Category: Blog

So let’s say I’m getting married. Firstly we’d have covered the bit about I’d prefer to keep my name. I’ve dated men who haven’t found this terribly bothersome and I’ve dated others who have. Someone once asked why I couldn’t double-barrel my name. It’s like, as a woman who chooses to marry, you’re either destined to change your name-identity completely or your name develops a Velcro complex and picks up someone else’s along the way. But compromise is a good thing, right? So I thought of the double-barrel thing. And I also wondered why I’m being so headstrong. I mean I love the guy, right? So take his freaking name, double-barrel it, Velcro him to me for life. And what about the children? Well, what about the children? Well, the love of my life continued, shouldn’t we all have the same name, like a team? I really liked that image. Being a team with my hypothetical family, like sharing DNA is insufficient, we all need the same surname too. Nice. So then maybe we could all Velcro our names, the man included. Then our union isn’t so much about a woman having to attach herself but about two individuals coming together, both shifting somehow, both adapting. Yeah, a kind of a “I’ll double-barrel if you double-barrel” kind of thing. Okay so my hypo-fiancé was cool with that and we’re going with it. I’m counting on his surname not having as many vowels as mine and that it’s half the length of mine (in order to save line space, ink, paper, trees – the whole thing).

 

After the debacle of a name we were so proud of ourselves and our ability to work through the really tough things in life that he proposed on the spot. I questioned him as to whether he would have freaked if I did the proposal instead. I offered him a form to fill out, the result of which clarified for me whether or not he’s the kind of man to be put off by a woman performing traditionally male activities. If I proposed would it have upset some fine balance between the sexes? So many books are written about how as women we shouldn’t compromise our femininity, let him change the bulbs, let him chase you, it’s some primal cave-time code you’re messing with so back off. Heck, I don’t know. The feminist in me wants to say “back off yourself, my femininity is intact, I’ll do what I damn-well please” but a lonelier version of myself thinks “oh, is that it?”. The two sides are holding talks and trying to reach an agreement, just waiting on the Middle-East peace talks to successfully conclude. Anyway suffice to say whoever I shack up with would pass the form with feminist flying colours.

 

Planning the wedding. I’m lucky to belong to a big community so we sweat over the long list of guest names, we consider robbing a bank so we can invite all our friends. It gets resolved by some miracle or other. I refuse to relate to the “big day” as some kind of ultimate Mecca for women, the happiest day of my life because I’m getting Velcro-ed. It’s the day a man I’ve fallen completely in love with and who loves me back will now be referred to as my husband rather than my boyfriend. Lover still sounds better but it is all semantics. We’re really joined now, to un-join would be expensive and messy. And embarrassing. All those guests, the great food long-forgotten, pissed off with you for lying – “till death” my foot.

 

The real issues start with questions like, do we do it in a church. Well I’m not particularly Christian. My Grandmother is though and I love her so if she insisted I’d do it for her. Okay, that was easy enough. But, I’ll have to stress to Granny, I won’t have any priest telling me about cleaving myself to the man, about being subordinate, about how he’s the head of the household (I know for a fact that my hypo-man can’t even multi-task, how the heck is he going to head the household?). I will insist on the right to veto any Bible passages that are meant to be read out. I’d, of course, prefer Rumi, Rilke, Kahlil-Gibran or even the Ifa Corpus as potential sources for readings but…Granny might not be appreciative. Again I’m not against compromise. The Bible has some good stuff too. I love that quote: “…a time to tear apart and a time to sew together…”. Needle work was really big in those days.

 

When it comes to vows we write our own. And if the man I’ve taken as my bestest of best friends opens his mouth and his vows end up rhyming I’ll stop the ceremony there and then, give him a chance to apologise (I have a very generous and forgiving nature) and if he stares dumbfounded, I’d have to conclude he has absolutely no comprehension of what really matters to me and I’d be making a very big mistake to Velcro my name to his. Wedding cancelled, guests are welcome to keep the party favours. But this won’t happen. My man (my hypo-man, remember) is way too everything-good to have missed the fact that rhyming vows are not okay. Instead he crumples his piece of paper (of course), puts his hand to his heart and speaks from there, not bothering to wipe away the tears – the big baby. Sigh.

 

Oh, but even before the vows there’s that whole thing about “who gives this bride away”. Now, I love my father. My father is basically my hero. My mother, my other hero, passed away over a decade ago. If she were alive I would have both my parents walk me down the aisle, one on either side. I hate the idea of being shifted from one man to another, no, please no. If there is any “giving away” to be done at all it should be from both parents, surely. But even this notion of parents giving away children is strange. In The Prophet Gibran writes: “Your children are not your children…They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.”

 

But I don’t want my father to be injured. I also want to honour him, and my mother in spirit, for doing all the good things parents should and more. I’d happily hold my father’s hand and walk a few steps towards another man who happens to be the guy I’m about to marry. I’ll get over all my hang-ups. But maybe we could remedy the situation. I could carry a placard with me as we walk (elegantly, grace needn’t be compromised). The placard will hold the main tenets of my issue with this aspect of traditional wedding ceremonies, Times New Roman Font, 50pt. That way as we walk no one will confuse me for selling out on my feminist principles.

 

Dave or Femi or Frikkie or Ghandi or Chang (whatever this guy I’ll be with till death goes by) puts a ring on my finger, I put one on his. We kiss. I mean we really kiss and then we have a party. Oh, I forgot the best part, I’m wearing something I either bribed my sister-in-law into designing and sewing or it’s something I drew up myself. I know it’s not white, I know it’s not long and while I consent to lace there are absolutely no frills, no veils, no trails.

 

Seating is undramatic. I worry that the placard, now hung up on the wall behind the main table, is not visible to all. Chang (dear ever-patient ever-generous unthreatened Chang) tugs my hand and assures me it’s fine but he knows me well so he also makes a call for a 100pt replica to be prepared as well as a folder to be handed out to all the guests with the contents of the placard, a beginners feminist reading list and a Beyonce CD. The new placard is posted up before the starters are served. I’m thrilled with my new name Yewande Omotoso-Gong. Needless to say we live happily ever after, we argue aplenty (Chang belatedly realises I’m a nightmare to be married to) but we also make up, our combined EQ and IQ get us through the bad patches. And don’t forget the great sex which we enjoy well into our 70s. Chang eventually dies from an acute case of backache and I take up with a toy-boy, he eventually dies of backache too. I live till I’m 100 although I never re-marry and I keep my Velcro-ed name despite considerable pressure from Green Peace. Chang Omotoso-Gong, I miss you.

