“You have to make sure that your own merits prevail over other people’s opinion” - Salamatou Traoré (Niger) - 4/4

In this fourth and last part of our discussion with Mrs. SalamatouTraoré, she reflects on feminism several years after she participated in the 1995 Beijing Conference. Previously, we have learnt about her life (Part 1), her work in public health (Part 2), the work being done at her Dimol Centre (Part 3).

Thank you for telling us about the DIMOL Centre, your NGO. Now, let’s talk about you. When we hear about Nigerien women, they’re often described as submissive, silent, weak…You are the complete opposite. When we first meet you, it’s obvious that you do not mince words and speak your mind. 

I do not! (She laughs)

However, I can imagine that it’s not always easy to constantly stand out. How do you feel about this?

Everything starts with my family. I’ve always had an open dialogue with my family when raising my children and even my grandchildren now. You must be honest, don’t beat around the bush. Nowadays, you can’t raise a child by hiding things from them. I openly talk about taboo issues within the family.

Could you give me an example?

Of course. One of my sons, I can’t remember how old he was, was eating when he asked my sister a question. He said: “Auntie, how do you make a person?” And my sister replied: “You take some sand; you add some blood, and you mix it.” But I said: “This is not how. Tell him the truth. It’s a mom and dad who make the baby. This is how you make a person. You see, I’m your mommy and this is your daddy, and we brought you to this world. I’ll tell you the rest later.” He’s a doctor so now he understands. (She laughs)

How does that work outside of the family circle? 

Even within the family circle, it is not always that easy. Let me give you an example. My son became involved in politics but he did not want me to know because he didn’t want me to share my opinion on the matter. As a result, when you’re the one in your family who sees things clearly, sometimes others don’t support you. “What she says is true, but it’s shocking.” “Be careful, he’s in politics”.

That’s how they deal with me. That’s what I’m told; that I’m not diplomatic. I speak my mind and sometimes it’s shocking. Maybe some things, when you say them openly, have to remain unsaid, or you have to find words that are easier to hear. Some people have to think about their sentences before they say them; I speak spontaneously.

Is there a woman in your life that inspired you to live the way you do? 

My mom. She’s very lively. She’s a great woman. She raised and defended many children, including some who weren’t her own. She wasn’t in the kitchen. No. And when she would say something, my dad would do it. She never broke down, even for the education of the children. At home, my mom was in charge and she never had any problems.

Some people have to think about their sentences before they say them; I speak spontaneously.

When you think about it, what did you learn from your mother that allows you to carry this commitment to this day? 

Her patience. She inherited it from her mother, my grandmother. We call her Aya. She was purely from the rural world and she was nicknamed "mouregn", which means "to ignore, you have to trivialise" in a way. That's what it means in our language. When, for example, you come to confide in her, she will always tell you: “be patient. You need to be patient”. She always says that. When you come to her with a material issue or needs, even if she doesn't have any, she says: "Go ahead, I'll send you this.” One day, my dad wanted to take her back to Niamey. She said, "No. The people who are there are my children too, how can I abandon them? They'll say I put my own family ahead of the others." That's something she did that I admired.

So, she was truly committed to the community. 

Oh my! She did more than that! All the children in her house are her grandchildren; they’re all her own. One day, I came and I oversaw the finances. So every three or four months, we had to go and get the food. I went to find her and I said: "Aya, can you give each child back to their parents? You see, I have no more funds for these children and none of the parents are meeting their needs." She smiled and said nothing to me. I continued to do what I could. 

Much later, when I had grandchildren of my own, I went back to her about it. I said, "I'm here because I owe you an apology. One day I asked you to send all those children away, that everyone should just take responsibility. I didn't know that having a grandson was that nice." She laughed and said, "You get it now." (She laughs) The old ladies, they're very lively.

Speaking of inspiration, you are from the generation of feminists who attended the fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing, in 1995. Was that important to you? 

Yes, I went to Beijing. I wanted to go but it was difficult to find the funds to go there. I decided to go to the conference even if it meant I had to pay for it myself. I first went from Niamey to Addis, then another Guinean woman helped me and gave me an extra ticket to go from Addis to Beijing. I arrived in Beijing, and I was reimbursed after I came back. I truly wanted to be there.

Beijing happened over 25 years ago. In your opinion, how has the condition of Nigerien women evolved in this period?

There’s been a change in the rural world. We have homes and women’s centres. Some women have farms and vegetable gardens. Women's leadership in rural areas has also progressed. I know that I have seen cases of women who have defended themselves to safeguard their land concerning inheritance. So there has been some progress on the mentality level. There is more openness. There has also been a strong evolution when it comes to loans in villages. The State has taken charge of grain mills to relieve these women of the hardship they face. There has also been a change in the schooling of young girls. Now in urban areas, girls have access to higher education.

Niger is described as a country where it’s difficult to be a vector of change because there’s a certain burden and some issues are taboos. What has evolved well and what has not?

Even though it is said that Niger is last...in my opinion, no. I would say that it is in terms of the poverty index that we can say that, but if we go deeper, we will still find indicators that allow us to say that Niger has evolved. We have evolved. Even if we say that Niger is last in terms of politics and development, there are still development indexes that put us in a position of affluence. We also have, still in urban areas, women who stay in the background because there are men who put pressure on them. Even in rural areas, women do not have access to all the information or the right to go to health facilities if they are not authorised. This is a barrier to development.

When our generation thinks about Beijing, we are inspired and very grateful. You paved a part of the path on which we’re walking today. However, we realise that our elders don’t see themselves as feminists… What’s your relationship with this word? Do you consider yourself a feminist? 

Yes and no, because it is the others who must evaluate my actions and decide if I am feminist or not. For me, being a feminist means defending women's rights, their freedom, and everything that is in favour of their promotion. From this point of view, I am a feminist.

I think that feminism, beyond our organisational commitments, is also something that we must embody in our daily lives, especially in the way we manage our relationships with our loved ones. How do you manage to do it?

How to embody it? Sometimes you must ignore the observations of others. You must make your own merits override the opinions of others. 

It seems that people refuse to understand. It's not that they don't understand; they refuse to accept this change. That's what's shocking. Men are aware of women’s rights but sometimes choose to hinder the proper enjoyment of these rights. Yet, if they accepted the change, who would benefit? Not just the woman; it would be a positive result for the future development of their offspring.

So, we must ignore everything that people think. If you have to keep fighting, defending, reprimanding, guiding, advising and everything, and you’re talking to someone who is not on the same page as you…it is disheartening.

Men are aware of women’s rights but sometimes choose to hinder the proper enjoyment of these rights.

You’re from the Beijing generation. When you think about the Beijing+25 generation, what piece of advice would you give them?

Think more about the collective and less about the individual. I find that now, this rising generation here in Niger is a generation that fights for individual interests. We feel that the struggle is individual, not collective. In an NGO, we often see a person say, "I’m the one who did it" instead of "it was the organisation that did it". That's not good. There is no collaboration.

