4
Mothers of nationalism
The year 1955 was a turning point for women in Tanzania. John
Hatch, the British representative of the Labour government, visited
Dar es Salaam in June to meet with members of the fledging nationalist movement, the Tanganyika African National Union (TANU),
and to encourage them to press for independence without violence.
After witnessing a speech that the group’s leader Julius Nyerere
gave to a crowd of 25,000 people, Hatch posed a question to the
officials he met: “I see there were a lot of people at Nyerere’s meeting today … but do you have a women’s section … I want to meet
their leader.”1 They promised a meeting the following day. But, in
the words of Bibi Titi Mohamed, who would become the women’s
leader:
The truth is, they didn’t have a woman then! … Everyone had locked
their wives away [in the house]. Everyone refused. “Then what shall
we do?” they asked themselves. Then Sheneda [one of the men] said,
“I will go and collect Titi.” … her husband is my friend. I’ll talk to him
and she will come.2
The following day she was taken to the TANU office and introduced to John Hatch as “leader of the women’s section.” From then
on, after TANU officials contacted her husband asking his written
1
2
Susan Geiger, TANU Women: Gender and Culture in the Making of Tanganyikan
Nationalism, 1955–1965 (Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1997), 57.
Geiger, TANU Women, 57.
66
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MOTHERS OF NATIONALISM
67
permission, Bibi Titi Mohamed became the head of the party’s women’s section. Adopting a pattern unique to Tanzania, she mobilized
her followers through ngoma, women’s dance groups, which united
Swahili-speaking women from all over the country. As was common
across the continent during the 1950s, in many of her speeches, she
appealed to women as mothers, emphasizing the ability to give birth
as the source of their power:
“I am telling you that we want independence. And we can’t get independence if you don’t want to join the party. We have given birth to all
these men. Women are the power in this world. I am telling you that we
have to join the party first.” So they went and joined the party.3
Bibi Titi Mohamed was a young Muslim woman born in the coastal
city of Dar es Salaam in 1926. In an interview with historian Susan
Geiger, she explained that her father was a businessman and her
mother a farmer and housewife. She learned to read the Quran as a
child and attended Uhuru [Government] Girls School up to Standard
Four; upon reaching puberty she was compelled to stay indoors to
avoid seeing strangers without her parents’ permission. She compared
the experience to captivity: “You stay in as if it were a prison … You
can’t even peep through the window. It is strictly forbidden.”4 She
later recalled accepting this confinement because it was mandated by
religion and custom.
When Bibi Titi turned fourteen, she was married to Mzee bin
Haji, a forty-year-old mechanic for the Public Works Department
whom she had never met. In those days, she explained, parents chose
their children’s spouses: “… if you were ever to bring a husband to
them you would be looked upon as a spoiled child.”5 He divorced
her after they had one child. She told Geiger that she then remarried
Buku bin Athmani, the chief clerk at the Water Supply Department,
whom she knew and loved, but who died a number of years after
their marriage. She elaborated, “This marriage was not like my first
… We loved each other. But he died.”6 In other interviews, however, Bibi Titi spoke of three marriages, not including this second
husband.
3
4
5
6
Geiger, TANU Women, 58.
Geiger, TANU Women, 47.
Geiger, TANU Women, 48.
Geiger, TANU Women, 48.
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MOTHERS OF NATIONALISM
Like most Swahili women, Bibi Titi was active in one of the city’s
numerous ngoma, popular dancing and musical groups, each with its
own name and hierarchy of officials modeled on British titles: the
“chief secretary” who did the organizing and planning, followed by
the “kingi” and the “governor.” The members of her group, Roho Ni
Mgeni (Heart is a Stranger), not only performed at weddings and
festivals, but cooperated in organizing burial ceremonies and taking
part in the annual community event that celebrated the birthday of
the Prophet Muhammed. Before her impromptu recruitment as the
leader of TANU women, Bibi Titi had heard about the nationalist
organization from her brother-in-law. The group was headed by Julius
Nyerere, a young secondary school teacher with a teaching diploma
from Makerere University in Uganda and an M.A. in history and
economics from the University of Edinburgh. Typical of nationalist
leaders at the time, he was a widely revered figure who became the
embodiment of the country’s aspirations for independence.
In the months that followed John Hatch’s visit, Bibi Titi began
speaking to leaders of ngoma groups and going from house to house to
persuade women to join the freedom struggle. But women still were
not expected to speak in public. Finally, male leaders persuaded Bibi
Titi that she needed to address her supporters. She later described
her shock and discomfort as she began her inaugural speech: “I stood
up, as if God had caused me to rise. I didn’t look at the people.” But,
she recollected, “I spoke well, and all the people listened attentively.”