By: Yewande Omotoso

Yewande Omotoso is an architect, and a writer. Her debut novel Bom Boy was shortlisted for the 2012 Sunday Times Fiction Prize and won the South African Literary Awards for first time author. Yewande blogs at 1of6billion

I take for granted that ‘foreign-ness’ affords one a safety blanket not available to locals. So as they laze on the beach, she nestles her head between another’s bosom and strokes her side with her middle finger in a rather suggestive manner and at no point does she stop to think if this makes them uncomfortable. She never for a moment stops to think how her behaviour might impact them, in fact it is just in the moment before she closes her eyes in deep reverie that she realises why they choose to go to the beach at night because at least when the darkness falls those who plague the beach are all delinquent in some way, yet their kind…only their kind of delinquency is perhaps the most inadmissible. She doesn’t stop to think for a moment that her loud, boisterous games that cause her to speak of ideas and laws unimaginable to them and theirs may in fact be more than risqué and actually put them at risk. She doesn’t stop to think that when the time comes she can go back to her home where the law of the land and the law of the God she serves are separate, sovereign institutions. Institutions which she can choose to abide by or not, and yet she forgets they will remain here in this land where the law of man and that of the god they serve have been collapsed into one and the same code. So, she asks herself, “how does my happy differ from yours. Do our rainbows have the same colours? Do our hearts beat and break for the same reason? And is our struggle really the same?” Because while she can playfully look forward to the day when marriage could be a viable option for her, they dread the day their wedding bells will ring for a match will not have been made. While she speaks of her independence and freedom from eternal familial control, she forgets that here, in this place family defines who they are and will be. So again she asks herself, “does your happy differ from mine. Does my happy offend you? Does it colour you a colour to be recognised and scorned? Does my happy taint yours? Is it contagious?”

 

Due to the pervasive heteronomative cultures in many African nations, Nigeria inclusive, people in same-sex relationships face multiple layers of discrimination and are sworn to silence and often forced into hiding.

Home spits me out about three weeks into every visit. Home vehemently spits me out, and instead of standing my ground and fighting I pack my bags and run! I say no more of that because in the words of Audre Lorde, “your silence will not protect you.”[1] Feminist scholar Zora Neale Hurston wrote, “if you are silent about your pain, they’ll kill you and say you enjoyed it.”[2] So even if physically distanced from my Naija kin I join my voice to theirs and choose to guerrilla write my way to our collective freedom.

Even as I pen these words I question my authority and position as a liminal player at best. Admittedly I come to this struggle from a certain position of privilege having never truly lived out the sum of my identities in the land of my birth, Nigeria. The land that now challenges my very existence and right to human dignity. What I represent, and that of so many others like me poses such a threat to the heteronormative, patriarchal, islamo-judeo-christian Nigerian establishment that with the stroke of his pen our Oga at the top, President Goodluck Jonathan has deemed us criminal elements. Alas in the sea of corrupt politicians, human trafficking rings, 419ers, would be paedophiles, Boko Haram and other maleficent characters in Nigeria it is the homosexual person that is most frightful and dangerous. We are so dangerous in fact that just these words could land me in the slammer from anywhere between 10-14 years depending on what a judge requires as sufficient burden of proof, or indeed lack thereof.

One might ask why in the face of issues such as poverty, infant mortality, HIV/Aids, and Polio etc., I dare suggest fighting for the human rights of the LGBTQI community. The late Nelson Mandela said “to deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.”[3] Simply because gay rights are human rights and it is the responsibility of any good and just government to dedicate itself to creating legislature that ensures the full recognition and protection of every citizen under the law and in accordance to international human rights standards and not at the expense of the lives and livelihoods of the particularly vulnerable minority populations. Development and Queer theorist Susan Jolly asserts, the “assumption that while in the North people need sex and love, in the South they just need to eat”[4], has become an impediment to defending the human rights of ALL people in the global South. Jolly goes on to say that “in fact, lack of freedom to express sexuality can threaten survival, the most basic of human needs”[5] companionship and love which are essentially private matters should be of no concern to lawmakers. And yet in the words of Anthropologist ElIen Gruenbaum, “the emotional tenor of the rituals {and process surrounding suppressing articulations of sexual desire and sexuality} seems to have played the role symbolic anthropologists identified as transferring physical sensations and emotions from the individual into loyalty to society’s rules.”[6] Thus the Nigerian government has essentially made policing sexuality and peoples most intimate lives an affair of the state, whereas they should be concerned with protecting the rights and full humanity of all its citizens and not just a privileged few.

On January 20^th this year we commemorated his legacy, which remains a source of inspiration for liberation and human rights struggles the world over. Writing from the Birmingham jail, on justice, legislation and human rights, Dr Martin Luther King Jr., invokes St Thomas Aquinas, “…any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statuses are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority and the segregated a false sense of inferiority.”[7] With this new law President Jonathan and his cohorts in the Nigerian senate have connived to segregate and imprison all non-heterosexual persons and those who know them in Nigeria. They hope to erode the personality and human dignity of these persons, and parade them as fodder for corruption and mob justice. Environmental Geographer Jon Binnie argues, “sexuality can be defined as a private affair- belonging in the private sphere”[8] and as such should not be debated and legislated by government; as there are many more pressing issues at stake than who consenting adults love and what they choose to do in private. By legislating sexuality the government is denying citizens the full expression of their humanity and thus engaging in gross discrimination of people with same-sex sexuality. The Nigerian gay community has never rallied or demanded for marriage rights, this has never been on the agenda, and The Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Act has now been signed into law. This ruse of a law has essentially put a bull’s eye on the backs of otherwise perfectly law abiding citizens and made us Nigeria’s scapegoat.

Before I go any further I want to declare who I am for it is from the intersection of these identities that my authority, audacity and right come. I am a human being. I am a woman (cis-gendered female). I am a Nigerian, I am Edo, and I am an African. I am a Black person. I am also a God-respecting woman. Now pay attention to this part of my identity because it is this part that now renders me criminal, alien and fit for imprisonment in the land of my birth. I realise though that there is power in naming a thing for in naming my (our) sexuality and sexual identity, much like in naming a child into their destiny, we cease to be the person that was once invisible and explained away. At no other point in my young life than now have I appreciated the urgency and import of feminist Carol Hainsch’s words “the personal is political!”[9]

I am a Zami woman; this is my preferred term second to Amazon because both are rooted in the experiences of other women like me. Zami (n) is “a Carriacou word meaning women who work together as friends and lovers.”[10] Amazon, taken from the Dahomean Amazons[11], an elite group of warrior women who took an oath of loyalty to each other and swore to abstain from sexual relations with men. In fact men were forbidden to even touch or look at them, the punishment for which was death. Others understand this part of my identity to mean lesbian, Sapphic, dyke (another powerful term) or simply put a same-sex/gender loving woman. However one understands this, the bottom line is, I and other women like me are predisposed to pursuing romantic interactions with other women, much to the disdain of some straight men who consider women as objects for their pleasure and unfettered access. Particularly when it dawns on them that this in fact means we are not very likely to “pullover”[12] and “wind am well”[13] for their sport or for any other reason.