But there are new up-and-coming organisations that I like. The previous generation had an easier time working with technical and financial partners than today. Funding is scarce, you have more difficulties, it is not the same thing. Nevertheless, with the little funding you have, you will have to coordinate with the so-called Beijing generation.

My last question is one that I ask all my guests: is there a sentence, a quote, or a feminist motto that you apply to your life? 

No woman should give her life by giving life. This is my motto. Today many women in Niger give their lives. But I sincerely want the well-being of women and to see women always smiling.

Absolutely. Thank you so much, Mrs. Traoré. It was truly an amazing conversation. 

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.

Click here to learn more about the work of the DIMOL Centre and how you can support them

“They come in as victims and leave as leaders” - Salamatou Traoré (Niger) - 3/4

Our conversation with Mrs Salamatou Traoré continues and gets even more interesting with each new part. We have discussed what inspired her choice to build a career in healthcare (Part 1),and her experience in public health (Part 2)

You just told me that you founded your NGO. Let’s start with its name, “DIMOL”. What does it mean? 

“DIMOL” means “dignity” in Fulani. I founded the DIMOL Centre because of the fistula issue that is still ongoing.

Please tell me more about the DIMOL Centre and your work there with women diagnosed with obstetric fistula? 

The women we accommodate come to the Centre in bad shape because of fistula. First, their wrappers are always wet with urine. They are stressed and embarrassed. As soon as they arrive, they’re given two pairs of underpants and two bars of soap per week. They get to clean themselves. When we see the women again the next day, there’s neither the smell nor the stress. We don’t see them constantly touching their clothes to make sure they’re not wet. 

Then, the Centre’s midwife does the examination and determines if a woman has a case of fistula or not. The registration period is important for collecting quantitative data. If the patient does indeed have a fistula, the midwife refers her to the surgery center for another examination and a follow-up on her case, to know if it requires surgery or checkups.

While the woman is being observed and even during her recovery after the operation, she stays with us at the Centre. This waiting period is used to help the woman understand the causes and consequences of her illness. We teach her environmental hygiene, the importance of not defecating out in the open, the importance of going to school, and the use of contraceptives. All of this is preventive work, to avoid future infections.

Most importantly, we explain to the women the reasons that brought them here. Now, from that moment on, patients understand better that it is not a curse. 

Oh I see, some of them think that it’s a curse?

Yes indeed. Many think that they’ve been cursed. At DIMOL, they learn that the fistula is due to delayed treatment of their health condition: not going to prenatal examination, not giving birth in sanitary health facilities. So, once they understand, it becomes a repetitive process. We repeat the same topics each week:  environmental hygiene, sanitation, education for girls, family planning, and so on. We spend all our time explaining to them but when they become aware of what has happened and are more receptive, we take action.

And what is the “action” phase?

The women usually spend between three and six months with us. They have their first surgery after three months. Then, after the surgery, we give them appointments and they go back and forth between the DIMOL Centre and the hospital until they fully recover. Some of them have had up to five surgeries. 

Meanwhile, at DIMOL, they acquire skills in sewing, embroidery, basketry, knitting, weaving…whatever they can learn. The patient chooses what she wants to learn. Once she is healed, we reinforce the training on the skill chosen by the patient. If she has chosen sewing, we focus on that. If we see that she has not mastered cutting, or if she has not mastered certain patterns, we strengthen the training.

At DIMOL, the women acquire skills in sewing, embroidery, basketry, knitting, weaving…whatever they can learn.

And she goes back home with the possibility of teaching a skill? That’s amazing!

Once she is ready to return to the village, she is given the task of teaching her fellow women in the village the skill she learned at the DIMOL Centre. She will also conduct awareness-raising activities for her colleagues, guiding women to health services if they have problems. She can look for cases of fistula in the village, by word of mouth, to tell them that fistula is curable. 

She is given money to start cultivating the skill in her home. She can buy the materials she needs for the skill as well as for her fistula awareness sessions: a bench, a table, everything she needs. It helps people take what she is doing seriously. 

By word of mouth, former patients raise awareness. They also refer or accompany women who need access to fistula care. They become ambassadors for the DIMOL Centre, and they sometimes bring in new patients. There are even former patients who have become health care workers. 

And the cycle goes on. Actually, it’s a virtuous one. Is there a woman whose journey made a lasting impression on you? I’m sure there are many.

We have Oumou, who has already brought us 14 new patients. She just brought two new women yesterday. Oumou spends all her time on market days raising awareness and asking questions: "Do you have cases of fistula in your home? Women who smell of urine? If you do, I have someone who treats it for free”. And she gets the message across. 

During her time here, Oumou chose to learn sewing. She received reintegration funds, and a machine. She taught her husband how to sew, and he taught others as well. 

What’s interesting about the DIMOL Centre’s model is that women come in almost as victims, and they leave as game-changers. They are empowered personally but also make a change in the community. It’s very transformative. 

Patients enter the DIMOL Centre as victims and leave as leaders. Sometimes their families don’t even recognise them anymore because they have changed so much. When a patient returns to the village, she is healed, clean, and well-dressed, with knowledge that others do not have, and with funds and materials or livestock that others do not have.

She is accompanied by members of the DIMOL Center who explain that she is cured and that they must accept her and stop stigmatising her. They explain in front of everyone that the money and materials she has are for cultivating her skill, and to finance future cesarean sections or other operations, so they should not be taken from her.

And the women usually do not face hardship when they go back because you provide guidance? You said that you talked to the community, to leaders and the families.

Yes, raising awareness first starts with the family. The health agent comes with us to the authorities to tell them that the NGO is going to intervene in a certain way and that’s what is bringing us there. For patients who have been cured of obstetric fistula, the nurse accompanies us to the village. Sometimes the nurses discover the localities that they are used to writing down as "common" when they have never been in the field. And when they realise how far away these women are, how far they must travel, they now take the cases of women who come from these villages seriously. Once they arrive in the village, the women share their experiences. But the health worker also must speak. He also makes his plea. He says that he expects the people of these villages or this community to come quickly for care so that they can heal quickly rather than being evacuated because it is expensive. 

When it comes to the families, we also speak to the men. We tell them that fistula is not easily curable. It requires a lot of money, and it stigmatises and traumatises the girls. So, if they avoid child marriage and give children the chance to go to school…if they avoid girls having to wait before going for care and allow them to go for consultations and assisted deliveries instead, they will not have any more cases of fistula. 

And finally, we make the village chiefs aware of their responsibilities as well, telling them: “if there is a case of fistula in this village, you are responsible because you have been warned. You will have asked for it because we have warned you. And it works. As soon as a woman is sick, they say: go quickly to the dispensary and another woman must accompany you. So, they have all the information at hand, and they respect it.