She reported her words, which again emphasized motherhood as the
source of women’s power:
What authority is God giving us? He has given us authority! We
shouldn’t feel inferior because of our womanhood … We have given
birth … Those whom you see with their coats and caps, they are from
here [pointing to her stomach]! They didn’t come to our backs and direct from their fathers. Yalaa! God has given us this power … he knew
that he did it so that you can bring children into the world. Without our
cooperation, we won’t achieve our country’s freedom. So we must join.
I say that it is necessary for us to join.7
Bibi Titi’s success in using dance societies to mobilize relatively
uneducated Muslim women challenges accepted ideas that nationalist
7
Geiger, TANU Women, 61.
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movements succeeded through the efforts of Western-educated young
Christian men who rallied popular support through new political parties. More important than TANU, dance societies engaged women
in “performing nationalism” by bringing together women from different ethnic groups in a common activity that was central to their
daily lives.
Tanzania was not alone in pressing for independence from colonial rule. In the standard account of African nationalist politics, during the late 1940s and 1950s, educated young men, some of whom
had expanded their horizons as soldiers during the Second World War,
became more assertive in challenging both their elders and European
rulers in new ways. Their boycotts, demonstrations, grassroots campaigns, new political parties, and in some cases violence, eventually
led most colonial rulers to negotiate an exit from imperial control and
to hand over power to this new male elite.
As numerous historians have demonstrated, however, this
male-oriented story of top-down decolonization is only partial, ignoring the campaigns of women across the continent whose protests
against colonial policies also galvanized political organizing. It also
omits the exceptional women who used their leadership skills and
their ties to grassroots women’s groups to mobilize broad-based constituencies. At times these women leaders drew on their connections
to existing women’s organizations (such as women’s dance societies)
while in other cases they formed new politicized women’s groups
that lent support to established nationalist parties. As auxiliaries to
political parties, women were sometimes less concerned with gender
equality than with the goals they shared with men – of putting an end
to colonial domination. Even when acting in concert with men, however, women (again like Bibi Titi) often drew on their role as mothers
as a basis of their political authority and empowerment and occasionally clashed with male nationalists who were unconcerned with gender
equity.
The women who devoted their talents and energy to nationalist
movements were able to mobilize new constituencies and sometimes
to infuse women’s agendas into the narratives of nationalism – shaping
and supporting, but also challenging and transforming male-led political groups. Many popular actions of the postwar years were sparked
initially less by anticolonial sentiments than by resistance to particular colonial policies such as new taxes and land use regulations; over
time, however, these grievances often meshed with those of nationalist
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parties. Women targeted not only unwelcome policies, but also the
chiefs responsible for implementing and enforcing them. Though different in many respects, most of these revolts (like those earlier in
the century) were intense, spontaneous, and relatively short-lived, the
responses of peasants or poor urban women to perceived threats to
their livelihoods and to a disruption of customary relationships with
local officials. In other cases, however, women generated political
unrest that lasted up to independence.
Grassroots actions
Protests in Tanzania and Cameroon typified these grassroots actions,
although they ranged widely in their methods and the numbers of
women involved. In 1945, 500 women in the Pare District of northern Tanzania marched to the district headquarters to support their
husbands’ opposition to new taxes that they believed would disrupt
their family and agricultural life. The demonstrators battled with local
police officers and issued the outrageous demand that the British district officer impregnate them all, since his policies undermined the
position of their husbands. Significantly, although this campaign contributed to persuading British colonists to enact limited reforms of
local government, women were excluded from the decision-making
process.
More than a decade later, between 1958 and 1961 Kom women
in Cameroon staged a much larger, more disruptive series of actions,
also provoked by threats to their economic position. The Cameroonian
protestors were angered by rumors that the British planned to sell
their land to Igbos from Nigeria and by a new law that called for farming along the contours of the ridges in order to prevent soil erosion.
They also resented the failure of chiefs to protect their crops from the
cattle of neighboring Fulani herders. Relying on anlu, a traditional
practice for protecting their interests, as many as 7,000 women organized a series of mass demonstrations that disrupted political life until
the country’s independence in 1961. During their dramatic actions,
similar to those of Nigerian women three decades earlier, large groups
of women issued shrill warning cries, dancing and singing, and taunting men who had offended them. Dressed in rags and leaves and dirty
men’s trousers, with sticks perched like rifles on their shoulders, they
gathered at men’s compounds, sometimes urinating and defecating to
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drive people from their homes in order to shame men into meeting
their demands.