While it is very difficult to know what pre-colonial African histories offered definitively on this subject, there are several instances that serve as clues in the historical archive that allow us to debunk this notion of homosexual/homosocial behaviour as fundamentally ‘unAfrican’. If we look at the examples in many cultures the continent over, we can begin to understand the local mechanisms, through which same-sex sexuality was and still is permissible in various African states, Nigeria inclusive. The Southern African archive provides many examples of this. Kendall investigates “motsoalle (special woman-woman friendships) relationships in Lesotho. She explains that the value placed on the need for companionship and love, over physical pleasure and penile penetrations, creates a safe space for women”[14]. Ruth Morgan tackles the issue of same-sex coupling amongst sangomas (female traditional healers) in Southern Africa. Through her observation she cites other female same-sex communities and traditions across the continent. In each instance there exist social parameters – social, economic, spiritual, or simply cultural, namely adolescent rites of passage that all allow for the exploration and elaboration of same-sex sexuality.[15] Here in Nigeria we have the tradition of the fattening rooms[16], where young women are pampered and taught by the older generation of women. These lessons include things from beautification, mercantilism and domestic behaviours, the young women also “receive instructions on how to achieve sexual fulfilment”[17] from their elders. Yan Daudu[18] of the Hausa tradition provides yet another example of same-sex coupling. Chaka Zulus army considered intimacy between the male soldiers as fundamental in building battle loyalty. Let’s not forget the Igbo tradition of Female Husbands[19] researched extensively by scholar Ifi Amadiume. These examples may not speak directly to the issue of bodies coupling, but they do provide valid examples of same-sex communities that were revered, accepted and embedded in our cultural fabrics the continent over. Through this brief overview of various African traditions, it is clear that homosexual/homosocial behaviour is part of how African societies have forged communities and shaped identity throughout our known histories. What could be considered foreign, imported or borrowed is the overt sexual imagery and seemingly hedonistic values heralded as part of the protest of the western gay movement. These forms of protest are extremely context specific and cannot be translated on the rather conservative landscape of Nigerian and indeed other African cultural tapestries. That’s not to say that we do not have our examples of flamboyance, just look at the Wodaabe or Bororo[20] tradition amongst the Fulani’s in Niger or the reed dance of Swaziland where the maidens dance for the King and each other. Undeniably African cultural aesthetics tend to be sexually demure and frown on profligate displays be they homosexual or heterosexual.

A popular image floating around social media land now describes homophobia as “the fear that gay men are going to treat you the way you treat women and that a lesbian will treat your women better than you do.” The truth is such an analysis may in fact be too profound for Goodluck Jonathan and his fictitious 90%. For this descriptor to apply to the Nigerian case, people would have to be willing to question patriarchy, heteronormativity and hyper religious group-think and then be willing to accept that these models are deeply flawed and a better option exists.

Articles 3 and 5 of the Universal Declaration of Human Right state, “everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person” and “everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law”[21] respectively. The preamble of the Nigerian Constitution states, “to provide for a Constitution for the purpose of promoting the good government and welfare of all persons in our country, on the principles of freedom, equality and justice, and for the purpose of consolidating the unity of our people.”[22] As the highest law in the land, the constitution goes on to discuss the principles of democracy, social justice equality of status, and claims to frown upon discrimination of any kind. Clearly President Jonathan hasn’t read those parts. Aside from being a violation of international human rights, and the protections and rights enshrined in the Nigerian constitution, this law will also prevent people from accessing vital public health services and threaten their very survival. This law also doesn’t account for those between genders, intersex and transgender/sexual persons. Professor Wole Soyinka affirms “the biological truth is this: some are born with imprecise gender definition, even when they have sexual organs that appear to define them male or female. Years, indeed decades of scientific research have gone into this, so what is needed is understanding and acceptance, not emotionalism and the championing of ‘moral’ or ‘traditional’ claims.”[23] I would argue that this law is yet another desperate attempt by our Oga at the top at misdirection. With this law, he has effectively thrown the masses a rather cheap and scanty bone to further distract them from the actual problems with governance in our society. The smoke screen is successfully deflecting attention because Nigerians seem to be susceptible to the same tricks throughout our history. We delight in creating vacuous binaries, highlighting difference, searching for otherness instead of looking for points of coalition in hopes of improving our collective situation. Nigeria’s own rapper and cultural icon M.I. admits, “life is bisexual anybody can blow.”[24] Indeed human beings are very complex and nuanced creatures, no one, not even Jonathan Goodluck, his cohorts and the fictitious 90% can begin to fathom the fullness of human condition. We are all the sum of our parts, and the law should strive to preserve, embrace, and protect the diversity of its population at all costs.

By: OsaZami -lobuhle- Oh

 

References:

all that I ask of you is to stay past the pain for the pleasure.” – Goapele and Dwele – “You”

 

I remember this today, as I wind down from my full day of classes, 2 presentations, and a mandatory seminar. All week I have been fretting about these two presentations, because I am not the best public speaker. My knees shake, my voice trembles, throat dries up, my thoughts are all jumbled, I’m a Black girl in a predominantly white institution, carrying lots of immigrant baggage: A recipe for disaster.

I try to make my words sound like the white students in my class.

Remember to enunciate, Rita.

Don’t talk too fast.

Avoid contractions.

Take the Rexdale out of your speech.

Take the T-dot blackgirlswag out of your body posture and facial expressions.

Make eye contact.

Smile often.

Repeat.

This is my daily struggle with each week in graduate school. You see, my imposter syndrome is coloured with all the layers of being Black and African and female and immigrant in a pale world. Despite years of “integration”, as one fellow Ghanaian student put it today, I still get nervous in a room full of white folks. And that is a hard confession. This same Ghanaian friend thinks that my many years of living in Canada should have helped with my “acculturation process” (-forgive him, he’s a sociologist). But in fact, every day I am fighting for dear life in this white supremacist system. I have to work at decolonizing every damn day. It’s a struggle to re-member what I never had has always been fragmented, while surviving in a country that never really wanted me -merely paid lip service to cultural diversity and multiculturalism. With all the Black feminist work I’ve read, all the sister circle reasoning sessions, all the decolonizing and deconstructing I’ve had to and have done over the better part of a decade, I still find myself questioning if I’m good enough supposed to be here. And the higher up I go, the fewer brown faces I see. The deeper the demand for “academic rigor”, the deeper the lactification. Every time a student uses a word I have not encountered, I think “Shit, how come I didn’t know that? Elmbank Middle School didn’t teach me that. Does everyone else know what she’s talking about?”

I have shame about talking about my immigrant baggage. My entire life I’ve tried to avoid those “Dangerous Minds” moments. Well-meaning white female teacher wants to know my struggle. Connect with me. Hear my sob immigrant story. I don’t need white people to repeat that stuff. Use my name in outside conversations. A model of the immigrant par excellence. Confirm their racist, sexist and classist biases about coloured girls. Nope. Not me. I am not the one. Never have been. Most of these students have no idea what it means for me to be here. Last-born child, first PhD in my immediate family. The tremendous pride and weight of it all.

Add to this that my work is firmly rooted in critical race consciousness and theory. I am literally thinking about race ALL. DAMN. DAY. My interior life is defined by this work. It’s hard not to see how it plays out in every day interactions, and even harder not to be demoralized by it.

So, in these moments, I have to remember why I am here. And no, not the direct justifications that led me here like hating my 9-5 non-profit, a shoddy labour market and my two year-long ongoing quarter-life crisis. But the real reason -the reason that is at the bottom of my gut. The core of my being.

I care about Black people.