If they avoid girls having to wait before going for care, and allow them to go for consultations and assisted deliveries instead, they will not have any more cases of fistula. 

It’s great to see success in that way.  You still face some challenges, I suppose. What’s the biggest one?

The great difficulty is the lack of understanding of others about fistula. Fistula is found in remote or isolated areas. If you don't go there, they don't listen to you and they don't take the fight seriously. To fight fistula, people only talk about operations, over and over. I say it is not operations that will eradicate fistula. Fistula can only be eradicated through prevention. First, child marriage must be banned and access to basic social services must be promoted. Second, parents must understand the risks of not providing prenatal care and assisted childbirth.

The DIMOL Centre can accommodate about 50 women, but fistula affects thousands of women in Niger. What do you need to support more women?  

We need more space. We need to be able to accommodate more women, organise the treatment of cases better and ensure a better follow-up. 

We also need more space for the training we do in sewing, basketry, weaving, knitting, etc. This training is not only for fistula victims. We have women from various women’s groups who come to acquire skills to fight against poverty. We think that fistula is also a poverty issue. To avoid complications for these women, if they can access training for financial empowerment, they can also cure their health issues. And it works, because they come for empowerment, they can listen to the conversations, and it strengthens the women. We need the space to do all that.

We need more resources to create a centre where we can offer training for women, for NGOs or organisations, community decision-makers and others… We have a lot to share… but where? 

We’d also like to work beyond the fistula issue. We want to help women who have experienced gender-based violence. We want to support more women's economic empowerment. To increase our impact, we need more space and more resources.

Despite the challenges, your pride and joy are visible. When we arrived at the Centre earlier, I saw how your face lit up. How do you feel each time you walk in here? 

Yes, when I visit and I see a healthy and clean environment, when I see that the women are all clean, when I see the systems that I have organised in place, it gives me pride. It gives me even more pride since I say to myself that at least some of them listen to what they are told. They are present. This is what we wanted for the women that are there and need us. 

It is also a responsibility. Everything you do, everything they hear, they take at face value. And so, we avoid saying things that are not feasible.

Oh, you avoid making promises you can’t keep? 

Yes. And when we translate what visitors say, we translate the exact words the person said. Because they memorise everything. They don't write but they record everything we say. They call us back afterward. That makes me feel better. For me, it's an honour to see that women are expecting us to help them.

Has the prevalence of fistula changed in Niger over the course of your career? What changes have you observed? 

There are fewer fistulas, and the cases are less severe today. Before, we had multiple fistulas. Now the type of fistula is less serious, it is the bladder fistula. Before, we had many cases of recto-vaginal fistula. There were many deaths in Niger. The latest statistics are not yet available, but there has been a decrease in deaths. It is already something to see that even if a fistula is present, at least there is a reduction in maternal mortality and mortality following childbirth. 

One of our great successes is that thanks to DIMOL's strong advocacy, today, fistula is no longer a secret to anyone. First, there is a network that is created, the Fistula Eradication Network or REF. In the mother-child centres throughout Niger, the topic of fistula is discussed. This is a result for us, fistula has been identified as a public health problem, which is an honour for us. 

And it is not only in Niger. I remember in 1998 or 1999, when I spoke about fistula at a conference, there was one country whose representative said: “Fistula does not exist in my country”. He didn't even know what fistula was. But today that country is receiving hundreds of millions to fight against fistula. In nearby Burkina, they took the example of everything I said. It's like a consultation. There is even a lady who has created a foundation on fistula. And when she saw me, she said: “Mrs. Traoré, I respect you because if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have had my ideas for creating the Foundation in Burkina”. The foundation is called the RAMA Foundation. I am very happy about that. Moreover, we did our workshop on the fight against fistula with a professor from Nigeria, and they founded a center for fistula based on the Dimol model.

In part four, we’ll talk about the women who inspire her and the changes she sees in regards to women, as a participant of the 1995 World Conference on Women in Beijing and a decades-long advocate against the stigma around fistula. Read it here.

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.

Click here to learn more about the work of the DIMOL Centre and how you can support them

“I know that with my hands and my head, I can provide for myself” - Salamatou Traoré (Niger) - 2/4

We are in conversation with Mrs Salamatou Traoré from Niger. In the first part of our conversation, we talked about what inspired her choice to build a career in healthcare. In this second part, we continue our discussion with a focus on her public health career.

You told me how you decided to start a career in public health. Could you tell me about some of the milestones in your career? 

In 1983, I worked in a renowned public maternity ward as a supervisor. There wasn’t enough space for all the patients suffering from fistula. Only 9 beds were available, while there were more than 20 women with fistula. We saved the beds for serious or urgent cases, but all the other women had to be outside under the sheds. 

When I was promoted to the position of director at another maternity facility in the Lamor Dieng district, I had almost 32 empty beds, because they were all saved for deliveries, and there was rarely more than one delivery per day. One day, I asked my boss who was also my professor, a Frenchman named Dr. Bianchi, if I could transfer the women from the other maternity ward. In this facility, they were taken care of completely. From 1983 to 1988, they stayed with me in Lamor Dieng. We took care of them. They had free food and access to cleaning products such as soap, thanks to the maternity allocations and the donations we sometimes received. We would cure infections and prepare them for surgery, and before they were discharged, we made them undergo physical examinations to avoid having them go back home with infections without even knowing.

It was really good, and I educated these patients. During their stay, we taught them hygiene rules, the causes and consequences of what they had experienced, and how to be safe after they returned home. We also did their pre-operative check-up.

This is amazing.

But it didn't last. When I was appointed director of the referral maternity hospital five years later, they got kicked out of the maternity hospital in Lamor Dieng and had to come back to the Central Hospital, under the sheds.

That’s still a great success, despite the hardship! Tell me about one of the most difficult decisions you had to make in your career in public healthcare?

It was in 1991 when I worked as the director of the Issaka Gazobi Maternity Hospital also known as the Central. I made the decision to leave the board. I was disappointed by my staff who didn’t like to work. In my former position in Lamor Dieng, I managed to convince the whole staff of the importance of cleanliness. As soon as I arrived, I would start by checking the cleanliness of the toilets before even going to my office. The hospital was as clean as a private clinic.

When I arrived at the Central Hospital, I did my best to train the public service staff, but I didn’t succeed. On Fridays, when we had to clean the maternity ward thoroughly, everyone would run away making excuses: “My husband is sick”; “My child has a doctor’s appointment”…I remember one Friday when there was hardly anyone to clean, so I took out my cleaning products (which I sometimes bought with my own money) and cleaned the ward myself, with three staff members. We disinfected everything. 

I returned to the office with my clothes all wet. I sat down with my head in my hands. I said to myself: “What I am doing in this department is not the work of a midwife; it is not the kind of work I should have at this level. I can do more than just be mean to these people”. So, I took a sheet of paper. I put in a request for voluntary departure, and I went to my professor and said, “Dr. Bianchi, I'm going to leave Central”. He listened to me and then he burst out laughing. He told me, “I knew you were wasting your time”. It was an encouragement.