Similar grievances against taxes and colonial policies also prompted
urban women to engage in massive, often volatile expressions of discontent, sometimes independently and spontaneously, sometimes in
conjunction with larger nationalist protests. In Lagos, organizing during and after the war drew on the Lagos Market Women’s Association,
active since the 1920s. Led by Alimotu Pelewura, an uneducated
Muslim political activist, thousands of women traders banded together
to protest the taxation of women and to oppose a price-control scheme
implemented during the Second World War. As an explicitly anticolonial group, these women also joined a general strike called in 1945
that lasted for thirty-seven days and helped to launch militant mass
movements calling for self-government in the near future. Similarly,
in Sierra Leone, 10,000 women gathered in 1951 to protest the rising
cost of food in Freetown. Led by Mabel Dove Danquah and Hannah
Benka-Coker, they sought to regain their monopoly of the trade in
palm oil and rice that had been appropriated by Lebanese traders and
large foreign companies.
Other complaints galvanized women in South Africa and Burundi.
In 1959, women in Durban, responding to restrictions on their
involvement in domestic beer-brewing and to government support
for competing municipal beer halls that threatened their independent
livelihoods, invaded and burned beer halls. Beginning in the segregated township of Cato Manor, an estimated 2,000 women picketed,
clashed with police, and set fire to municipal buildings. Also in the late
1950s, Muslim women in Bujumbura organized an effective revolt
against a special tax on single women. Protestors, who refused to pay
this exaction for several years, were incensed at the implication that all
widowed, divorced, and polygynous women were malaya (prostitutes).
As movements for independence from colonial rule ignited in the
years after the Second World War, women leaders across the continent
both responded to and helped to mobilize such grassroots constituencies, making resistance to foreign domination as much “women’s
work” as the work of the men usually credited with its spread. Among
the most prominent of these women were Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti
in Nigeria, Frances Baard in South Africa, and Wambui Waiyaki
Otieno in Kenya.
But other countries had equally robust women’s involvement in
nationalist organizations. In Sudan, for example, a high level of women’s
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participation was generated first through the local Communist Party
and later through the larger nationalist movement. Although it began
among urban educated women, the Women’s League (and its successor, the Women’s Movement), expanded to workers and peasants
in the northern part of the country. In Cameroon, several different
political parties worked specifically to mobilize women. But, most
uniquely, women nationalists submitted an astonishing 1,000 of the
6,000 recorded petitions sent to the UN Trusteeship Council calling
for independence, withdrawal of foreign troops, the reunification of
the British and French territories, and lifting economic restrictions
on local businesses. With an equal focus on women’s rights, the Sierra
Leone Women’s Movement played a major role in nationalist politics,
aiming specifically to improve women’s status, protect the rights of
market women, and insure women’s representation in key government bodies. One of the group’s leaders, Mabel Dov, became the first
west African woman elected to the national legislature. She was followed by Constance Cummings-John, who a decade later became the
mayor of the country’s capital, Freetown. As independence neared in
Uganda, the Ugandan Council of Women began to prepare women
for leadership roles by running voter education and leadership training courses as well as promoting literacy and formal education for
women. As in Sierra Leone, these efforts helped to promote women’s political representation. By the time of independence in 1962,
nine women (seven of them African) had served on the Legislative
Council.
Nigeria: mobilizing market women
Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti, the Nigerian activist, differed from Bibi
Titi in many ways. Well-educated, she was active in promoting girls’
and women’s education in the 1920s and 1930s. Her British education made Ransome-Kuti unusual for an African woman of her time.
Using her exceptional organizational abilities, she and her husband,
Rev. Israel Oludotun Ransome-Kuti, ran a boarding school together.
In the mid 1940s she was the key figure in transforming the Abeokuta
Ladies’ Club (ALC), a group of middle-class, Western-educated
Christian women, to include poor market women for whom they set
up literacy and tutoring classes. But, involving market women became
a recipe for political action when the women decided to use the club
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NIGERIA: MOBILIZING MARKET WOMEN
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to rally against British colonial officials who were confiscating their
rice without compensation, a continuation of policies intended to balance wartime food shortages and to provide for soldiers.
This move led to other complaints about officials seizing women’s
goods or paying less than the market value for them. Involvement with
these popular protests launched Ransome-Kuti on a personal journey
when she realized how removed educated women were from the lives
of ordinary people. From this time on, in a symbolic effort to bridge
this gap, she shed her Western clothing and began to dress only in
Yoruba garb. Her new attire included a loose blouse and distinctive
cloth wrapped elegantly around the head and body “to make women
feel that I was one with them.”8
As protests continued, the ALC expanded the scope of its actions
to press for the establishment of health clinics, school playgrounds,
improved sanitation, and safer water; the group also demanded an end
to government control of trading and a pledge not to increase women’s
taxation. As its objectives widened and its membership swelled, the
ALC grew more militant. Reflecting its avowedly pro-independence
and activist goals, the group also adopted a new name – the Abeokuta
Women’s Union (AWU). The new group was inclusive in its membership, attracting women of all educational levels as well as Christians,
Muslims, and followers of Yoruba religions. Famed Nigerian writer
Wole Soyinka later described these “wrapper wearers,” distinguished
by their traditional Yoruba dress from middle-class Christian women,
as they filed into a meeting. He wrote: “Women of every occupation –
the cloth dyers, weavers, basket makers and the usual petty traders of
the markets – they arrived in ones, twos, in groups, they came from
near and distant compounds, town sectors and far villages whose
names I had never heard.”9
The AWU was also larger and much more tightly organized than
many other African women’s groups at this time. With about 20,000
dues-paying members and another 100,000 active supporters, they
were able to coordinate massive demonstrations. Ransome-Kuti was
a vigorous and dynamic leader. According to her biographers, “Her
high cheek bones and piercing gaze could be quite intimidating. She
8
9
Quoted in Cheryl Johnson-Odim and Nina Emma Mba, For Women and the
Nation: Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti of Nigeria (Urbana-Champaign: University of
Illinois Press, 1997), 66.
