté. I used to say to her, “Auntie, I am going to present such and such a thing next week, we have to discuss it, we must...”. I needed help and it was a strategy I was implementing.

I figured we're in gerontocratic societies, so people look at age a lot, and we respect our elders. Let's give our elders the respect they deserve, without being sycophantic, without sucking up, without getting down on our knees in front of people, and by keeping our dignity while respecting them. And personally, it helped me to make some difficult decisions that I needed to push at that time.

So no, we can't do anything if we don't create, as I said earlier, connections. Feminists have no choice, they can't do otherwise; we must create connections. And they don't have to be of the same party. We must encourage our women, our girls, to enter politics, to be in the unions. We must be there, we must be present, and above all, we must be unapologetic.

All this could be accessible to more feminists through the production of knowledge. How can we also encourage this production in our region? I am thinking, for example about your book, “Traditions-Pretexts, the Status of Women in the test of the cultural”.

It is important, and we’re currently working on it. I took advantage of my stay here to meet some feminists from Niger and Benin. I believe we need to create our own publishing house to encourage feminists to write. There are many manuscripts. I advocate for the creation of publishing houses and for those that are already established to open and become interested in feminist literary work. 

What do you hope for girls and women in Africa today?

Our countries must fund feminism. I believe this is my next fight, find domestic funds for women, for women’s rights. The economic issue will be the center of my next actions. We tend to forget that without the means, the needs won’t be met. We need support, nationally as well as internationally. As long as our funding is international, our fight will keep on being perceived as others’ fight. We also need endogenous funding. It is abnormal for countries to watch their youth and women despair when there are means to change things.

It’s a pertinent wish. Constance, thank you so much for making time to speak with us and share your experience. 

Over To You, Readers!

What do you think about this conversation with Constance Yaï ? Let us know through your comments here or on our Twitter and Facebook platforms @EyalaBlog.

“We are feminists because we love freedom” – Constance Yaï (Côte d’Ivoire) 1/2

Constance Yaï is an Ivorian feminist, author, and professor specializing in rehabilitation for speech impairment, founder of l'Association Ivoirienne des Droits des Femmes (AIDF – the Ivorian Association for Women's Rights), and a former Minister of Solidarity and Women’s Advancement.

While on a trip to Senegal, our Chanceline Mevowanou engaged in conversation with Constance who was participating in a convening of several young feminists from Niger, Ivory Coast, and Benin. In this conversation, she tells us about the birth of her feminist engagement (Part 1) and about her vision for building an intergenerational feminist movement in Africa (Part 2). 

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Madame Constance Yaï, thank you for agreeing to talk to us. Could you introduce yourself? 

My name is Constance Yaï. I live in Ivory Coast, 4-5 km away from Abidjan, in an area that is gradually recovering from the country’s 2011 post-electoral crisis. I’m a member of the AIDF for which I currently coordinate activities with women from rural areas. 

What’s AIDF?

AIDF is l'Association Ivoirienne des Droits des Femmes (the Ivorian Association for Women's Rights). It’s one of Ivory Coast’s first feminist organizations. It was founded in 1992 in the aftermath of a dramatic event we witnessed. 

We’ll talk about AIDF shortly. Before we started, I explained to you that Eyala explores what it means for African women, non-binary and gender-diverse people to be feminists. This leads me to ask you: What does “being a feminist” mean to you? 

For me, being a feminist first means becoming aware of the recurrent and permanent injustices women face. Then it is being vocal about this and becoming active so that it changes. Observing and noticing that it is an injustice is one thing. Organizing to change it is another. Being a feminist means using one’s voice and position to change the status of women. And this does not have to be done only through being in a feminist organization. 

Before starting your more affirmed feminist engagement, was there a moment in your childhood that marked you and that influenced your feminist journey ?

I think of when I was in college, a few years before graduation. The thing that stuck with me was my interaction with my father. He was hard on my mother, but he admired his daughters. My mother’s mother was one of the greatest Female Genital Mutilation (FGM) practitioners in the region. My father, when he married my mother, told her that none of her daughters would go through FGM. That was the first condition he set.