Did you have any doubts about your decision at all? 

When you’re looking for a solution, you don’t know what is fair and what isn’t. As soon as you find a solution, right or wrong, you feel comfortable. 

People were shocked, whether it was my coworkers or the Ministry’s staff after they received my letter. They kept asking, “A director who resigns? How is that possible? Why are you leaving?” I told them, “I don’t have anything more than anyone else; I know I’m serving my country, but I can only go so far.” The whole situation disgusted me because I was being mean to everybody. So, I quit and left.

You had no fears for the future? 

I said to myself “I’ll start a private clinic and see what I can do.” If it didn’t work out, as a midwife I could still work in other clinics. It’s something I was already doing from time to time to help them with deliveries and all that. I know that with my hands and my head, I can provide for myself. I was at peace. I know I disappointed some people who thought I cared about this maternity ward because it was the referral maternity hospital. But then they realised that I came and did more. 

Was there a time when you felt that other people truly recognised your contributions? 

Before I resigned, I met Mrs. Aïssata Moumouni, the first woman to be a member of the Nigerien government. We were at the Safe Motherhood Conference in Niger and at the time, she was State Secretary for Public Health and Social Affairs, responsible for the status of women. She knew who I was because of the changes I made in the maternity ward. For instance, I helped reduce the safety hazards due to the presence of street vendors at the gate. She also knew who I was because of an article I wrote on women’s health in the newspaper Femme Action et Développement. 

She thought I was a very dynamic woman and decided to send me to a regional conference on female genital mutilation, which took place in Mali in 1988. At that time, all the countries in the region had set up a committee on female genital mutilation except Niger. She thought I could do it. 

That's how CONIPRAT [Comité Nigérien sur les Pratiques Traditionnelles ayant effet sur la Santé des Femmes et des Enfants - Nigerien Committee on Traditional Practices Affecting the Health of Women and Children] was created in 1989. After the conference in Mali, I collected all the information I could find. I compiled everything and it worked. I was the secretary-general and another of my former instructors was the President. I worked there until 1996. In 1998, I started a private, personal clinic, DIMOL, and off it went.

Mrs Traoré founded the DIMOL Centre to support women suffering from obstetric fistula. We’ll talk more about the Centre in the third part of our conversation. Click here to read it.

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.

"My father raised me like a boy" - Salamatou Traoré (Niger) - 1/4

During a trip to Niamey in August 2019, Françoise was able to visit Mrs. Salamatou Traoré and her NGO, Dimol. In this interview, Mrs. Traoré talks about her life, her public health career (Part 2), her mission to help women suffering from obstetric fistula to transform their communities (Part 3), and her ideas on feminism (Part 4).

Hello Mrs. Traoré and thank you for taking part in this Eyala interview. Could you briefly introduce yourself?

My name is Salamatou Traoré. I’m a trained nurse and midwife. I’m Nigerien and am very committed to defending women’s rights: that’s what defines me. I do not like it when a woman is underestimated, or her rights are violated. I really want the well-being of women.

Why did you want to become a nurse and a midwife? When did healthcare begin to be an important aspect of your life? 

I was someone who knew about every health issue early on. My dad was in the military and then was a nurse in civilian life. He went to every region. He served in Niger and in Burkina Faso. I would often see him go into the wilderness, on his horse, to do medical evacuations with his rifle on his shoulder. If he came back with game, I knew that his mission was successful, because he had time to hunt on his way back. If his shoulder bag was empty, I would know that the patient had died.

When I told him that, he noticed that I was very clever and that I understood him perfectly. We spent a lot of time together. My dad raised me like a boy. I was the one who helped him do work in the backyard or to keep the neighbourhood clean. I would push my wheelbarrow and brooms: I swept, and he picked things up. I would go on the roof to do renovations. I was like a little boy next to him, while all the boys in the house were sleeping. I was truly free, unlike all the other girls. It’s only afterwards that I realised how different my father was in his relationship with children. He protected all the girls in the family from female genital mutilation. In my family, all the girls were successful.

So, you chose to become a nurse to honour your father? 

Yes. When I found out I passed the nursing exam, he told me: “Salamata, I must tell you something. If money is what you’re after, don’t work in health care, because that’s not where you’ll find it. But if you’re seeking gratitude and blessings from your patients, do it.” I told him: “I want to be like you, Dad.”

Something else convinced me to work in healthcare. One day, when I was 13, I went to the National Hospital to take food to my older sister who was on-call in the maternity ward. When I got there, I saw a girl in the corridor who had a hard time walking. She had a tube in her hand. She was walking with the help of a stick, and her mother was there to help her. I noticed that she was moving very slowly, and that water was oozing out as she passed. She was crying and shaking, and I could feel that she was in tremendous pain. When my older sister arrived, I asked her what was wrong with the girl. She explained to me: “This isn’t a girl but a new mother. She has just given birth but now she has a fistula so she can’t retain her urine anymore. On top of that, her baby passed away.”

I was shocked to see a skinny little girl, younger than me, who had already been married and had given birth to a dead child, and was now sick. I, the daughter of a public servant, was very strong and well-fed. But she, who was from the “bush”, was suffering and couldn’t hold her urine. I said to myself that there was a problem here.

That guided me. Once I arrived home, I talked to my dad about it, and I asked him a lot of questions. I learned that when childbirth is difficult, both the mother and the child could die. He told me: “This young girl is a survivor.” I kept that in mind, and I said, “I’ll work in health care”. In total, I’ve worked in the health sector for 25 years: 8 years as a nurse, and then as a midwife the rest of the time. 

In the second part of our conversation, we’ll discuss her career in public health. Click here to read it.

Read more about obstetric fistula here: https://www.unfpa.org/obstetric-fistula 

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.

“You need the power of a support system that will protect you. ” : Aya Chebbi (Africa -Tunisia) – 3/3

This is the final part of my conversation with Aya Chebbi, and I must say I have felt very intrigued by Aya’s story. We have spoken about her pan-african identity and how it influences her work (Part 1); her experiences during the Tunisian revolution and her work as the AU Youth Envoy (Part 2). 

In this final part, we discuss feminism, feminist organising and navigating patriarchal spaces.

When you spoke at the W7 event in Paris, the first thing that you did was to introduce yourself as a feminist. What does that mean when you say you're a feminist?

Being a Pan-Africanist equals being feminist, I don't separate both, and I always say there is no Pan-Africanism without feminism. Pan-Africanism would not have existed if not for the feminist women who drove liberation movements. If women didn't sacrifice, if they weren't behind the scenes of the liberation struggle, there wouldn't be a Pan-African agenda. In my mind, they're so interlinked, and for me, when I say Pan-African, it includes the feminist lens. Feminism for me is being self-liberated as a woman. It's not about any woman coming to you and saying, “You have the right, this person cannot beat you because of this.” If you are not liberated and you cannot be you in every single space, for me, you can't come and lecture me about feminism. 