Johnson-Odim and Mba, For Women and the Nation, 72–73.
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had a hearty laugh and a strong, clear voice that … could be heard
well even by a large crowd.”10 The first target of the AWU attacks was
a local one – the Alake (King) of Abeokuta, the official responsible
for implementing the hated colonial policy of taxing women. In the
course of the successful campaign against the Alake and the system
of government that gave substantial power to “traditional” authorities recognized by the British (a campaign that, in 1949, forced the
Alake out of power), Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti became a nationally
and internationally recognized figure.
That same year (1949), relying on a strong, local base in Abeokuta,
the AWU members formed a national organization, the Nigerian
Women’s Union (NWU), to increase support for its long-term goals
of enfranchising all women in the country and promoting their equality in the political process. As a feminist and socialist whose politics were well-formed prior to the nationalist era, Ransome-Kuti was
less closely tied to a single political party or movement than leading
women in some other parts of the continent. By 1953, branches of this
nonpartisan group had expanded throughout the country, working
together to achieve women’s franchise, direct popular elections, and
proportional representation for women.
As President of the national organization as well as its Abeokuta
branch, Ransome-Kuti expressed strong feminist ideas on women’s
subordination. In a speech to the Federation of Nigerian Women’s
Societies, she observed, “As women we still feel that we are inferior
to men, we inherited this from our mothers whose spirits had been
subdued with slavery and we have to join hands together to shake
off this feeling so that the forthcoming Independence may be of reality to us.”11 She also opposed customary marriage practices such as
polygyny, which she saw as disrespectful to women, and objected to
bridal gifts. In her eyes, these gifts reinforced male domination and
discouraged women from leaving unhappy relationships. Taking up
another issue that crossed party lines, Ransome-Kuti also led an
unsuccessful campaign to extend the franchise to women in conservative, Muslim-dominated northern Nigeria.
Although Ransome-Kuti’s campaigns on gender issues appealed to
women across the country, she also presided over the Women’s Wing
of one of the regional parties – the National Council of Nigeria and
10
11
Johnson-Odim and Mba, For Women and the Nation, 76.
Johnson-Odim and Mba, For Women and the Nation, 102.
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the Cameroons. Thus, just as women’s dance societies formed the
basis for TANU women’s groups, in western Nigeria a group centered
on women traders became the core of a national organization whose
goals and militancy widened along with its membership.
South Africa: fighting apartheid
In South Africa, the most highly industrialized country on the continent, women’s organizers during the 1940s and 1950s were closely tied
to nationalist organizations such as the African National Congress
that were fighting for democratic rights for the country’s African
majority. These groups especially attracted women living in segregated urban shantytowns, threatened by the white minority government’s campaign to force them to carry identity documents known
as passes. Of those with formal employment, many earned their living
in low-paying jobs stitching clothing, weaving textiles, or preparing
and canning food. Unlike Tanzania and Nigeria, South Africa had
a minority population of permanent white settlers who monopolized political power. They entered the postwar period determined
to reinforce racism and white domination rather than moving to end
colonial rule. Under this new system, known as apartheid, African
women and children living in the cities were designated as “superfluous appendages” of male workers, and at times terrorized with
threats of deportation to squalid, underdeveloped rural communities.
Frances Baard, who found a job in a canning factory during the war,
eventually became an active trade union organizer who mobilized her
constituency in the struggle against passes for women and an end to
white domination.
Coming from a much more modest background than Ransome-Kuti,
Baard, born in the diamond mining town of Kimberley, attended a
Methodist primary school through Standard Six (eighth grade) and
briefly attended a teacher’s training school. After a short stint as a
teacher, she took a job as a domestic worker, one of the few formal
jobs open to women in South Africa. Once married, Baard, who lived
in the segregated African township of New Brighton outside Port
Elizabeth, found work in a food and canning factory – an industry
that flourished during the war. Conditions in the factories at the time
were harsh. Workers who peeled and canned the fruit had no plastic
aprons or gloves and often worked sixteen-hour shifts.