Then he said that all his daughters had to be literate; they had to be as educated as the boys. No one would stop studying without having a high school diploma. My father often said that a woman's first husband is her work. He used to say, "There is no rush to get married. I will be here to protect you; I will be here to provide for you. Don't get walked over by anyone. Even your brothers don't have the right to walk over you because you are all my children, and you have the same rights."

Unfortunately, he didn't think he would leave us early. By the time I was a sophomore in high school, I had lost him. I was greatly traumatized by his passing. My life took a turn. I told myself that he was gone but I would do everything I promised him while he was alive.

Your father's words certainly marked you and motivated you to begin  your feminist journey. How did that engagement start? 

I started by observing things around me. It's not an exaggeration to say that everything around me is unfair when it comes to women's issues. When you have a father who is always right about your mother; when you have boys at school who take up all the space at recess and girls who shrink away when the boys come... In my language, I would hear people say, “There is no one, there are only women”. You ask if anyone is in the house and they say, “No, there's no one, there are only women”. What I’m referring to is something that happened 40-50 years ago.

And at the same time, I saw that when people had no more arguments to explain the injustices made to women, they used tradition as an excuse. All these women who do not want to accept the discriminatory status of women are considered protesters. And I reacted to that. I became interested in the cultural dimension of women’s status. As a student, I was very active in student unions, and in protest movements.

At some point, I said to myself that it was not enough. I needed to meet other women who thought like me to drive our projects, to go further. My voice alone was not enough. You don't have to be an activist in an organization to be recognized as a feminist. But at the same time, you must have respect for those who are involved in organizations. I think that feminism is this thought, this philosophy that admits freedom. And we are feminists because we love freedom.

When you started becoming more involved, did you have your family’s support? 

My mother was unhappy to see me involved in the fight against FGM. I became the spokesperson for women who condemned and attacked a practice that my grandmother was proud of. My grandmother didn’t have the joy to excise her granddaughters; she thought she was doing the right thing. She would tell me “I’m only doing this in women’s interest because men won’t marry you if you’re not circumcised.” I would reply “What men? We won’t marry men from this community.” I had many talks with my grandmother. I disagreed with her, I love her very much, I listened to her a lot and I believe our bond helped me. She eventually told me “If that’s what you believe in, go for it. But you will suffer because of it.” Once I had her blessing, I felt that nothing could stop me. 

Let’s talk about AIDF. How did it come to life? 

As I said earlier, it was founded after girls were raped on Abidjan’s campus in 1992. People were protesting the single party system, and against the student’s conditions. Students were protesting on campus after many women were raped. With the advent of the multi-party system, protests were systematically shut down. The police force came to campus, beat the students, and raped the girls.

We decided we had enough. This was uncalled for. We said that it wasn’t normal and that in addition to being raped, they were subjected to repression and beatings on campus. To express how fed up we were, we created this association. To say that women have specific needs that must be respected even in the context of conflicts or crises.

What were AIDF’s activities?

I mentioned my relationship with my grandmother who practiced FGM. We ran a campaign against FGM. We were delighted to see that the Ivorian government agreed with us and decided that it was time to vote, pass and implement a law against this practice. We organized tours in the police and army stations to inform them on what the law says about the protection of women within the family. This was in 1992. No one talked about spousal abuse or domestic violence. We raised awareness on the issue for security forces, so much so that today, we have in Ivory Coast, offices dedicated to GBV run by female officers. We also reported the crimes. There was a young girl who was much talked about in the Ivory Coast. It was in 1996 this time. Her name was Fanta Keita.

Yes, we often hear about her from current young feminists.

She was married against her will, and tired of being repeatedly raped, she slit her husband’s throat. She was arrested and we organized a range of activities around the fact that no Ivorian law allowed the arrest of a little girl. We put out a whole arsenal to show the government that another solution had to be found for this little girl. We were supported by international media with offices in Abidjan to take up media space. On every platform, we would take up a microphone and say that if anyone had to be convicted, it was the State who didn’t do anything to protect this girl, and then to a certain extent the community and the girl’s family.

And while she was held in prison, we would organize protests in front of the prison. She was released. She was in preventive detention, but unfortunately, this lasted 11 months. The government was very embarrassed, and the solution they found was to take the girl out of prison and give her to us, and recognize that AIDF had done what it should have done. This is the origin of the jurisprudence that allows many organizations today to lead this kind of fight and to use it to defend young girls who are in the same situation. It is the Fanta Keita legal precedent.