What would you say was the defining moment in this journey in your life? It doesn't have to be the moment when you said, “Oh, I'm a feminist” but it is a moment that you think is a defining moment in that journey, that you have had as a feminist so far. Either a moment of transformation or a moment of realization.

I think there are so many moments but when I started traveling and focusing on youth, being part of women circles was so eye opening because I was also in a bubble where the definitions of feminism, sisterhood, and womanhood can be limiting. Coming into these other spaces, I realized there’s so much more and that made me feel I'm a part of a bigger movement. I'm a part of - at the time I didn't even realize this -  the sisterhood or rather a community of women who are fighting for their rights and believe in it and make you believe that we can do it. I think so many conversations with women inspired me. Also, I grew up as an only child and all my life I was surrounded by men, not women. It had always been portrayed to me that there is jealousy between women, and I felt betrayed by my women friends and female friends.

“When I first got support from a woman, it was so defining for me.”

It completely changed my idea of what a community of womanhood is about, it became about support because you are a female and because I hear your pain. That’s also when I realized that in my life, I need a support system. I need women to be in my life. I think that also defines my feminism, because when you fight for feminism, at the end of the day you're like an amateur in masculine spaces without really fighting with other women. It doesn’t make any sense. The global feminist movement made sense to me, because I wouldn't, before, define myself as part of global feminism, the fourth wave of feminists, because I disagree ideologically. For me, everything comes together if a woman comes and gives me a hug and in that sincere moment of sisterhood.

So, your feminist experience is coming in the moments of sharing and caring rather than the moments of big talk?

Absolutely. The Eyala Circle we had in Vancouver was so healing for me. It was so healing to be in a safe space, even when I don't share. Also, I’ve never learned how to be vulnerable, and it's so hard. It's still so hard to be in a safe space and be vulnerable and to share your own experience. But hearing others just empowers me, and you could share the pain without saying any word. That is so helpful.

But there are some spaces, and many of them you are in, that they don't just let you be a feminist. When I was living in France and I was interested in questions around being a black girl in France, about the entire racism movement, even Pan-Africanist movement and there was this refusal to integrate any issues around your specific challenges as an African woman. I can only imagine it’s the same for you even today. Is that something that you encounter or not? How does that manifest and how do you navigate that? How do you negotiate?

I think it's worse because you're young and you're female. It’s like double crime. This is something I'm still navigating because every time I think… patriarchy is so creative. Every time I think to myself, “I can manage this, I encounter this, I know how to put people into their place.” And then patriarchy comes in a different way, manifests differently.

I also had a horrible experience in France, when I delivered remarks at the Generation Equality Forum in Paris in Summer 2021. I was proudly wearing my African dress and wrap sitting on a panel with Melinda French Gates, Prime Minister Sanna Marin and minister Elisabeth Moreno. The speech was picked up by Brut and went viral and I received the most Islamophobic and misogynistic comments and direct messages. I had to disconnect from my social media for a week. 

In diplomacy and even the most educated spaces, there is always power involved which makes it more complicated. How to handle it? Honestly, it's a work in progress. I feel good in my skin when I am just me, free, bold, unapologetic and I’m trying to do more of that and fuck the patriarchy.

How do you channel that power, as a young woman, African, North African speaking for Africa? How do you navigate and negotiate those times when patriarchy comes, because it can be so devastating in the small things? 

I was talking about this yesterday, in a group with Moroccan youth. We were talking about harassment and people wanting to see me fail. A mechanism that works for me, that I started three months ago, is to write diaries and treat people as characters. Whether it's patriarchy or whether people who want to use me, manipulate me, the people who want to instrumentalize me or people who want to see me fail, I would just observe their behavior. 

I remember the first three months I would be very reactive to things and get frustrated. That doesn't work in the world of politics and diplomacy and it doesn't bring me any friends. And I think once I started writing, I started taking my time to absorb all that was coming and deal with it. And I think that helped me to manage some difficult situations. I started to smile more when others are uncomfortable with my presence or opinion, or leadership style.  

What do you think is the aspect of your personality that makes you a successful feminist activist?

I’m not sure I am a successful feminist.  Success for me is when I reach my goal and I don't feel like I accomplished my mission, so I don't feel like I'm successful. Success for me is not obvious, so, I don't know about that. I would say I’m inspiring, yes, because I see many people change things after we meet and something that really touched me, but I don't see it as success. But something in me that puts me in this space or gives me the platform comes back to my childhood. I lived like a nomad with my father and I have encountered many experiences that made me understand diversity. Even when I started traveling, meeting people who don't look like me, different in everything, ideology, experiences etc. I was prepared for it by 20 years of me moving around Tunisia and understanding our mosaic. I didn’t see it as something to navigate, but something that came naturally. 

When I started traveling and started really believing the Pan-African vision, taking it, convincing people, and recruiting people into it, people believed in me or joined me because I engage them with all the layers that they have. I did not know that here’s my power, but after a decade, seeing how the movement grew and how people really took it and self-organized, I’m proud to say that I've been part of that as a Tunisian, despite all the stereotypes about me.

“Growing up with values of how you become part of people beyond any differences and diversity is the best thing.”

What gives you the biggest sense of achievement as a woman, as a feminist?

Honestly, there are many. Some of them are very personal. But also a big policy change that I’ve been part of in Tunisia where we changed the law that used to allow rapists to marry survivors, and where we managed to push back on a law that said women are complementary to men. We had huge protests, and men were on the front line with us and those big moments of winning feel great as a feminist. However, on a daily basis, it's really whatever you can to fuck patriarchy. Other times where, as a community and as feminists, we come together and feel empowered, it also fulfils me. And it’s so beautiful.

One of the things that I’m seeing since I launched Eyala… I'm realising as I speak with people and people talk to me about their experiences, making a decision to live your life a certain way or to liberate yourself, as you said, sometimes it's a big decision, and sometimes it’s a small one. What's the biggest decision that you've had to make? What would be your advice for somebody who's on the fence and not knowing even how to go about it?

I think first to claim your right to choose, to be. I made many decisions that I feel are self-liberating starting within my family even though the consequences were difficult, especially for my parents. My extended family is very conservative, religiously. There are specific ways, cultures, values, they would not understand why I live like this or I believe this. Eventually, everyone became proud of what I stand for. They finally see me. I think the biggest decision I made was to stand up against the elders in the family and just be like, “This is who I am.” 

Let me give you some background. I was adopted by my dad's brother. My biological parents already had four kids when I was born, and my father decided to ‘gift’ me to his brother to raise as his child. We left the village when I was four years old, but we would go back every vacation. We’re very connected to the village and my grandmother. The father who raised me is a feminist even though he wouldn’t admit it. But he was empowered to be, to rebel, and regardless of our disagreements, my right of choice was guaranteed. 