I owe everything to the communities that raised me. I have a responsibility to Ghana, to Africa. I am trying to reclaim the cultures and traditions that were lost in my parents’ migration, but also honour the perspective that was gained in settlement. The type of perspective that only a second-generation Ghanaian-Canadian queer-identified feminist kaakyire* could offer. I desire to cultivate an intellectual life. It is the only way I know how to be in this world. I hold on to these things when grad school gets too tough, when I am suffocated by whiteness.

I have a story to tell. We all have stories to tell. And no one can tell our stories for us. We owe it to those that made it possible for us to be here. For those that will come after us.

 

*kaakyire means last born in Twi

*******

Rita Nketiah is a Doctoral Student at the University of Western Ontario in London, Canada, where she is currently studying in Women’s Studies and Feminist Research. Her research interests include Second-Generation African-Canadian identity, gender and sexuality, and the role of Diasporas in (African) Development. She is committed to ongoing conversations as a site of change, social transformation, and healing.

 

Dear Fellow Nigerian,

I do not write this analysis just for fun but to bring to everyone’s attention, the personal and legal implications that the just recently passed Same Sex Marriage (Prohibition) Law (hereinafter referred to as SSMPL) has in store for us.

This law just like every other one has two dominant factors, being Human beings and their rights. ARTICLE 1 of the Universal declaration of Human Rights states:-

“All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.”

In like terms, the Charter of the African Union states:-

“Freedom, equality, justice and dignity are essential objectives for the achievement of the legitimate aspirations of the African people”.

In view of the above statements, which Nigeria is a voluntary signatory to, that projects progress, unity, humanity and positivity, one cannot really understand why a body of lawmakers will go ahead to draft and propose the SSMPL to be operative in a supposedly democratic society called Nigeria.

Every right given and guaranteed to all Nigerians is provided for in Chapter IV of the Constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria (CFRN) (as amended), and this piece shall in detail, examine how the provisions of the SSMPL outrightly violates the rights of this sect of people, with no apologies whatsoever.

Section 38(1) CFRN clearly states that:-

“Every person shall be entitled to freedom of thought, conscience and religion……”

It is not enough that homosexual people who have the same right to freedom of discrimination as entrenched in Section 42 CFRN, have consistently gone through torture, inhumane and/or degrading treatment in Nigeria, which in turn violates their Right to dignity of human person, as enabled by Section 34(1)(a) CFRN; the Government has gone a step further to empower hypocritical and closed-minded people, which makes up the majority of the populace, the right to witch-hunt and mete out the highest degree of inhumanity to the gay people.

Sections 1 and 2 of the SSMPL, clearly prohibits marriage and civil union between persons of the same sex. Section 3 further provides that the ONLY recognized marriage in Nigeria is that between a Man and a Woman.

From my humble point of view, this section is wholly unnecessary. Nigerians have not been advocating for same sex marriages. By the way, how many heterosexual couples even dream of getting married in Nigeria, most people have the dream (if they have enough money) to get married on the beach in a foreign country, so really, I do not know what the fuss is about.

Those sections went ahead to state that same sex marriages will not be recognized as entitled to the benefits of a valid marriage. Please, I need to ask, what are the benefits of a valid marriage? I throw this question to the public to provide sensible and sufficient answers.

Furthermore, Section 4(1) of the SSMPL prohibits the registration and running of homosexual clubs and societies in Nigeria. This expressly infringes on the right to freedom of expression and right to peaceful assembly and association provided for in Section 39(1) and Section 40, respectively. These sections were meant to protect and promote one’s interests, regardless of his sexual orientation.

The Government does not want a situation where a particular group is soliciting for or promoting homosexuality. This is a moot point because the policy of “Don’t ask, don’t tell” has always been in operation in Nigeria.

Now, the section that seems to be very ambiguous is the provisions of Section 4(2) of the SSMPL which states that:-

“The public show of same sex amorous relationship directly or indirectly is hereby prohibited”.

The law does not even define the terms involved in that section, which leads that section to various misinterpretations.

In lay terms, that section prohibits public display of affection by same sex individuals. It is really funny because there was a time in Nigeria, not so long ago, when heterosexuals could not even think of publicly displaying their affection. Till date, the average Nigerian cannot and does not even know how to publicly display affection, but due to the generational change, it has become somewhat acceptable and not an eyesore for a man and woman to publicly show affection. In fact, how many of you have even seen your parents proudly hold hands in public, not to talk of kissing?

First question, what act qualifies as a public show? Is it holding of hands, laughing, a tight hug, a look of admiration, a stroke on the cheek, dancing with the same sex, a peck on the forehead or cheek etc. Please, what act qualifies as a public show? I do not believe that with the high degree of hostility Nigerians already show towards homosexuals, pre-SSMPL, any gay person would be comfortable enough to publicly display acts that will raise suspicion.

Based on my previous premise, what our lawmakers are saying is that when we see two men/women together, in public, probably holding hands and having a good laugh, it would be proper for us to assume that they are in a same sex amorous relationship?

Second question, what is an amorous relationship? The SSMPL did not bother to define or interpret the term AMOROUS. From the dictionary, amorous means “being inclined or having a propensity to love OR to sexual enjoyment. So where exactly does the amorous used in the SSMPL fall into?

In the same vein, how are we to determine that persons of the same sex are in a relationship, not to talk of an amorous one. Every single person is in an amorous relationship, it just depends on the type. I am in an amorous relationship with my Mum/Dad, Sister/Brother, Female and Male cousins, Nephews and Nieces, Girlfriend(s)/Boyfriend(s) etc. So please, how does one determine the type of relationship that would be so suspicious to make it fall within the SSMPL? Does the Government have the resources to put every adult under 24-hour surveillance, to know details of every relationship we have. Will this act not absolutely strip us of our Right to private and family life provided for us by Section 37 of the Constitution?

In other words, I cannot freely hug, laugh and kiss my Mum/Dad, Sister/Brother, Female/Male cousins or friends without some random lunatic who does not fully understand the implication of this bill, having the nerve to come and harass me? May God help us all!

Furthermore, the issue of indirectly making a public show of same sex amorous relationship is one that can lead to unnecessary and violent accusations and misunderstandings. Again, what acts are classified as INDIRECT? What? The Lawmakers cannot afford to leave this unaddressed because people especially the Police and closed-minded hypocrites can use this as a weapon and start exploiting innocent people. Truth is the exploitation has already started with the reports of hundreds of gay people already getting arrested and the Police requesting for ridiculous amounts of money as bail, because I am pretty sure they were not parading themselves with the aim of getting captured.

As an objective and reasonable human being, I honestly cannot bring myself to accept the jail term attached as a penalty in the SSMPL. How many of our lawmakers or Government officials who commit the offence of embezzlement of public treasury on a daily basis, can honestly bear to spend a minute talk more of 10-14 years of their lives in a prison? How many?

Even when they are convicted of such crimes, they are graciously given a ridiculous amount of fine to pay and they disappear from the limelight for a reasonable period of time but definitely not in a prison. So why should this be the only option given to people who are not harming anybody with their sexual preference?