Congratulations! 

Thank you! There is also the hierarchization of the male-female power dynamic in marriages. This is something we asked to be legally corrected for nearly 15 years and that has been granted now.

In Ivory Coast, both men and women are heads of the household. It used to be solely the men and they would make so many out-of-place decisions. Sometimes, the husband didn’t have a job and the wife was the household’s breadwinner, but she would need his permission to open a bank account or to travel. We’re happy to see that our country has evolved a little in terms of these issues.

We also led the fight for women to head our institutions. We spoke up about the lack of representation. During one of our meetings with the President, he told us “For nearly 15 years, you spoke against the fact that there is no woman-led institution in this country. And you said it was discriminatory. Here’s a surprise for you, I’m appointing a woman…” This is how we had the first woman head of an institution. I swear he thought he righted a great wrong, by appointing a single woman with ten other men. I think that’s sad.

When AIDF was founded, there was no women’s organization celebrating International Women’s Day on March 8. Our first nonprofit celebration was watched with curiosity. The struggle remains. There are obstacles to be overcome, there are battles to be waged. We've made some progress and we can do even more. I'm so optimistic because more of our daughters, our sisters, and our granddaughters are getting involved in the fight.

In the second part, we’ll talk about Constance Yaï’s vision for building an intergenerational feminist movement in Africa.

Join the conversation

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

“I think it's important to hold each other with grace in our healing process” - Lorato Palesa Modongo (Botswana) 5/5

This is the fifth and final part of our conversation with Lorato Palesa Modongo, African feminist and psychologist from Botswana. 

We have explored Lorato’s early feminist awakening (Part 1); her education and experiences as a social psychologist (Part 2); her thoughts and experiences in African feminist movements and spaces (Part 3); and her observations on the tensions that sometimes hinder intergenerational African feminist movement building, as well as possible solutions to bridge the gap (Part 4). In this last part, we discuss personal and collective healing to support our movements, Lorato’s current work with the African Union and her journey towards self-reconciliation to unearth her vision of herself. 

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Every time we get together in feminist spaces and the issue of intergenerational movement building comes up, it's always that same cycle of blame, and the conversation hasn't really moved from that point towards solutions. What would that step look like in your own thoughts and based on the experiences you have had? 

I think for me it is firstly, trying to understand. If we get to the ‘why’, we will understand that it becomes the issue of agency, self-determination, and using what you have in that moment. If we go to the ‘why’ we will see that the conversation is bigger than just us being deliberate about thinking that the other group is inefficient or to blame. We will find that there are other interconnected things in the background. After the untangling, I think it's important in our healing process, to hold each other with grace. Lots of grace. I am really lucky that I've sort of been in spaces where there's lots of grace; where even if I've made a mistake, there is grace. 

This grace will actually allow us to forgive, because moving from blaming also includes acknowledging and forgiving. Sometimes even when there's not been any ask for forgiveness, you forgive, you give grace, and you chart out new paths. 

“After the untangling, I think it’s important in our healing process, to hold each other with grace. Lots of grace. ”

Let the conversation be, “why are they not giving us space?” Then we arrive at: ‘they're not giving us space because they were socialized in a society that believes that when you are young, you don't know anything’.  Because that is how they grew up and influenced their processes. Nobody listened to them when they were younger. Even subconsciously, they still hold the trauma, and it comes into the spaces that we engage in.

So, we can hold the wonder of the knowledge and all the immense work that they have done, while we also hold them as these people who are also untangling the complexities of their lives. And they just want what we all want, which is freedom and emancipation. I think that's what it looks like for me. 

What opportunities do you see or what opportunities can we create to now facilitate this healing, this forgiveness, this creation of space for grace and then moving forward towards liberation? 

Mentorship! I think mentorship presents a big opportunity. And I’m talking about deliberate mentorship where we can get to hear each other's stories even on a personal level. I think there's something that humanises somebody when you get to hear their story. We can create different platforms where we can be mentored. Also in mentorship, it's not just the older person filling you up. You're also filling them up. 