The year I turned 18, things changed because I now had my own life, and my own decisions. That whole year was difficult for me. It was a defining school year with my baccalaureate, but also a year where my father went to Democratic Republic of Congo for a UN peacekeeping mission. I’m very attached to my father, my feminist and it was just my mom and she also faced so much pressure. First, after I got my period people started looking at me as a woman and not a child anymore and started to tell me not to do things. My biological parents also felt entitled. They started to say “We have a say in your life. You can't just behave like this or wear this or whatever.”  We went to the village for my sister’s wedding, and I had a public disagreement with my biological father in front of the whole conservative extended family, the village, the community. Can you imagine me, this little thing standing in front of the eldest, publicly disagreeing with him.  You know what, I’m not going to this wedding and I’m going to wear this dress.” And then my cousin was like, “If Aya is not going, I'm not going.” It was a whole fucking mess. And even the bride was waiting for me to decide what to do. 

Wow, that’s so much power! What happened next? What did you decide?

At that moment I realised what can happen when you speak up. At that moment you are that quiet girl, and you're like, “Here’s oppression coming, so what should I do?” I would have never done anything in my family if I didn't know my father is a feminist because he backs me up; he protects me. He wasn’t even there but I felt empowered to be me. I was confident. I'm like, “I have my dad.”  You need the power of a support system that will protect you. I would say stand up for your rights and speak up only if you have protection, a protective system that can get you out of trouble, be it your father, your friend, your comrade. Create that support for yourself and be radical.  

And sometimes we must create that system for ourselves. As a feminist, as a woman, but generally as you, as Aya, what is a book that you turn to that you think is a book that has had a big impact for you?

There are many. Let me start with Tahar Haddad. He was a Tunisian feminist and he wrote a book in Arabic which talks about women in Islam and society. Coming from a society which claims to be liberal and progressive since 1956, then growing up in an oppressive environment, it just grounds me, in the idea that it starts from community. He talks a lot about policy and law and how we need to advance women's rights, that women are half of humanity and women are half of society. You can’t just paralyze half of society. I read many books about Elissa (also known as Dido), founder of Carthage. People say the story is a myth, but I want to believe she existed. Every time I feel like I'm judged because of my radical self, I go back to that and I’m like, “If she did it, I can do it.”

And what is your feminist’s life motto? 

Badass, I say it too much. I say it in policy spaces too, and the last time I said it was in South Sudan in front of the First Lady and the Vice President. And then the one who was coordinating was like, “I couldn't believe it, Aya, you said it in front of the First Lady.” It just defines, for me, what a full female is. It’s like, “I'm fucking me, badass”. It just makes me feel so good. 

It’s the perfect way to end our conversation. A badass note. I’ve really enjoyed speaking with you, Aya. Thank you so much for making the time to share all of this with me. 

Note from Eyala: This interview was first recorded by Françoise Moudouthe in July 2019. Updates were made in April 2022 to reflect changes and progress in Aya’s journey since the first interview period.

Want to connect with Aya?

Or give her a shout out? Find her on Twitter aya_chebbi

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

“I'm a diplomat with an activist spirit” : Aya Chebbi (Africa -Tunisia) – 2/3

Aya Chebbi was the first African Union Envoy on Youth. Photo provided by Aya

I am in conversation with Aya Chebbi, pan-african feminist organizer and the first AU Youth Envoy. In the first part of our interview, Aya spoke to us about her African identity and her root in pan-africanism. 

In this second part, we dig deeper into the vision for a united Africa and explore Aya’s experience in her role as the AU Youth Envoy. 

I want to know about your style, because you’re always dressed to kill. I have a sense that it's not just about style, but that you're making a point with what you wear. Am I wrong? 

No, you’re not. I think it is identity and self-liberation. You know you grow up wearing what people tell you to wear and there are specific standards of beauty, especially as a female person. My experience with my hair made me realise that how I'm seen reflects who I am. I was bullied for my natural hair and so I used to cut it very very short, but then was forced to have straight hair so my mom would wrap it every night in long tights to be perfectly in shape for the next day. The moment I showered, I would have to go to the salon to do my hair. This was standard in the family.  

When I went to university, I no longer had the time or money to do that and remember being shocked that I had curly hair. I loved being natural and just showering and going out with my hair as it was. In my family, especially at the beginning, the first two to three years, I would hear “Go and fix yourself, you're a mess. What is this hair? You’re a mess.” It's always heard that straight hair is what is proper. I realised my hair was political and used it to make a point about that being who I am and liking it. It takes courage, as well, to wear some of the things that I wear and walk in a room. I'm not coming in a suit and a tight skirt or the idea of what a young woman should wear, what a diplomat should wear, even in the hallways of the African Union. 

“I realized my hair was political and used it to make a point about that being who I am and liking it. ”

My Pan-African identity helped me to take the courage and assert, “This is how I want to be seen. I love my African earrings. I can't take them off. This defines me.” That’s why I dress the way I am, because it's Pan-African for me. Every piece is from some parts of Africa and it’s like, “I am all Africa and I’m walking.” And especially in Tunisia, I love that when people see me they start asking questions, “Oh my God, where is this from?” And then we start a conversation. And I love that; I love provoking that. It helps me in North Africa to start an African conversation which is hard to have. I also realized that when I’m traveling, I blog about food, about clothes, and many of the people who follow me want to go and visit these African countries. That makes them love or become curious about it, and I love that. It is changing the narrative. 

Today, what does a united Africa look like? If we can make Pan-Africanism, as you understand it today, work, what does that look like? What is that utopia for you? 

As much as I am inspired by the ‘60s, I think we have a different vision because they built borders and they fought to have nation states. For me, it's the opposite that my generation seeks today. It’s borderless and not driven by personal interests or colonial borders. People could drive and go anywhere. People would know the history of Tunisia, what Tunisians did in 2011. A Zambian child, for example, would know what Tunisians have changed and would inspire them to do something. We would be economically so powerful, we would not give a shit about colonial imperialism, we would sit at the United Nations and define things. The unity I envision has to do with a population that is conscious as Africans, a common sense of African-ness, of belonging to this space. It also has to do with leadership. Without a Pan-African leadership, it's easy to sell our resources and our agendas. We need leadership that thinks, “I will not do this to you because it's going to harm Ghana, my neighbor, or Algeria. I will not do this to you because it's going to harm Kenya.” That mindset that I should think about other countries, people as African, ideologically… that's what I would see a Pan-African leader would do.

I agree it can’t just be one leader who is thinking Pan-Africanist in a Pan-African way. It has to be a pool. Is that what you were thinking about when you started the Africa Youth Movement? 