Perhaps, the Lawmakers ought to have placed a ban only on same sex marriage and just left it there. Going ahead of themselves by involving associations, clubs and every individual’s manner of displaying affection is rather disrespectful and retrogressive to a democratic society. I am certain the medical and economic experts have already outlined and explained the implications of banning such associations. These associations account for at least 70% of the health benefits that battle diseases, most especially HIV, which even heterosexuals benefit from without questions or discrimination.

I know the Lawmakers will hurriedly hide (like most hypocrites trying to justify the SSMPL) behind the provisions of Section 45(1)(a) of the Constitution which qualifies the rights listed in it. It states:

“Nothing in Section 37(Right to privacy and family life), Section 38 (Right to freedom of thought, conscience and religion), Section 39 (Right to freedom of expression and the press), Section 40 (Right to peaceful assembly and association)…SHALL NOT invalidate any law that is REASONABLY justifiable in a democratic society:-

(a) In the interest of defence, public safety, public order, public morality or public health.

YES, they have already hinged the justifiable reason of the SSMPL on protecting the interest of public morality; the morality that has become rather relative in order to suit the whims of the majority.

YES, that the law will uphold the sanctity of marriage. For goodness sakes, how sanctified is the institution of marriage between a man and a woman? When people have already made it a norm to do things that were strictly left for marriage before it. With the rate of divorce increasing every second, what exactly is being sanctified? PLEASE, we should be given another reason that will make sense from every perspective.

In simple terms, I am not asking Nigeria to legalize same sex marriage; I am demanding that the homosexuals be left alone to live. They hurt no one, why jail them? Their lives are a constant struggle to protect, why put a rubber stamp to legally terrorize them?

This law affects every one of us, be it directly or indirectly; you do not have to be gay to understand the implication of this and the impending danger that gay people tend to face. Even straight people have challenges when dealing with the average Nigerian police man, who simply believes he has been given a license to kill with the backing of this law; I wish you all the good luck in the world, proving or explaining to them whilst resisting arrest, that you are not gay when you probably go drinking with your buddies; or you throw a party where your girlfriend and her friends did not show up and it is just you and your guys huddled up together looking cozy; or you are caught in a bear hug with a close friend you have not seen in a very long time…we shall hear your story.

We should never forget that in our quest to develop, we should not lose our humanity.

SIGNED:

YOUR CONSCIENCE.

[This is a multi-part post. To read part 1 please click here]

‘’The Danger of A Single Story’

“Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign. But stories can also be used to empower, and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people. But stories can also repair that broken dignity.”

~ Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

I remember the first time I read “Half the Sky: Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide” a book written by the New York Times journalist Nicholas Kristof and his wife Sheryl WuDunn, I couldn’t help but reflect on the words of the great African writer and educator Chinua Achebe who once so eloquently said: “If you don’t like someone’s story, write your own.” Reading about Kristof’s most recent jaunt to Mali where he writes: “It’s time for my annual win-a-trip journey, in which I take a university student with me on a reporting trip to Africa.” You know what “a reporting trip to Africa means”: road blocks and jittery soldiers, militants, Islamists, fear, thank god for the French, killing, and, best of all, hunger,”[1] my mind also meanders to the words of the popular Nigerian feminist writer Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie whose TED Talk “The Danger of a Single Story” became an instant internet sensation as she reminded her audience: “The single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story.”[2] I reflect further on the ways African women have been represented in the mainstream Western media imagination – the way African women have come to be portrayed as helpless creatures wavering wistfully in the dangerously hot harmattan heat waiting for used underwear to arrive from Europe and promises of new clitorises from white American doctors. The ways in which the gargantuan effects of power and patriarchy play out in many of these post-colonial scripts could not be any more stark. These single stories of African women are disempowering and reductive and are created for the consumption of the west rather than for any real social change.

And therein lies the power and potential of popular culture to recognize and critique the dominant representations that exist in the mainstream and to provide platforms to tell different stories, first-hand stories, African stories. What popular culture provides is a means to shift the discourse – to tell more complete stories. Stories of the increasing violence experienced by South African lesbians, but also stories about the mothers and fathers who love and accept them; Stories of the community members that protect and advocate for them rejecting the idea that homosexuality is somehow ‘unAfrican’; Stories of the people, by the people.

‘Pop Culture as a means of resistence?

Today, there a multitude of online social spaces and platforms being curated by young Africans seeking both to transform existing narratives and to raise awareness about social justice issues at the same time. Popular media platforms such as Arise Magazine, dynamicafrica, AfroPop Worldwide, AfriPOP! Mag, OkayAfrica, and MyAfricaIs that spotlight the latest in African pop culture and highlight a burgeoning generation of young African’s who look to their experiences and communities to produce music, art, social commentary – ideas that are complex and intelligent, cogent and thoughtfully expressed. It is through these multiple cultural mediums that we see opinion-pieces on everything from same-sex marriage to the impacts of international aid and food sovereignty. We also see music videos filmed on the streets of Accra, Lagos and Nairobi opening up our own visual imaginations. We see conversations emerging about the effects of globalization and political transformation on the continent. We see engagement within communities and across the Diaspora around issues of ethnic, class and gender divides, conversations between ‘afro-rebels’ and ‘afropolitans.’ We see feminist voices in online communities speaking out against sexual harassment and women’s safety in public spaces from tahrir square to johannesburg. We see increasing attention being paid to fashion, adornment and body politics with young African feminists creating clothing lines committed to ‘challenging notions of beauty and creating clothing that is both fabulous and political.’ As noted by the brand mina danielle: “our goal is to create a space and canvas for womyn from around the world, of various shapes, sizes, religious affiliations, races, ethnicities, sexual orientation, trans identified, inter-sex, age and (dis)ability.”[3] We also see magazines like ‘GoWoman Africa’ and ‘New African Woman’ contributing to discussions on everything from Uganda’s ‘Anti-Pornography Bill’ and the subsequent ‘mini-skirt ban’ to hairstyle choices and how these function as forms of cultural and political resistance.

Through these multiple spaces and expressions we see how a new generation of young politicized Africans are using pop culture as an extension of their identity politics and their activism.

Reflecting on popular culture and the internet as a site of knowledge production, blogger Minna Salami says: “Social Media is an additional tool to a conversation that we’ve been having for a long time. It’s social media that’s new, and not the conversation. With social media we can more easily link dialogues across countries, continents and issues and create archives which in return have an influence on future narratives.” Minna goes on to note “African feminists are at the forefront of using social media, activism, and creativity to change situations that affect women negatively.”[4]

 

Minna Salami

We see African feminist bloggers like Sokari Ekine (blacklooks), Rainatou Sow (Make Women Count) and Spectra Speaks creating stories that work to repair (as Chimamanda Adichie calls it) the dignity of African peoples. Through her widely-read blog Spectra seeks to tell multiple stories including covering (as she says): “LGBT Africa’s resistance in a way that doesn’t place sexual violence, political warfare, and death at the focal point, but reiterates over and over again that every day citizens are standing fast against oppression, speaking up for each other in the face of the west’s infantilizing media.”[5] Spectra also refers to the ways in which she uses music, art and other forms of popular culture to “raise awareness of critical issues and under-the-radar uprisings.”[6] Similarly, in the section of her blog labeled ‘CREA(C)TIVE SENSES’ Sokari Ekine offers poetry, photography, short stories and more to bring together narratives of lived experience and human rights activism.