Secondly, I think there's so much opportunity for documenting. We all need to document, do archiving work, memory work, go back to our communities and engage with those older women and write whatever they're giving us down. Let's digitise it. Let's thrust it into the spaces so that people can engage with it. Let's form partnerships with memory institutions in our different countries, in different communities, to see how we can amplify the work that's being done by these memory institutions. 

I think there are many opportunities, but there are also opportunities for funding. How can we make collaborative spaces where we are funded to realise all these things that we're talking about? We always leave the issue of funding behind. If you don't have access to funding, you’re probably not going to do a lot of work, particularly in the current economy. It is a conversation that needs to be had. How do we ensure that? How do we compensate these voices that we say we want to legitimize as well? Because I don't think speakers in the Global North speak for free, right? So, my grandmother, when she's teaching me things, why can’t she be compensated for that work? That's part of the work of legitimizing people's voices and knowledge systems and the knowledge production. 

Tell me about the work you're doing currently in Burkina Faso and how it fits in with your feminist journey, and all of the things that we've been discussing.

I'm currently with the African Union Center for girls’ and women's education in Africa, AU/CIEFFA. Their headquarters is here in Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso. I'm currently the Gender Research Analyst. So, in terms of the policy work that's being done here, we look at the numbers and look at the qualitative data on girls' education in the continent. What are some of the patterns and trends that we're seeing in order to put that into policy when we are strategising on governments’ need to invest in girls’ education in Africa?

We also know the issue of data in Africa. We don't have access to reliable, consistent data. So, we can’t paint a real and true picture. But now we say, in the absence of statistics, the qualitative narrative counts. What are the voices of the people on the ground? How can we amplify these voices to make a case for governments, for member states to return girls to school? That's the work I'm doing. 

You’ve only been there for a year or so. Have you found feminist space there? 

I don't speak French, so it's really difficult to authentically connect with people here because it is a Francophone country. Language is such a powerful tool, not just for communication, but also for community. So unfortunately, I haven't been able to do that yet.

We are getting close to wrapping up. Are there things that you wanted to share that we haven’t touched on?

Yes, I think in the discussion of intergenerational feminism, there's a lot of collective healing that needs to happen. There's a need for collective rest, collective joy, and collective love as well. And what does that love look like? It means love for community and love for self, because love for self includes things like discipline, integrity, accountability, and being guided by ethical feminist principles. And I know that we define these for ourselves, but there's also a need for collective definition of the feminist principles that guide us. 

And I want that soft landing for all of us. I think we deserve to glow. We're fighting but we are glowing because there's joy, there's love, there's peace, and there's so much going on. We all deserve that in our individual spaces, but in the collective as well. We carry a lot of generational trauma. The voices of our great, great grandmothers which were not able to be articulated, and their dreams which were not able to be realised because of how the system stifled them is traumatic, generationally.

I think it's important for us to be the generation that the trauma ends with, or at least for the burden to lessen. I don't want my children carrying the burden that I did. I think healing works - healing the brain, healing the mind, healing the spirit, healing the heart, and healing the body. Eating healthily, hydrating while we're doing this work, resting, showing up as healed as much as we can, right? I think that is very, very important. 

You talked about glowing and I had a specific question about your red lipstick, coming to this interview, because it's your signature and it’s fire! I’m actually surprised it’s not on you today. [Laughs] What's the story?

Actually, there was no profound, big symbolic story. I just kind of liked it and  there is no deep profound story to it. I just liked it. I kind of like fashion. It is cute. 

Do you find yourself in moments where you feel like you need to reconcile that cute, “I am here, I am fashionable” look with the idea of feminists as not beautiful.

Actually, being cute came as a result of the reconciliation I did. I got a scholarship from the Mandela Rhodes Foundation (MRF), and they have four development workshops for their scholars - on leadership, education, entrepreneurship, and reconciliation.The reconciliation is on self-reconciliation. The question was what do we want to reconcile within ourselves. My answer was “I want to be soft and cute.” And once again, I'm going to honour my friend Iris because we have had multiple conversations on this. 