Yes, learning from Tunisia’s revolution which was a leaderless movement.  I don't believe in Gandhi, Mandela, Martin Luther King, or the idea of one person who started something and brought the whole movement together. That, in fact, has erased many women from history. I do believe that there are leaders and people who impact or influence other people's lives, but I think if the others don't give a shit it would never happen. With the Afrika Youth Movement,  at the beginning, my idea was to bring together youth who were like me in 2011 and didn't know shit about who they are and bring them to the space and say, “Maybe this is who you are.'' I am very extremist in my Pan-Africanism, and that’s why I say I ‘radicalize’ youth because I ask critical questions and I have an agenda too. I don’t go in saying: “Maybe you're this or maybe you’re that.'' I lead with, “You’re African first.'' I'm recruiting as many youth as possible to this ideology of being African first and having the interest of our community first. 

What has that looked like? I would imagine it to be a very challenging endeavor given the diversity even within single nations.

It had taken seven years to build this movement before I left, and now looking at other movements like Black Lives Matter, which we think are big movements and massive, I think it would take more than what we’re currently doing. Whenever I travel, I realize the ones I'm recruiting are pretty much the elite. And many of them will be in leadership positions, but that will not mobilize the grassroots. And if my cousin who lives now in the North West of Tunisia on the Algerian border in the middle of nowhere is not believing in this, then we're not going to do anything. If a revolution erupts tomorrow, they wouldn’t know. They didn’t even know the revolution happened. They don’t know who’s the president. So, if you don't have these people to mobilize, then we will not arrive there.

Is this what you want to focus on next? How do you see it happening?

For me, the dream would be for the 300 million young people in Africa to all be Pan-Africanists. If I had the resources in four years, that is my goal. Between 2012 and 2015, when we started the Facebook group and launched the movement, I went to 35 African countries, deliberately selecting them, and using every single opportunity to stay longer and organize.  I would go to global conferences and then convene African meetings on the side. I was deliberate. I had a strategy. I would also always go to universities, the massive spaces where I can find many young people at the same time. 

Before I was appointed as the AU Youth Envoy, I was going to do a video and I started a tour to go everywhere and deliver talks in Africa about decolonization. My dream was to reach 3 million youth in one year. Learning from the Tunisian revolution, I would also connect them to the movement… that is the infrastructure. I would recruit these people and their following, bringing all these movements together. 300 million is a big number, but I think if we target the right people who have a significant following and mobilization magic, we can. It's not impossible; we can. 

You mention you were inspired from what you've learned from the revolution. Thinking back, how did that experience really mould who you are today as a woman, as an African, as a Tunisian?  

The revolution was life changing for me. First, because I think it came at the right time - my graduation year. It came at a time when I was being rebellious within the family, challenging extended family who tried to oppress me as a woman. I was quite radical, within my family, but I wasn’t political. I was afraid to be an activist or political because my father is in the army and could not participate in politics, and my mother was also harassed because she was wearing the veil. I put my energy in community service through photography and reading workshops in children’s hospitals. 

When the revolution came, I was fearless and I was ready because of my community service experience. I went to the refugee camp. I joined the Red Cross and others. I see my fearlessness as being in a space where you're not alone and you can say: “I don't give a fucking shit if you'll kill me because I am fucking going to win and if I die, we have a legacy because all these people are going to stand up.” They tried to frustrate me by taking my camera, because I was blogging at the time. I remember I had been scared of the police all my life but the revolution broke my fear of the system, of the institution, of the establishment. I had never felt so powerful in my life. The word “freedom” made sense again. 

You mentioned blogging and I know that your blog Proudly Tunisian had quite the following, even beyond Tunisia. Tell me more about that in relation to the revolution. 

The second thing I learned during the revolution was related to blogging because I had a duty to tell the world what's happening. I was really frustrated, and technology empowered me. When my pieces started to be picked up by international media, I saw how powerful my voice is. I used to tweet the New York Times and tell them, “No, this protest had this number, not this number.” And they would change it! I realized how I can use my voice and how I can shape conversations. I realized if I did not speak up, I would never change things. 

Another thing I learned was organizing because it was totally organic and a beautiful chaos. Many of my friends now, I met them on the streets. We were all organizing online. We didn’t know each other and somehow, we were coordinated. When Ben Ali left, we had to organize to prevent others from hijacking the space. I learned that organizing takes time and effort, and brings a lot of people together and takes inclusivity. Concepts of coalition building, organizing, bringing people, listening to people, getting feedback, made sense at the end. In the first two years, there were also many betrayals and hijacking of our movement, so I also learned that organizing is about observing and listening and not making quick judgments and getting back and engaging people because you will need them. 

“I learned that organizing takes time and effort, and brings a lot of people together and takes inclusivity.”

This is how I managed to organize because organizing youth is hectic, but also organizing African youth, who are so diverse in one country with diverse ethnicities, clans, languages etc. Even people in one country cannot sit and speak together. If I didn’t have a very strong Pan-African drive, I would have given up many times. This is what I took to the youth movement later; that it is not just about winning the fight, but building within. There are so many things I learned; I need to write a book about a revolution, one day. 

You should! I've been working in the NGO sector and international development and this whole, meaningful youth engagement, I don't even know what it means, at this point. When you were appointed as the AU Youth Envoy, what did you think about the position? 

It came as a surprise, and I did not expect to be selected because two years before I was selected, I was in the AU staging a boycott and I walked out of the same room I gave the acceptance speech. They had organized an intergenerational dialogue and I didn't like how the whole thing was working. It didn’t feel like a dialogue, and didn’t seem democratic, and I walked out with 20 other young people. 

However, I applied because I thought I deserve it and I thought that's the next level I want to be organizing within the system. I also applied for the UN Youth Envoy and I was one of the finalists. It was a total surprise, and I appreciated the way I was selected. It was a rigorous and transparent process that took several weeks. I love to tell that story to inspire youth that you can be in positions of leadership you deserve. You don't have to know someone or work for your government or because you know or are liked at the AU. And many people still think my government nominated me or something, but I spent all my life in civil society. And I also tell them being an activist can take you to diplomacy, to politics, to wherever you want to be. It's not the position; it’s what you want to do. Titles are only vehicles of change. I'm very proud of this role. I love it. I love serving the youth constituency. I hope I did it justice. I think the AU is very relevant to be united. 

And in the 2 years that you spent in this role, what has success looked like for you?

I hope I did justice to this role and built the foundation for a strong youth space within the institution. I put everything together in a legacy report to amplify the impact of young people and show what young people can do when you open more space for innovation.

I grew in between the revolution and now, I grew from resisting the system, to wanting to be in the system and change things from inside. It was scary for me. I didn't want to compromise on myself - my noisy loud radical self - and my values. I'm a diplomat with an activist spirit, and what I want to be is a bridge between generations, between disconnected systems. The problem is that as young people, we’re the radical ones and we call the system out. But then we don't know the common ground. At the same time, it's very frustrating for me to sit in rooms with old men who don't give a shit about their youth population. And who, at the most basic level, I'm not even talking about policy or implementation. I'm talking about convincing the person of why you should care. 

