vol. 29 - The Woman King

 The Woman King (2022)

directed by Gina Prince-Bythewood

Obinna Tony-Francis Ochem

The Woman King | 2022 | dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood

As a child, I didn’t have the luxury of staying with my mother, as she was gone from the face of the earth while I was only one, almost two years old. So I spent most of my life until I was almost thirteen with my grandmother, watching her ways of life in a little town located in the southeastern part of Nigeria. There, I had my grandfather and my grandmother as his second wife secluded in the little town situated out of nowhere with bushes and gardens surrounding the little village. I would describe it as a serene village setting with a faraway popular town known for their wealth in Nigeria acquired through business acumen.

On blackness, as a child, growing up, I was just Nigerian and Igbo. The Woman King is a celebration of black power, especially around what African women can do, which is different from the blanket portrayal by white women on what female fragility is about. The story of The Woman King mirrors the Oyo Empire taking captive the Kingdom of Dahomey, and was produced by Viola Davis and three other creatives who brought the history book into a visual theatrical release. When I finally discovered I would be called a black person out of Nigeria, it dawned on me and learning extensively on race, there was a discovery that the world is viewed from the lens of whiteness rather than what we had always been. This boils down to what the media constantly tries to portray to us and we learn. Though in most African societies, women are portrayed as brave providers as well as men, and we lived communally, we were taught the Western idea of traditional gender roles. In the country, we end up mirroring the Western society via a theoretical framework though we mostly practice a culture where it had never been documented that women didn’t work and earn livings from time immemorial until now.

Nigeria was colonized by the British government. When I was little, I knew we were light-skinned and dark-skinned and in some cases albino, but I didn’t fully understand how I was viewed until I learned about race. When we are viewed through the lens of whiteness, we are limited. My grandmother went to the market and also to the farm with my grandfather. She multitasked. Unlike my grandfather, who made the ridges and farmed the yam and cassava, my grandmother planted the green vegetables and other ingredients required to make soup, like okra and pumpkins. 

The Woman King tells the story of two West African kingdoms. The kingdom of Dahomey was held captive by the Oyo Empire. They are two kingdoms located in two West African countries. The kingdom of Dahomey is under Benin Republic, a francophone-speaking country colonized by France and the Oyo Empire, and under Nigeria, an Anglophone country colonized by the British government, the most powerful monarchy. Though free from colonialism, in 2023, both countries are still under neo-colonialism, with the Benin Republic under France and Nigeria, rather than under American imperialism. Neocolonialism still plays a role in how we see ourselves, highlighting how colorism largely plays a role in our media representation.

Though I have never set foot out of Nigeria, other than in the official language based on how we were thought to always employ British English, every other thing falls to America. In all facets of life, from living to identity, we are mostly affiliated to American politics and we don’t fully exercise our blackness but rather try to mirror our lives through whiteness. In The Woman King, the female Agojie warriors showed that women have always taken power in African society. Misogyny largely thrives in African culture; it is not specifically tied to a system upheld by the culture, but through acculturation and learning, and doesn’t permeate into law. Most Nigerian laws are built from Western culture, which are relics of Western culture.

Ancient West Africa thrived on communal living rather than wealth being at the forefront. In Igbo Nigerian culture, where I am from, wealth was dependent on how large your yam barn was. My grandfather would stay in his barn most days when he wasn’t on the farm, tending to his yam. Yam and cassava are the two main carbohydrate sources. Women handled cassava and men handled yam. Capitalism only thrives when non-perishable wealth is in place, leaving the room for wealth hoarding, unlike when the form of exchange was through food items and materials.

The Woman King seeks to portray the spirit of oneness that had always existed when society wanted to claim what was rightfully theirs. It portrays strength, especially one that can be exhibited through acts of bravery to defeat your opponent as not necessary about one’s biological makeup. As a queer person who was effeminate, I was bullied as a young child, mostly through words because my gait betrayed me, but it never extended to physical actions. I was seen as someone fragile, and once in a senior school as a teenager, a new student decided to challenge me because by my physical makeup, it was easier to bully me. There had been instances of effeminate queer boys fighting with their bullies who they never thought would win, because they looked fragile. This was in a physical circumstance where they had something to prove because most times, strength happened mostly through actions.

The Woman King shows that female fragility was something adored by African women. If a small Dahomey with female-led warriors can liberate their people who were taken captive by the Oyo Empire, African women have proven to be powerful and blackness doesn’t bear any core similarity to whiteness other than existing as a similar human species. It’s not like female fragility is something based on their physical makeup, but rather something based on how they exhibit their gender and how their patriarchal setting has cultured them to be. Like the Agojie women like Queen Amina, or like Queen Moremi with other female African warriors, women have always taken power. Blackness won’t want to be lumped with whiteness based on gender to fit radical feminists’ ideas of gender and sex and women as a heavily oppressed group. Black women represent strength, not fragility. While white women couldn’t do the most basic thing of having a bank account, black women owned farm lands and crops and could ally with each other to liberate themselves, since their existence was built on power.

Growing up in a small town in Southeastern Nigeria, rather than the city, until I was thirteen gave me context on how much power women hold when they establish through gathering together. In The Woman King, it’s easy for someone who hasn't lived in an average African society to assume that it was just fiction when they think about Wonder Woman. Though activities were mostly segregated based on gender, women as much as men had bodily autonomy. One thing in The Woman King was Nawi, a strong-willed girl who rejected being married to men who would beat her. Getting married off is not a new thing in an African society and rejecting a man you had been offered is very common. There were no legal bindings and women could leave their husbands’ houses without any fear or societal stigma other than not being able to enjoy the perks accorded to married women in a specific kin or women married out of their kin.

Since there are no documented divorce proceedings that follow due processes, women leaving their husbands isn’t a new thing, though it leaves them at the lower stratum in society. While alive, my grandmother told me tales of how she was initiated into the masquerade society. This was a society that thrived on male courage because these masquerades were known to wield power to do and undo. To be a member means you have seen the spirit and you represent power. African women had always wielded power and The Woman King celebrated and showcased how African society thrived before westernization and in the 21st century. Though mostly portrayed as fragile in the media, African women, in Nigeria, are still as much as when they were in the old time.

Obinna Tony-Francis Ochem is a freelance writer navigating gender, class, sexuality, climate change, and shape-shifting monsters. Portfolio: https://linktr.ee/obynofranc