I grew up as a tomboy. At the time, I thought it was a choice, but it wasn't really a choice. I was being a tomboy because I kind of wanted to look like the boys. I realised they didn't torment me as much as they tormented the other girls we played with.  So, I was trying to protect myself by being tomboyish. That was my signature look - the baggy pants. Then later going through the MRF process I realised that I actually enjoyed playing around with fashion. I want the quirky earrings. I want the red lipstick. I want the shades. I want the cute dress. So, the reconciliation led me to knowing that I can still look that way while also doing the work, because it's also a way of confronting the misrepresentation of what feminism is. 

And to end, please tell me : what is your feminist life motto? 

I know it's a cliché but truly “the personal is political.” I draw a lot from that because even when I'm thinking, this is just my own personal experience in the house, I realise how it's connected to politics. 

But if I have space for another, it is the remembrance that feminism has given me words to articulate things. And in my articulation, I felt like I was breathing. And when you breathe, you’re alive. So that's my feminist motto: to continuously navigate and untangle and make sense, and in the process, breathe. Then I'm able to take strides in the world. 

I love it. Thank you so much, Lorato. I'm really glad that I got to have this conversation with you. 

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Or give her a shout out? Find her on Twitter @LoratoPalesa

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“We don't owe anyone a sanitised feminism” - Lorato Palesa Modongo (Botswana) 4/5

We are in conversation with Lorato Palesa Modongo, an African feminist and psychologist from Botswana. 

In our series of conversations on intergenerational African feminist movement building, we have explored Lorato’s early feminist awakening (Part 1); her education and experiences as a social psychologist (Part 2); and her thoughts and experiences in African feminist movements and spaces (Part 3). In this part, we get into the heart of intergenerational feminist movement building, with Lorato sharing her observations on the tensions that sometimes hinder progress, as well as possible solutions to bridge the gap. 

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Let's now get into feminist movement building as you've experienced it in Botswana, but also at a continental level. There are many networks that you are engaged in that are doing work that contributes to our collective movement. What are your thoughts on feminist movement building on the continent? 

I think it has a huge opportunity to bring lots of change. I think there is space for that collective organising, and a space for us to think of different ways in which we can do that. So just because it's collective doesn't mean it's like one bullet. It means we are bringing in different ways of organising our experiences, our challenges, and best practices, to make sense of the complexities that we bring, to confront the violent contradictions that we are faced with and to come up with some solutions. It's a bit difficult, but I think there is an opportunity for us to build it to be better, which is where the intersectionality part comes in. 

We can't build the movement if we're not going to confront classism, and if we're not going to confront our privilege. I think there is an opportunity for the movement to grow, but there's also an opportunity for the movement to deeply reflect on the contradictions that we bring. And to also say, “What does African feminism look like for us?” I know there is the African Feminist Charter and I really love it. When I saw the document for the first time I was like, “Oh, I love this.” But there's also a need to continuously redefine what this looks like for us. Now we are having Generation Z with social media and digital spaces being used for organising. Where are we going? What are we saying? I think we have many pockets of opportunities to evolve and to confront the challenges and the privileges that we have, and to confront where we are not doing well. 

“There is an opportunity for the African feminist movement to grow, but there’s also an opportunity for us to deeply reflect on the contradictions that we bring.”

We'll come back to that part about confronting where we're not doing well. You mentioned the generations. Usually there's a lot of talk about this lingering tension between the generations. What have your observations been in those spaces as a young feminist, engaging with people who probably have been doing the work even before you were born, but also people who have come after you? 

I'll start with the workplace maybe. It was because of feminist work that women then had to take roles as decision makers. However, the oppressed, in order to function in any oppressive system, somewhat tend to mimic the behaviours of the oppressor as a coping mechanism. And those were the generations that had passed. They had done the work to get into spaces, but now they're in these spaces and for them to function in that patriarchal system, they have to mimic those patriarchal behaviours to be seen, validated, or even legitimised as leaders. So, you see that the tools they use to lead are not necessarily the liberating tools. It is because that's what they had available to survive. For example, embracing being ‘soft’ may have been seen as a weakness for them as ‘women leaders’. 