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When Ray Alexander, a white communist, organized a union at
Baard’s factory in 1948, Baard was elected Organizing Secretary for
the African Food and Canning Workers’ Union. From then on, she
worked in the trade union office, learning organizing skills, giving
speeches, listening to workers’ complaints, negotiating with management, and confronting the difficulties of keeping seasonal workers
involved in the union. In doing so she honed the political expertise
that would equip her for a lifetime of political engagement. After new
laws were enacted in 1950 that intensified urban racial segregation,
Baard faced additional problems. Because the unions legally defined
as “African” and “Coloured” shared an office and refused to separate,
she was constantly harassed by the police.
In addition to her trade union activities, Baard was drawn to attend
a meeting of the main nationalist organization, the African National
Congress (ANC), after her shock at seeing people forced to sleep outside on a cold, rainy night for lack of accommodation, in a climate
where winter temperatures could fall into the mid-forties. She soon
became involved in the ANC Women’s League as well, at first going
from house to house to talk with women about their problems – lack
of money, high rents, difficulty feeding their families, and men’s harassment under the pass laws. According to these regulations, men were
required to carry an identity document that gave them permission
to work only in the city where they resided; they could be stopped,
searched, and imprisoned or deported to rural areas at any time if
their passes were not “in order.” Baard also learned of the special
hardships that widows faced – the threat of losing houses that could be
registered only in men’s names. When her husband died suddenly in
1952 and she assumed sole responsibility for raising their two young
children, her reputation as an activist protected her from being forced
out of their house.
Baard’s leadership role in both union and women’s struggles
resulted, in part, from the close ties between the Food and Canning
Workers’ Union, its African affiliate, and the broader political movements against apartheid during the 1950s. These protests were organized by the African National Congress (ANC), whose leaders included
Nelson Mandela. Thus, she was active in the Defiance Campaign, the
first major nationwide program of civil disobedience aimed at challenging the apartheid regime. In support of the tightly organized
groups that deliberately violated laws mandating segregated facilities
and residential areas, crowds of exuberant supporters gathered in
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mass meetings and demonstrations, carrying banners and chanting
protest slogans. In her home area of Port Elizabeth, among the most
militant communities in the country, thirty people marched through
the European-only entrance to the railway station singing freedom
songs. Accompanied by cheering friends and family, they chanted
“Mayibuye Afrika!” (“Let Africa come back!”). Those defying the
law in support of democratic reform voluntarily courted arrest and
prison sentences (usually two to three months) rather than pay fines.
In doing so they were following the tradition of nonviolent resistance
pioneered by South Africa’s Indian community a half century earlier
under the leadership of Mohandas Gandhi.
In keeping with her wide-ranging involvement in organizations challenging the apartheid state, Baard became a member of
the National Executive Committee of SACTU (the South African
Congress of Trade Unions), the new multiracial federation formed
in 1955 in defi ance of apartheid laws. During the late 1950s,
SACTU campaigned aggressively to raise the minimum wage and
organized a potato boycott that won some improvements in the brutal conditions of farm workers. She was also a founding member of
the Federation of South African Women (now known as FEDSAW).
Launched in 1954, this multiracial organization led women’s struggles against the new requirement that African women as well as
men carry passes. Alongside Baard, leaders included Lilian Ngoyi
and Ray Alexander (both with strong trade union ties), and Helen
Joseph, a British social worker and political activist, then working
for the Garment Workers’ Union. Emphasizing women’s common
bond as mothers, FEDSAW leaders castigated apartheid policies
for separating migrant workers from their families. Lilian Ngoyi
thundered in a speech, “My womb is shaken when they speak of
Bantu education,”12 the system of inferior schooling that was being
imposed on African children.
As a leader of FEDSAW, Baard was in the forefront of the historic protest on August 9, 1956. Resisting official efforts at intimidation, 20,000 women assembled at the Union Building in Pretoria
(the government’s administrative center) to rally against the apartheid government’s plans to extend the pass laws to women. They carried thousands of petitions to the Prime Minister, Johannes Strijdom.
12
Quoted in Tom Lodge, Black Politics in South Africa since 1945 (London: Longman,
1983), 151.
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When he refused to see the women’s representatives, they stacked the
petitions outside his office door and marched back to the expansive
plaza overlooking the city. The demonstrators, many with babies on
their backs, stood silently for thirty minutes and then burst into the
song that became emblematic of their movement: “Strijdom, you have
tampered with the women,You have struck a rock.”13 Following on the
success of the demonstration the Federation planned a massive campaign of civil disobedience in which women would refuse to take out
passes, going to prison if necessary to make their point. Although the
ANC leadership weighed in against this plan, women’s unrest continued to spread. In both the cities and in rural areas, women rallied,
sometimes violently, against both passes and schemes to “improve”
rural economies (Figure 3).