Tell me about that experience of navigating these spaces as a young person, especially in a leadership role. How did you feel doing that?

Currently, I'm exhausted from punching the system and I think we should find a way to dialogue with them. It's not working for us to just organize ourselves outside the corridors of power. This has become my call to curate Intergenerational Co-leadership, that we both have to find a solution together and dialogue. These spaces exist because we accept them, and we accept to be there and sit and be used. I'm moving to a space where I am organizing. I'm going to invite you to fit in my agenda and to make a commitment. That makes me feel more confident, more powerful, more agenda driven, and I'm not used as a young person. 

I would wish, after those two years, for this concept to become embedded, to be a normal thing that we should be having every day and every space to be intergenerational and co-led. The process of leadership, of governance, conversations, all the high-level things we're talking about should have this inter-generational co-leadership. I also see a difference with women's spaces. I think maybe in these spaces, people feel so inspired by other generations and they’re more comfortable to speak to an elder, than in spaces with old men.  

I agree about the difference in women’s spaces, where co-leadership is a model that many of them are adopting. I know you’ve spoken about your experience as a young person in that space that’s often dominated by older men. What was your approach as a woman?

I led in this role as a female leader. My idea of female leadership is collaborative. It is emotional intelligence; it is about uniting people around Pan-Africanism, uniting people around the African agenda. They're both linked first because I feel that we have been deprived from knowing all the women who have contributed to the liberation. I know inside me there was a massive women's movement behind it. Also, the men who inspire me like Thomas Sankara, are feminist. I can’t see Thomas Sankara as feminist without being Pan-Africanist because he fought for Africa being self-independent and said it cannot be without women’s participation and emancipation. 

You can't unite our continent or anything without being a feminist, without believing in equality and without believing that women are fundamentally part of Africa's revolution. 

In the next part of the interview, we discuss Aya’s feminist journey and her efforts to organize young Africans across the continent. Click here to read this final part.

Note from Eyala: This interview was first recorded by Françoise Moudouthe in July 2019. Updates were made in April 2022 to reflect changes and progress in Aya’s journey since the first interview period.

Join the conversation!

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

Want to connect with Aya? Follow her on Twitter @aya_chebbi

“I don’t consider myself as being from one part of Africa only” : Aya Chebbi (Africa - Tunisia) – 1/3

One thing about Aya Chebbi is that you can’t not notice her! She stands out in every way, from the clothes and jewellery she wears, to her language and her radical feminist approach. 

When Aya attended our first ever Eyala Circle, held in Vancouver in 2018, I noticed that it was the quietest I have ever seen her. She hardly said anything, and I was curious about how she could be loud in spaces that require for us to be out there, and how much in a space of shared community and vulnerability, she was very quiet, reflective and inward-looking. 

Everytime I see someone who is so outgoing and bold, I’m always interested in hearing from them, to know what their story is. When someone has a strong public persona, people often forget that they have nuances and complexities. When I got the chance to speak with Aya, I asked if she would share her story with me, and she agreed. I really wanted to know more, and I hope that our conversation brings out those complexities. 

We discuss her African identity and how pan-africanism forms the basis of her work (Part 1 below). We also spoke about her work and lessons as an organizer during the Tunisian revolution and her experience as the first AU Youth Envoy (Part 2). We ended our conversation with a discussion on her journey as a feminist activist and navigating patriarchal spaces(Part 3).

Let’s begin! 

Hello Aya, thank you for accepting my invitation. And what a treat that we’re able to have this conversation in person, here in Morocco! I’ve been thinking about a way to introduce you that is brief but still does all your achievements justice… not that easy! How do you like to introduce yourself?

The first thing I always say is that I’m Pan-African. When you meet someone, they always ask you, “where are you from?” and when I say I’m African, they want to reduce that to the country I grew up in: Tunisia. But I don’t consider myself as being from one part of Africa only. 

I am not only African. I’m ‘pan-African’. It’s not the same. Being Pan-African is both about my identity and my ideology. By calling myself a Pan-African, I’m saying not only that I belong to Africa, but also that I want to unite Africa. Like Nkrumah said “I am not African because I was born in Africa but because Africa was born in me”.

Let’s start with the identity part. 

I’m North African; I have a Mediterranean identity, an Amazigh identity, a Maghrebin identity, but also an African identity, and none of them erases the other, you know? 

I’ve been living in North Africa for a while now, and it would be an understatement to say that not everyone feels as African as you do…

It’s true, and it’s sad, because we’ve been deprived of our African identity. Things changed after independence: everything became Arabized and Islamized. We don’t study anything about African history in school, and there’s a language barrier that makes it difficult to read writings from authors from the rest of the continent. 

So how did the awareness about your own African-ness come about?

I think it came through two experiences I had early in my journey. I joined my father who worked in the Tunisian army, at the Choucha refugee camps at Ras Jdir that he set up and managed on the Tunisian – Libyan borders following the fighting between pro-Gaddafi forces and rebels in Libya. About one million refugees, mostly African migrants, fled across the border into Tunisia. It was like being in a history book about Africa. I would just sit there for hours and talk to people from ‘Senegambia’, Benin, Sierra Leone and other countries and history I’d never even heard about. And yet I found myself relating with some of their stories. 

Secondly, the experience of crossing colonial borders and visiting countries was so important. My first few trips were to Kenya and Senegal. I felt at home sharing meals, breaking the fast, talking about Islamisation, learning about the connection between Swahili and Arabic, and walking down Habib Bourguiba avenue in Dakar. That familiarity was eye-opening, especially coming from a country where people have all these stereotypes about the rest of Africa. 

And were you ever on the receiving end of stereotypes about your own identity from other Africans?

During my time in Kenya in 2012, I realised that most people who looked at me wouldn’t think of me as African. They thought I was from Spain or Brazil and would call me Mzungu or something like that. I became hungry to know why people would think I'm not African, so I’d ask them. Almost every day I would explain: “I'm from Tunisia. That’s in North Africa. I'm African.” That was the start of claiming my identity. 

The more I traveled across Africa, the more obsessed I felt with the idea of Pan-Africanism. I started to read about how North Africans relate to the rest of Africa, and I started reading about the African liberation movement. It just fascinated me how countries got independence one after the other because of solidarity, of the whole ideology of coming together as African and liberating ourselves. This is how my current identity came about, became strong, and became political. I really believe we've got our whole shit together.

My conversation with Aya is off to a powerful start, indeed. In the second part, we explore more of her thoughts on pan-africanism, and learn about her experience as the first AU Youth Envoy. Click here to read Part 2.

Note from Eyala: This interview was first recorded by Françoise Moudouthe in July 2019. Updates were made in April 2022 to reflect changes and progress in Aya’s journey since the first interview period.

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.

Want to connect with Aya? Follow her on Twitter @aya_chebbi