But we also acknowledge the repercussions of the softness. And the softness I speak of is kindness and compassion and vulnerability. It is in boundaries and honouring yourself as a person. It’s in valuing, seeing, and holding yourself in high regard while also remaining firm. That's what we mean by soft landings. But they couldn't do that. Why? Because the world would say, “you see why we're not bringing women to lead. Now they're coming here with their sensitive emotions. What is compassion? You cannot be compassionate to your workers. You have to be mean to prove that you are a firm boss/leader.”  This is just an example of behaviour in the workplace, but that is how this system has been operating. But as the younger generation, we know that you can hold and view people with compassion while also holding them accountable. Many truths and emotions can exist at the same time. 

And with grace, I must say.

And lots of grace. And remembering that I can still do the same for myself. I can hold myself accountable, and even reprimand myself while also doing it with some grace. Those are the newer conversations that are coming in around vulnerability and honouring ourselves.

The other issue that I'm seeing is that the “too muchness” of the younger feminists kind of confronts older feminists. They're like, “no, maybe don't ruffle the system that much, because we need to be diplomatic.” And I understand this, but why do you need to be diplomatic and nice to a system that's not diplomatic and nice to you? Patriarchy will never be nice to you. The day patriarchy decides, “all women”, it is all women indeed. It does not even care whether in 1992, you were nice and diplomatic.

It really doesn’t discriminate between the “good” women and the ones who are seen as “bad”.

It does not discriminate. It will eat the woman who is cooking at home 24/7 the way it eats the woman it says is a “whore”. There is no sieve. And I think that is what I see… the older generations thinking we have to package ourselves a bit more nicely and diplomatically in order to be palatable.

I actually had a conversation with one of the older women a while ago. She was telling me, “I'm uncomfortable with that word, with that feminist thing. I’m uncomfortable with it, because it will make partners run away thinking that we hate men.  And I think it's important for us to continuously articulate that we need men in these platforms. We need men because that way people would identify more with our work.” And I told her what I told you now, that it is feminist work. And people need to see feminist work as exactly what we are doing now. We don't owe anyone a sanitised feminism. 

I think that is a problem for me; that the older generation… those that I've engaged with, they want the nice package. They want diplomacy, sanitisation, and over-negotiating. But you cannot negotiate with your oppressor. [Laughs] Negotiate what? They don't negotiate your life. When laws and regulations are made, people are not negotiating your life. When girls are being forced into early marriages, female genital mutilation, forced out of school, raped, not allowed into political spaces, nobody negotiates it. So why should you negotiate in your fighting and resisting and organising and challenging?

Also, how do you even negotiate when you're not on the same level and do not hold the same power?

Exactly. So those are some of the main contradictions I have observed in the work. But I love the lessons because they say, “we've been through that as well”. And they've won. I mean, the Beijing generation and so many other movements have won in many ways. Even in pre-colonial times, they have won. And what is it that they did that assisted them with winning that we can bring in? Maybe they are right, and there are certain things we have to do. But maybe we are also right about certain things. So, I think we can borrow from them as much as they can borrow from us. 

So, there is the level of generational differences that are linked to age but within the movement also, there are those generational differences tied to when your journey started or when you started doing the work. What have you observed in that regard?

Those things are definitely there. As long as you recognise the sexism, but you don't recognise the ageism, then there's a problem. Now you want me to respect you and you want to have power just because you're older or just because you have been in the movement for longer? Then there is the (de)legitimising of people's voices by virtue of how long they have been in the movement. But we know that people may be in the movement earlier or later based on their agency. 

I think it's important for us to remember that being in feminist spaces doesn't mean that those power issues are not present. It doesn't mean that negotiating power is eliminated just because we are feminists, because power dynamics move in different pockets. We may be in a feminist space, but who's richer? Who's more articulate? Who's been in the movement for long? Who has been to Oxford? Who has been to one of the no name institutions around the continent? So, the untangling of power will always be there, even in feminist movements. Knowing that power doesn't cease to exist just by virtue of us being in feminist spaces if we're not going to confront other pockets where power lies. So, it is a big thing. The issue of ageism, ableism, the hierarchy, the power, the legitimate voice because of age, and now the longevity of your experiences.

In some spaces, we do hear older feminists decry the issue of erasure and use that as a way of holding on to the power that they've managed to have because they feel the generations after them try to erase the work that they have done. How do we create a balance, really?

I think two things. Each generation has to be self-determined. What are your current issues? What are you faced with? What are the tools that you have now? What can you do to confront the issues in front of you? 