And what could be more feminist than these ideas of self-determination, speaking back, resisting, challenging, individually and collectively, to define and fight for own liberation?[7]

And what could be more feminist than celebrating the value, beauty and power of African women and girls?[8]

And what could be more feminist than supporting the space for creativity, irreverence, imagination, dreaming and resistance that [popular culture] provides?[9]

The truth is (whether or not we like to admit it), popular culture and the multiple spaces it encompasses continues to be one of the central means of engagement and participation in the world around us. Pop culture as a lens through which we view and shape the world provides opportunities for African feminists to provide nuances and to challenge existing stereotypes while making feminism more relatable and relevant. What popular culture offers is a means by which African feminists can amplify their voices and elucidate multiple ways of being and seeing in the world. Popular culture on the one hand helps us to make ignored voices more paramount, and on the other, provides a means by which feminists from across the continent can support each other from multiple locations by validating each other’s voices.

*African Feminism(s) in Popular Culture*

“From Miriam Makeba’s music to Oumou Sy’s fashion to Nike Ogundaike’s art,
African feminists are at the forefront of using creativity to express that
progressive thought is not only cerebral but also visceral and expressive.”
*~ Minna Salami, MsAfropolitan*

In March 2013, the African Women’s Development Fund (AWDF) and the African
Feminist Forum co-hosted a panel discussion: ‘What’s new in African
feminisms: Pop, People and Politics
<http://wow.southbankcentre.co.uk/events/whats-new-in-african-feminisms/>’
as part of the Southbank Centre’s Women of World (WOW) festival in London.
[1] <https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/#146aeaee42e8381a__ftn1> The dynamic
paneldiscussed a myriad of issues including the potential popular culture
has for social transformation and feminist consciousness-raising in Africa.

One of the panelists, African music specialist DJ Rita Ray noted that the
thing about popular culture (going back to my admittedly broad definition)
“…is that it is everywhere the people are – in the buses, in the market, on
the radio, on television, on the internet, in classrooms and so on.” Popular
culture (and by extension the arts) have the ability to influence people on
an emotional level and ‘to catalyse action in ways that court cases and
academic lectures and even protest marches may never achieve.’[2]
<https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/#146aeaee42e8381a__ftn2> On that basis,
popular culture provides a means by which to open up feminist discourses in
Africa and to turn feminist consciousness-raising and activism into a more
centrally held, political, and educational project.

Current expressions of feminisms in Africa reveal the pressing need for
activists (and organizations) to acknowledge and address engagement with
pop culture and the arts as an authentic activist strategy. To return to
bell hooks who once insisted, “It’s great to have libratory academic
theory, but if we can’t bring it out to the public, it’s not very useful.”
[3] <https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/#146aeaee42e8381a__ftn3> To follow
this assertion with the voice of a fellow African feminist sister Theo Sowa
who once said: “We can have the most powerful legislation throughout the
world – yet if women don’t know about it, how can they use it to change
their lives? Just as importantly, real change is not externally
imposed…true and sustainable change in any area has to be powered by
individual, internal understandings and decisions that come together in
collective action and movement…Change in our heads, in our hearts, in our
beliefs and in our actions…”[4]
<https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/#146aeaee42e8381a__ftn4>

There have been a few examples of formal efforts to actively facilitate
stronger connections between the ‘politics and the people’ through pop
culture and the arts. Notably, AWDF’s most recent partnership with popular
Nigerian musician Nneka Egbuna is one; *Nyangoma* a blog managed by a
collective of African feminist artists working to ‘…create a space to share
each other’s work and learn about the artistic expressions of African women
is another, and finally the inclusion of the ‘poetic licence’ segment at
OSISA’s 2012 ‘Money, Power, and Sex’ Open Forum highlighting African
artists who are using their work to tackle social injustice is yet another
example. And while these are only a few scattered examples, in the context
of all the exciting creative work that we see emerging on the continent it
is clear that there is much more work to be done.

This is the task for the African feminist movement – to find ways to more
effectively (and creatively) support positive transformative African
popular culture that advances the ideas of resistance, power, and
self-identification. Ultimately, supporting these multiple platforms and
means of creative expression, allows African women the agency to identify
and represent themselves as they are, and not as they are presented by
others. It also provides the means for us (as African women) to document
our own creative contributions, and to actively support multi-generational
movement-building while simultaneously mobilizing new constituencies.

Looking ahead, while a focus on popular culture and the arts is only one
strategy in our efforts to achieve broad based social change and justice it
is an important one. Popular culture and the arts will continue to be a
meaningful force and we must use it to articulate our outrage, express our
resilience, and develop new ways of responding to the challenges
experienced in our everyday lives.
*Biography:* Amina Doherty is a Nigerian feminist ARTivist whose work
focuses on feminist philanthropy and creative arts for advocacy. Amina
actively supports several community-led media platforms across Africa and
the Caribbean and brings to her activism a passion for music, art, travel,
photography, fashion and poetry. She has facilitated several learning
programs on women’s rights, youth development, resource mobilization and
economic justice. Amina is the founding coordinator of FRIDA | The Young
Feminist Fund. She holds a BA in Political Science & Women’s Studies from
McGill University (Distinction) and an MSc in Gender, Development and
Globalization from the London School of Economics (LSE).

 