Prior to the Pretoria demonstration, in 1955, as the South African
government intensified its campaign against resistance movements,
Baard and women’s movement leaders Lilian Ngoyi, Ida Fiyo
Mntwana, Bertha Mashaba, and Helen Joseph were among 156
people arrested in the famous Treason Trial, along with Mandela and
other antiapartheid campaigners. Although all the defendants were
acquitted in 1961, the lengthy ordeal drained the time and energy of
the ANC and exhausted the group’s resources. Nonetheless, it also
strengthened the commitment and solidarity of the defendants. In the
words of Helen Joseph, “We led a life within a life and became ever
more firmly bound to our organizations and to our common struggle.
The effort to turn us from our path had resulted only in a stronger
determination to follow it, as almost the whole of the Congress leadership … sat together, discussed together, planned together for the
future.”14
Once exonerated, Baard continued her trade union and women’s
organizing until she was rearrested and banned in 1963, at the height
of the apartheid government’s crackdown on the struggle for democratic rights. Although the Women’s Federation was never formally
outlawed, most of its leaders were detained, banned, or forced into
exile. Under banning orders, individuals were restricted to a particular district, had to report regularly to the police, and were prevented
13
14
Cherryl Walker, Women and Resistance in South Africa (London: Onyx Press,
1982), 195.
Helen Joseph, Side by Side: The Autobiography of Helen Joseph (New York: William
Morrow and Co., 1986), 63.
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SOUTH AFRICA: FIGHTING APARTHEID
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FIGURE 3 Leaders of the Federation of South African Women delivering petitions to government officials at the Union Building in Pretoria on October 27,
1955. Carried by representatives from each of the officially designated racial
groups, the petitions outlined women’s grievances under apartheid, and particularly their opposition to the extension of the pass laws to African women. This
march of 2,000 women was a prelude to the historic march of 20,000 women
the following year on August 9, 1956. Pictured from left to right: Rahima Moosa,
Lilian Ngoyi, Helen Joseph, and Sophia Williams-De Bruyn.
Source: Jurgen Schadenberg/Getty Images.
from associating with more than one person at a time. They could not
be quoted in the press or in any other publication and were prohibited
from taking part in political groups or unions. Such orders effectively
silenced entire organizations.
Following her arrest, Baard spent a punishing year in solitary confinement, where she was allowed nothing to read and a light was kept
on at all times, day and night. When finally taken to court she adamantly denied the lengthy list of charges against her, insisting, “I contravened all this? Rubbish!”15 At this point, she was returned to prison
for another five years. Recalling the ordeal, she was convinced that her
interrogators were trying to kill her – but that her strong spirit enabled
her to survive.
15
Quoted in Iris Berger, Threads of Solidarity: Women in South African Industry, 1900–
1980 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992), 257.
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Kenya: Mau Mau women
Kenyan nationalist leader, Wambui Waiyaki Otieno, was equally tough
and resourceful. A rebel from childhood, she described her independent spirit from an early age: “As a Kikuyu and a Christian, I was
brought up to be a part of both cultures, yet I rejected many of the
restrictions imposed by each.”16 Living in a colony where a tiny minority of British settlers clung to power, the nationalist movement faced
colonial intransigence similar to that in South Africa. This unwillingness to yield power made Kenya one of the few European colonies
in Africa, apart from French-ruled Algeria and French Cameroun,
where sustained violence accompanied the decolonization process
during the 1950s.
Like Ransome-Kuti, Otieno was born into an observant Christian
family. Her father was the first African chief inspector of police in
Kenya during the 1930s. Raised in a rural area, she was expected, as
most girls were, to cultivate her own crops, to herd sheep and goats,
to milk cows, and to carry water from a nearby stream while attending school. Living in a community where strong divisions remained
between Christian converts and traditionalists – a legacy of the battles
over female circumcision during the 1930s – Otieno was constantly
teased by her classmates for being uncircumcised. In her life history,
she quotes the lyrics of a song that proclaimed the uncircumcised girl
as evil and cursed by the ancestors. During the periods when other
families celebrated the life stages of their daughters, the children in
her family were locked indoors to protect them from these “heathen” songs and dances. A strong student, she completed secondary
school and, after several years as a political activist, went on to Tengera
College in Arusha, Tanzania where she received a diploma in community development, political science, and leadership.
Despite her Christian upbringing, Otieno chafed at school over
the European version of Kenya’s history and the school’s insistence
that she adopt a British name. When the British government declared
a State of Emergency in October, 1952 to quell a simmering rebellion against colonial rule, she was a sixteen-year-old school girl who
felt: “All the contradictions of my Christian upbringing and the
cultural bias I experienced in school led me, inevitably, toward the
16
Wambui Waiyaki Otieno, Mau Mau’s Daughter: A Life History, ed. Cora Ann Presley
(Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 1998), 25.