So maybe in the process of self-determining, I do acknowledge that the other generations then forgot about the work, but I do not think it is a deliberate exercise to erase them. I think it was because of representation and documentation, and it's all linked to so many other things. Why don't we read about our feminist pain in our spaces? It is a political reason, so that you think that you have started things; you don't know about the tools that exist; you don't know the journey that people have taken; you don't get the renewed energy and renewed spirits to do the fight, and to honour people who have done the work before you. So, you're like a hamster on a wheel. 

It has to be deliberate when you erase people's voices, knowledge, faces, and even their names. I don't think the younger feminists are erasing for erasure’s purpose. I think it was just the way things were, where you can’t access information, but I think younger generations are now using the tools that they have to capture, in real time, the voices of feminists now and to also dig and search and do memory work. They are also doing archiving work to say, “Who do we remember? How do we remember them? When do we remember them? And what is the purpose of remembrance and memory”. And also going out of our way to re-thrust them into the public domain. 

Are there examples that strongly demonstrate this, and that could serve as inspiration for how we move forward and past this tension?

I remember when Winnie Mandela passed on, and the news was broken, the Western media said that “the villain is now gone”. Thanks to social media and other digital platforms, the feminist movement on the continent said “no, not this time”. I watched the wave from the Western media shift, to the Winnie that we have gotten to love and hold in those contradictions that she represented. And holding both the wonder of her being and her work and some of the issues that we were contesting about that she had allegedly done. Seeing her being represented and honoured as that was such a powerful moment.

That is the honouring, that is the remembrance of the women who have done the work and are being thrust into the public domain. And I think that's what younger generations are doing now with the tools that we have. I think we're trying to sort that out. I think we are. There are many older feminists’ works I enjoy learning about, including from Botswana, the intellectual works of Dr Godisang Mookodi, Dr Sethunya Mosime, and many others. 

In the final part of this conversation, Lorato talks about personal and collective healing to support our movements, her current work with the African Union and her journey towards self-reconciliation. Click here to read it.

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“Reflecting on the progress already made by people who walked before me gives me courage” - Lorato Palesa Modongo (Botswana) 3/5

This is the third part of our conversation with Lorato Palesa Modongo, an African feminist and psychologist from Botswana. 

In our series of conversations exploring intergenerational African feminist movement building, we have explored Lorato’s early feminist awakening (Part 1) and her education and experiences as a social psychologist (Part 2). In this part, we explore her thoughts and experiences in African feminist movements and spaces.  

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We’ve talked about building the future we deserve and what that looks like for you. You're actively involved in different feminist spaces as part of the work you do. What has been your experience? 

The experience is a myriad of emotions. I believe that the world can achieve positive change because we have seen it. Who knew that two black women right now can be sitting talking; two African women exchanging ideas? We can publicly share our thoughts and state our ambitions without fear of backlash. We go to school, we vote, and we run for political office.

So, I know that humans have the capability and capacity to change the world. That helps me when I feel tired and drained. Even in the moments when I feel disillusioned, and feel like there is no progress, reflecting on the progress already made by people who have walked before me gives me the courage that one day, hundred years from now, our work will matter. So that is helpful. 

What does that recognition look like? Is it something that you do internally or is it also an external recognition that goes to those people who have laid the path? 

Yes, it goes both ways. It's internal, with me constantly remembering and acquainting myself with the work that has been done before. It is also recognising even the voices that may not be legitimised as sources of knowledge. It is observing women in the villages doing the work and acknowledging that even when they don't name themselves as feminists, even when they don't name their work as feminist work, I'm able to see that this is actually it. That's the internal recognition. 

The external recognition goes into something as simple as paying homage to their work and incorporating it in our own work to show people that what I'm feeling and thinking is not new. I may be articulating it in a different way, but it is not new. People have felt and thought about these issues, people have done work and you may have not seen it because of obvious reasons including a lack of documentation, which is why I'm saying that platforms like Eyala are very important. Nobody can come 50 years from now and say there was not a single woman documenting work in The Gambia when we can Google it and see that Jama Jack was doing the work. So that's why we're grateful for spaces like this. The external recognition also goes with the peer networks that we have, also acknowledging each other in our spaces.