I formally came into feminism at university or rather I came to name my politics ‘as such’ during that time. But like many other young women of my generation, my formative understandings of, and identifications with feminism have over the years been shaped by popular culture.
I think of the ways social media (and other expressions of popular culture: music, art, fashion, film etc) have influenced my own self-definition as an African feminist nomad living between the continent and the Diaspora. I think about the ways many young women like myself have come into feminist consciousness through popular culture (regardless of whether these influences are deemed feminist or not). Young women for whom feminism has meant personal and public critical engagement around raunchy music videos and misogynist lyrics. Young women whose journey’s to feminism have been inspired by African feminist bloggers writing about pop culture, race, gender, identity, sex, relationships, culture, religion, spirituality and more; Or even collectives of young women in Ghana, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Nigeria and South Africa whose contributions to African feminist thought have come about through blogging, tweeting and facilitating online discussions about women’s rights, community development, social justice activism and more.
When I think about African popular culture – I think about young women and trans* peoples who have felt affirmed by the words of African musicians like Shishani Vranckx from Namibia singing about sexual identity and gender equality, or South African artist Thandiswa Mazwai and her all-female band, or even Malian musician and peace activist Fatoumata Diawara tackling sensitive topics such as female genital mutilation. And there so many – Zimbabwe’s mbira maestro Chiwoniso who once sang stories of rebel women, freedom fighters. Kenya’s Sara Mitaru who describes her brand of Afropop as ‘social music’ which she says ‘talks about where we are as a continent and what needs to change.’[1] Nigeria’s own Afropop sensation Omawumi holding little back as she sings about sexual abuse and topics many consider ‘taboo.’ I think about the lighthearted Kuduro artist Titicawhose very image (and immense popularity) has fostered nuanced thinking and debate about what it means to be trans* in Angola. I think about organizations like ‘None on Record’ using digital media to tell the stories of LGBT Africans, others like Iranti-Org a queer human rights visual media organization based in Johannesburg or individual ARTivists like Zanele Muholi from South Africa challenging homophobias and documenting the lived experiences of African lesbians through photography.
I think about the ways that my own knowledge and understanding of African feminisms has constantly undergone formation and (re)formation thanks to these multiple cultural expressions and representations within popular culture. I look at the ways young African feminists (myself included) are using new media to build intentional communities on platforms such as facebook and twitter – questioning, debating, agreeing, disagreeing reframing the politics and praxis of online friendships and pushing each other’s level of critical engagement forward.
I look back at my mother’s generation and the ways that African women in music historically have been at the forefront of social change; ARTivists from across the continent fuelled with creative dissent. I think of women such as South African singer and political activist Miriam Makeba, musical rebels like ‘the queen of African pop’ Brenda Fassie, ‘the barefoot diva’ Cesária Évora from Cape Verde, and the legendary Zanzibari singer Bi Kidude – all women who used their music to speak passionately against social injustice touching on issues ranging from forced marriage to sexual violence and oppression.
And in the spirit of these reflections, I look to the power and potential of popular culture to recognize and critique the dominant representations of African women usually found in the mainstream. In this essay, I argue that it is exactly within the domain of popular culture that we see some of the most visible, vibrant and persuasive expressions of African feminisms today.[2] Further, using examples I explore the potential popular culture has for social transformation and feminist consciousness-raising in Africa.
Popular culture by its own non-definition can be seen to constitute the expression of the masses. For some, popular culture (or ‘pop culture’ for short) represents a form of artistic language spoken for and by the people. Of course we must consider that the question of what one deems ‘popular’ is in large part determined by who is doing the defining and on what terms.
Today, in what feminist cultural critic Darnell L. Moore calls the ‘age of late capital and neoliberalism,’[3] we see that much of the way we experience the world (i.e. how we develop our identities) is shaped by the images, symbols, and narratives in radio, television, film, music, and social media.[4] In speaking to this, cultural anthropologist Karin Barber argues that ‘the most obvious reason for giving attention to popular culture is its sheer undeniable assertive presence as social fact.’[5] Popular culture, she suggests, ‘loudly proclaims its own importance in the lives of large numbers of people given its ability to flourish without encouragement or recognition from official cultural bodies, and sometimes to exist in defiance of them.’[6] With that in mind, pop culture can be understood as a means in which a society tackles questions of identity and builds critical consciousness around issues of race, class, gender, sexuality and so on.[7] African-American scholar Cornel West in conversation with the Black feminist author bell hooks posits: “I focus on popular culture because I focus on those areas where black humanity is most powerfully expressed, where black people have been able to articulate their sense of the world in a profound manner. And I see this primarily in popular culture.”[8]
From a feminist perspective, African-American scholar Patricia Hill-Collins in her seminal text ‘Black Feminist Thought: Knowledge, Consciousness and the Politics of Empowerment” critically looks at the intersections of race, class, gender, and sexuality and takes issue with the negative ways in which Black women have historically been framed within the American popular imagination. Challenging these stereotypes and images she says, “[is] a core theme in Black feminist thought as evidenced by the writing of many other Black feminist theorists. In her own work[9], bell hooks also examines how a wide range of media, from popular music, to advertising, literatures, television and film represent black people, and the social and political consequences of these representations. hooks is in large part concerned with imagining a means of engagement that ‘pushes against the boundaries of image’, a process she contends, ‘is deeply political, and represents the struggle of Black women to self-define and resist domination’.[10]
Beyond these questions of identity and resistance, hooks also outlines the importance of recognizing engagement with popular culture as central to feminist praxis noting:
“There must be more effort to write and talk about feminist ideas in ways that are accessible…Those of us who already have been successfully working in this way must strike individually and collectively to make our voices heard by a wider audience. If we do not actively enter the terrain of popular culture, we will be complicit in the antifeminist backlash that is at the heart of the mass media’s support of antifeminist women who claim to speak on behalf of feminism. The time has come to interrupt, intervene, and change the channel.”[11]
And just how do we change the channel? By recognizing that when it comes to feminism, popular culture through the vehicles of art, film, music, theatre, photography, books and other media helps to translate feminist philosophies, issues, and concepts into everyday language, making them more relevant and relatable. Popular culture has a unique capacity not only to raise awareness, but to build bigger constituencies for social justice and women’s rights and ultimately to meet people where they are.[12]
To be continued…
By Amina Doherty

 

Gay was an obscure word until my first year in the University. I mean, in secondary school, I knew that girls did things to themselves in the dark in their hostels; my best girlfriend had written a long amused letter from her boarding school in Oyo State to tell me all about dykes and babes. Dyke was an interesting word, I thought, and it just about ended there for the most part. Until University.

On campus, beneath the orderly surface of lectures, parties, strikes, cult clashes, stray bullets, fun, rape, there were the gay rumors. The finger pointing and name callings. And then there was my friend Bayo (not his real name.) He was a shock because he was nothing like I imagined, he did not look like any of the stereotypes I had seen on TV and come to expect.

To start with, he did not, as much as I could tell, harbor a secret desire to wear thongs and pantyhose, and he did not hang his hand mid-air when he talked. Not that I would have minded much. But he wore his good old shirts and trousers and went about his rather ordinary life. On suspicion alone, I would never have been able to tell. Yet, Nigeria’s new anti-gay bill renders a person arrest worthy, on the suspicion of being gay.

It is hard to cut through the very thick layer of homophobia dominating the conversation around Nigeria’s anti-gay bill to begin to explain just how problematic and open-ended the bill is. The sentiments are the same and old, but they are as shrill as before (if not more) and will not be penetrated by any opposing view. In fact, opposing has been roughly rounded off to mean ‘secretly gay.’ Nigerians are more unanimous in their wish to see a gay person put behind bars for fourteen years it would seem, than they are to see a sitting senator called out (read as punished) for not just marrying successive under-aged girls but for trying to sneak in a law that institutionalized it. Ask any Nigerian anti-gay how he/she thinks fourteen years in prison might help a gay Nigerian and your answer could be anything from the very obtuse “if your forefathers where gay, would there be anybody left in the world now to demand gay rights?” to the misguided “it is freedom of speech, I am allowed to exercise my basic human right!”

Perhaps, if we could step out of ourselves and at least imagine how it could be true for them? What most of us know about being gay is NOTHING plus a healthy dose of opinionated-ness. Yet it takes just a willingness to see, to get from dykes and babes to human being like me who is different. And even then, you are by no means free of the effects of a lifetime of social conditioning.

For the Christians, not supporting Nigeria’s anti-gay bill does not mean that you are supporting evil. It means that you will not stand by and see injustice prevail. I am certain it is what Jesus would do. Remember Mary Magdalene and what it must have looked like at the time for Him to stand where he stood, against the status-quo. For the cultural foot soldiers, there are a lot of ways in which we have contravened our very sacred African Culture in the name of Progress so can we not bring that argument up? And for the extra zealous, we have a nicely put African proverb that kind of sums it up: You do not cut of your nose in a bid to smoothen your face.