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KENYA: MAU MAU WOMEN
81
rebellion.”17 Too young to join her sister and brothers who were studying abroad because of the Emergency, Otieno became more and more
drawn into “freedom fighting activities,” which she perceived as “getting rid of colonialists and their black collaborators.”18 Her commitment involved taking a successive series of oaths that expressed her
loyalty to the secret underground segment of the freedom movement.
Known as Mau Mau, these combatants were retreating into nearby
forests and arming themselves.
By late 1954, so involved in the movement that she could no longer
pretend to be leading an ordinary life, Otieno ran away to Nairobi
and became a full-time Mau Mau fighter. She enrolled house servants
into the freedom struggle, smuggled firearms and information to the
forest fighters, and acted as a scout in areas targeted for attack. She
observed: “A typical scout was a young, smartly dressed woman … her
working tools included paraphernalia such as wigs, various uniforms,
buibui (the caftan-like dress and head cover worn by Muslim women),
and make-up.”19 This was an essential job for women in the movement,
who had to report on the precise details of each location, including
the number of attackers required, the best weapons to use, and where
to flee in case of trouble and to regroup. Stressing the danger of these
activities, she emphasized, “Scouts lived from day to day, as one wrong
move could mean death.”20 Almost as an aside, she noted the difficulties of raising the three children she had before 1960, with assistance
and funding from her fiancé, a nanny, and her mother.
In addition to her underground activities, Otieno became involved
in the Nairobi People’s Convention Party (NPCP), which worked
closely with Mau Mau by fighting against racial segregation and
campaigning for the release of detained leaders, especially the leading nationalist figure, Jomo Kenyatta. She worked with the group’s
Women’s Wing that, like the Federation of South African Women, was
dedicated to the broader struggle for freedom. Unlike women activists
in South Africa, their demands did not specifically include equality for
women. They did, however, organize massive demonstrations, sometimes involving as many as 200,000 to 300,000 people from all ethnic
groups, demanding land, freedom, and Kenyatta’s release.
17
18
19
20
Otieno, Mau Mau’s Daughter, 32.
Otieno, Mau Mau’s Daughter, 34.
Otieno, Mau Mau’s Daughter, 38.
Otieno, Mau Mau’s Daughter, 43.
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MOTHERS OF NATIONALISM
Like the Defiance Campaign in South Africa, members of the
NPCP also held what Otieno described as “sit-ins” to desegregate
European-only hotels, restaurants, and toilets in Nairobi. She was
served with a restriction order for her activities, which limited her
movement and obligated her to report daily to the district officer
between 8 A.M. and 10 A.M. each day. Under repeated questioning,
she refused to disclose information about the struggle. She was also
detained in the coastal town of Lamu, where she was raped several
times by an officer who was interrogating her. Reporting his words
after these multiple assaults, she said, “He then told me that he had
given me a baby girl. He … said that impregnating me was a decision
of the British government. They hoped that Mau Mau would either
kill me or hate me for having a white man’s child.”21 When the State
of Emergency was ended in late 1959, the NPCP was folded into the
new political party, the Kenya African National Union (KANU) and
Otieno became head of its Women’s Wing.
Armed struggle and its consequences also opened up space for
challenges to accepted ideas about men’s and women’s social roles.
For those who took up arms against the colonial government as forest
fighters, relations between women and men became critical to how
they organized daily life in an isolated environment. Steeped in Western
Christian ideologies of family life, the more literate group, who called
themselves the Kenya Parliament, enforced monogamous marriage
and a traditional gender division of labor, under which women cooked
and gathered firewood regardless of their rank. Less educated and less
hierarchical, the Kenya Riigi men and women fought side by side,
spurning marriage along with a customary division of labor. Their
debates about military strategy – particularly about whether African
women and children who opposed Mau Mau should be killed – also
challenged them to hone their ideas about the differences between
women and men, particularly in relation to women’s maternal roles.
For fighters who were captured and detained in sex-segregated prison
camps, some men were forced into doing “women’s work” such as
cooking, while some women were pressed into building roads and
quarrying rocks.
Otieno’s harsh treatment was part of a history of brutal suppression of the uprising by British forces and their African allies in the
Home Guards. By the time the State of Emergency was lifted in 1960,
21
Otieno, Mau Mau’s Daughter, 83.
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GUINEA: CHALLENGING MEN TO “WEAR THE PANTS”
83
between 80,000 and 100,000 Kikuyu had been imprisoned in concentration camps, more than a million civilians had been forcibly moved
to “protected villages” to separate them from the forest fighters, and
about 11,500 suspected Mau Mau were killed, 1,000 of them hanged.