You mentioned that your experience has been a mix of emotions. Tell me more about that…

We're human. We get tired, but it's part of the human experience, particularly when you interact a lot and you get exposed to the work, because not everybody gets into the work with good intentions. We have to acknowledge that each movement has its own wins and challenges. I think there is a disillusionment that sometimes comes and the question that says, “Is it even worth it? Why can't I just look at these things and ignore them like everybody else?”. Unfortunately, I'm not wired that way. I can't see poverty and ignore it, especially when I know that there's enough resources for all of us. So just that contestation, that disillusionment, that anger sometimes, that losing hope. But the beauty of it is that because of the community that I have built, we share ideas, and we reflect authentically and openly with each other. 

What would you say has been a key takeaway from these reflections at your own individual level, but also as part of the community around you?

One of my really great friends, Iris, helped me so much. She taught me about rest as a deliberate feminist act of resistance. Capitalism demands for you to be exhausted so that you don't have any strength to fight anything anymore. You then tap out and there's nothing you can give anymore and the movement fizzles out. Then patriarchy advances and gains momentum. So, it's important to view rest as a form of resistance. Take some time out to go back to the source, to your why, to how we can collectively organise in different ways, but to also just rest and not think about anything. 

I've realised that I love water bodies. They intimidate me but there's also something that is healing for me. So sometimes, my rest also looks like going to the beach, just going on a vacation to a country that has a beach and just being there. I'm minute, I’m insignificant in the face of all of this. But I'm also significant in that I can make a small difference. 

And then lastly, I think it's just knowing that we would have tried. So, the activism work brings all of that. It's the anger, the disillusionment, the renewed confidence, the learning, the courage, and the loss also. It’s the grief because there are certain things that we lose in the journey, but it's also the collective grief.

What are some of the things you may have lost and are possibly still grieving or have grieved over as part of the journey?

I think it was some parts of myself. If I meet newer parts of myself, it means older parts either go or they’re rebuilt. There were some parts that had to go. I lost some friendships where maybe people would feel comfortable with joking about things like rape. I don't joke about it. So, there was a time that was painful because I felt like I'm constantly having to be a party pooper. It was painful then, but it's not painful now. There was a time I was hiding or diminishing. And I think I grieved for that part, because then I cheated myself. There were opportunities I could have gone after, but I didn't because I was shying away. And I'm sorry to that Lorato. 

But there is also the collective grief in the sense that you see that women are being faced with this similar plight. You read about sexual violations, about rape, about their political ambitions, about this, about that. And you see that it's kind of the same, in the collective grieving. But the collective joy as well. Yeah, the collective joy…

Let’s talk about that! How do you make space for joy for yourself but also within feminist spaces that you find yourself in which can sometimes get really serious, really technical, but also very much rooted in anger?

You know, when we say there's so much power in naming things, I think it frees you. It gives you relief, and there's joy in that, because the tension of you feeling these emotions that you cannot package goes away. When you package them through words, you breathe, and there's joy in that. There's so much joy in being able to articulate yourself. 

It is also the capacity to hold the bad and the good at the same time, and to say, what does justice, freedom, democracy, and joy look like for me? It is being able to dream about feminist futures and knowing that there’s joy in that imagination. It is knowing that I can share that imagination with my friends, and they can share their imaginations with me, and it is filled with joy. So, I think just being able to share that assists so much, but also just being able to read the stories of success. 

I remember, in Botswana, one of the young feminists I look up to, Bogolo Kenewendo. She's a former Minister Of Trade and Investment in Botswana. She has always been doing a lot of social justice work, and she gave so much inspiration to a lot of us. She was bold, she was courageous, she was assertive. So even when she was selected as a minister, it didn't really come as a surprise. She's always done the work. And as a Minister, she was doing the work, articulating social justice issues, and there was so much joy in that; in that there was a young woman, and you were seeing the work that she's doing. So, when we're documenting and collecting voices, I think there's so much joy in finding that there is a thread that binds us. And we have now, and we will have the tools to somewhat challenge patriarchy. 

In Part 4, Lorato shares her observations on the tensions that sometimes hinder progress, as well as possible solutions to bridge the gap. Read it here.

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