When people are more willing to stick rigidly to what they know in the face of clear facts, when our notoriously anti-people government officials and politicians suddenly begin to make very curious, broad claims on behalf of Nigerians, when people are thinking more about the preservation of abstract variables than the lives of other people who may very well be friend, sister, brother, aunty, uncle, father, mother, then we know that it is time to start getting really anxious.

By Kechi Nomu:

Kechi Nomu writes from Warri. In 2012, she took part in the Farafina Creative Writing Workshop. Her work has appeared in Saraba Magazine and elsewhere.

 

A training workshop at the 3rd African Feminist Forum in Dakar, Senegal

[tp lang=”en” not_in=”fr”]Currently I am in Ekiti State, Nigeria and have had the pleasure of joining Erelu Bisi, Co-Founder of AWDF and Founder of the Ekiti Development Foundation (EDF) in various activities commemorating her 50th birthday.

Frankly I have been amazed at the energy that Erelu has. A full day was recently spent with journalists from print media, radio and television stations, and the ease with which she answered questions showed clearly that she is a woman with a purpose. Next on the schedule was a donation to beneficiaries of the EDF food bank which supports elderly people in the state of Ekiti who do not have the means to support themselves. Afterwards we headed to an event organised by the women of Ekiti in celebration of Erelu Bisi where various women’s groups have testified to Bisi’s strong support of the rights of women in the State.

To top it all off Iconic magazine presented Erelu Bisi with the iconic woman award. Congratulation Bisi, I remain inspired by the work you do in Ekiti State, Nigeria.

Rissi Assani Alabi

Francophone Programme Officer

AWDF[/tp]

[tp lang=”fr” not_in=”en”]Actuellement, je suis dans l’État d’Ekiti, Nigeria et ai eu le plaisir de me joindre Erelu Bisi, co-fondatrice d’AWDF et fondatrice de la Fondation Ekiti de développement (FED) à diverses activités commémorant son 50e anniversaire.

Franchement, je suis étonnée de l’énergie d’Erelu. Une journée entière a été récemment passée avec les journalistes de la presse écrite les stations de radio et de télévision, et la facilité avec laquelle elle a répondu aux questions a clairement montré qu’elle est une femme avec un but. Suivant le calendrier, c’était un don aux bénéficiaires de la banque alimentaire EDF qui soutient les personnes âgées dans l’Etat d’Ekiti qui ne possèdent pas les moyens de subvenir à leurs besoins. Ensuite, nous sommes allées à un événement organisé par les femmes d’Ekiti pour la célébration d’Erelu Bisi où les divers groupes de femmes ont témoigné du fort soutien de Bisi aux droits des femmes dans l’État.

Pour couronner le tout, le magazine emblématique a présenté Erelu Bisi avec l’attribution de la femme emblématique. Félicitation Bisi, je reste inspiré par le travail que vous faites dans l’État d’Ekiti, Nigeria.

Rissi Assani Alabi

Chargé de Programme francophone

AWDF[/tp]

[tp lang=”en” not_in=”fr”]2 years ago I saw Notre Etrangere/The Place in Between at the 2011 FESPACO (Pan African Film and Television Festival of Ougadougou), and in the blog post I wrote after the festival I cited the film as one of my favourites out of all the films I had seen at FESPACO. So you can imagine how excited I am that the filmmaker behind Notre Etrangere will be participating in the African Women in Film Forum (AWIFF)

Best of all, Sarah’s film Notre Etrangere will be screened on Tuesday 24th September for free from 6pm at the NAFTI Preview Theatre at the NAFTI Hostel in Cantonments, Accra.

On that same day, time and venue, I am also really looking forward to watching Anita Afonu’s ‘Perished Diamonds’. In Yaba Badoe’s words,

“The documentary relates the painful story of how the Ghana Film Industry Corporation (GFIC) was sold – or to use IMF jargon ‘divested’ – in 1997 to a Malaysian company for the sum of 1.23 million dollars. The idea behind the divestiture was to recapitalize GFIC before it was eventually returned to the state. The sale included all of the GFIC’s assets, its studios and equipment and, most controversial of all, Ghana’s film archive.”

It is heart breaking that we as Ghanaians have had so little regard for commemorating our history and allowed our film archives to be destroyed. The poster created below captures the failure in leadership in allowing this sad situation to occur.

The screening of Notre Etrangere and Perished Diamonds will be followed by a question and answer session with Sarah Bouyain and Anita Afonu facilitated by Anita Erskine of Brand Woman Africa, a sponsor of the 2nd AWIFF. This will take place at the NAFTI Preview Theatre at NAFTI Hostel – Cantonments, Accra (turn right at the roundabout after passing the entrance of the American Embassy on your left and NAFTI hostel will be on your right).

I hope to see you there.

Nana Darkoa[/tp]

[tp lang=”fr” not_in=”en”]Il y a 2 ans en 2011 je vis Notre Etrangère / The Place in Between au FESPACO (Festival panafricain du cinéma et de la télévision de Ouagadougou) , et pour mon blog j’ai écrit dessus, je citais ce film comme l’un de mes favoris de tous les films que j’avais vu au FESPACO. Alors vous pouvez imaginer à quel point je suis heureuse que la cinéaste derrière Notre Etrangère participe à l’African Women in Film Forum (AWIFF)

Image of Sarah Bouyain by Nyssos

Le meilleur de tous, le film de Sarah, Notre Etrangère, sera projeté le mardi 24 Septembre gratuitement à partir de 18 heures en avant première au Théâtre du NAFTI Hostel à Cantonnements, Accra.

Le même jour, même heure et même lieu, je suis également impatiente de regarder le film d’Anita Afonu’s ‘Perished Diamonds’. Dans les mots de Yaba Badoe,

“Le documentaire raconte l’histoire douloureuse de la façon dont Ghana Film Industry Corporation (GFIC) a été vendue – ou pour utiliser le jargon du FMI« dépouillée »-. en 1997 à une société malaisienne pour la somme de 1,23 millions de dollars L’idée derrière la cession était de recapitaliser GFIC avant d’être finalement retourné à l’état. La vente comprenait tous les actifs, ses studios et l’équipement de GFIC et, plus controversés de tous, les archives du film du Ghana “.

C’est le cœur brisé que nous, Ghanéens avons eu si peu d’égard pour commémorer notre histoire et permis à nos archives cinématographiques d’être détruites. L’affiche créée ci-dessous capte le manque de leadership en permettant à cette triste situation se produise.

La projection de Notre Etrangère et de Perished Diamonds sera suivie d’une session de questions et réponses avec Sarah Bouyain et Anita Afonu facilitée par Anita Erskine de Brand Woman Africa, un parrain de la 2e édition de l’AWIFF. Cela aura lieu au Théâtre de NAFTI au NAFTI Hostel – Cantonments, Accra (tourner à droite au rond-point après le passage de l’entrée de l’ambassade américaine sur votre gauche et NAFTI Hostel sera sur votre droite).

J’espère vous y voir.

Nana Darkoa[/tp]