For the women left behind, life was very difficult. Muthoni Likimani,
a Kenyan writer whose fictionalized account was based on extensive
interviews with women, explained:
The British gave an order to demolish the homes and to build huts
in one camp so that they could guard the Kenyans every movement.
The women in the camps were being beaten up, raped, harassed, and
overworked at the forced communal labour. Yet, they made sure that all
the gardens were weeded and growing food … One really remarkable
thing that Mau Mau women did was to continue to educate their children. Women would collect money and do all they could to smuggle the
brightest children out of Kenya to study overseas. They would smuggle
them through Sudan, Ethiopia and Egypt. The women did so with the
hope that their children would come home to be the future leaders of
their government. And sure enough, they did.22
According to Otieno’s life history, which she related to historian
Cora Ann Presley, many women took part in the oathing ceremonies
that created bonds to the Mau Mau freedom fighters. Smaller numbers joined the armed guerrilla forces in the forests surrounding the
Kikuyu reserves – the areas of land allocated to African communities
under British rule. But women sympathizers were critical to maintaining the supply lines that funneled food, information, medicine,
and weapons from the towns and reserves into the forests. These tasks
were vital to sustaining the guerrilla movement.
Guinea: challenging men to “wear the pants”
In FrenchWest Africa, the dominant nationalist party, the Rassemblement
Démocratique Africain (RDA) [African Democratic Rally] had separate
branches in each of the eight countries that comprised the Federation
of French West Africa. Although women were not involved in the
22
Muthoni Likimani, speaking with Teresa E. Turner and Teena Jo Neal, New York,
May 22, 1993, in Teresa Turner, Foreward, Mau Mau Women, www.uoguelph
.ca/-terisatu/MauMau.
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MOTHERS OF NATIONALISM
party’s founding in 1946, in Guinea they played a crucial role in sustaining a seventy-day general strike in 1953. This action led the male
RDA leaders to enlist them in the nationalist movement and encourage them to use their own networks and organizations to mobilize new
members.
Like their counterparts in Tanzania, most of the grassroots women
activists in Guinea were Muslim, earning their livelihoods as market traders, cloth dyers, and seamstresses. Political organizing was
taxing, often requiring women to act in ways that violated accepted
behavior by speaking in public and leaving their families to travel
unescorted in the countryside. Yet they became engaged in the struggle for independence because colonial policies interfered with their
ability to sustain their families. Unlike many African political parties of the period, the RDA in Guinea encouraged women’s involvement, putting forth practical demands that might improve women’s
lives in tangible ways. These ideas included adding rations of rice
to workers’ wages, encouraging the use of charcoal for cooking fires
to reduce the burden of collecting firewood, and advocating for the
construction of public water taps in the capital city of Conakry. The
party also called for paid maternity leave, increased educational
opportunities for girls as well as boys, and expanded medical facilities, including maternity clinics.
As in Tanzania (and unlike Nigeria) women’s initial involvement
came from the party leaders; but they soon mobilized themselves
independently to support both their own grassroots interests and the
nationalist project. Unlike Tanzania, however, Guinean women’s associations in the 1940s tended to be ethnically exclusive, although their
ethos of mutual support helped them to transcend these boundaries.
With long-established social and cultural networks as the basis of
their mobilization, women activists in Guinea also were able to promote their organizational efforts by circulating information quickly at
markets and public water taps. Just as Kenyan women became valuable couriers for the Mau Mau insurgents (as did women in Algeria),
Guinean women used their networks to sell RDA membership cards,
which they hid in their headscarves and under their armpits, covered
with long, flowing clothing. They also sold party newspapers, distributed tracts, posted announcements of meetings, and gathered intelligence as they went about their daily lives. In addition, a few women
formed violent “shock troops” in the large cities that fought against
opposition members.
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GUINEA: CHALLENGING MEN TO “WEAR THE PANTS”
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Since few women were literate, songs became an essential tool for
mobilizing them and others who were unable to read party material
or newspapers. After the colonial authorities rigged the elections in
1954, women sang at the markets that the other party had stolen the
votes; by the time the results were announced, everyone knew the
election had been manipulated. Like the Igbo women in 1929, their
songs were often sexually suggestive, mocking and shaming the opposition and ridiculing men who refused to join the RDA. Women composed these songs spontaneously and then sang them in the market in
teams. Men who refused to join them were considered to be “behaving like women.”23 Women also taunted such men by comparing them
unfavorably to nationalist leader Sékou Touré, challenging them to
wear their pants. After the falsified elections, women paraded across
the capital city of Conakry chanting the praises of Touré and singing
songs that characterized his rival as a “dog” and uncircumcised, the
worst insult to an adult man. Unlike Ransome-Kuti in Nigeria, these
women firmly believed that men should “wear the pants,” with women
showing courage and initiative only if men refused to do so.
As in most nationalist movements, women’s active participation could lead to domestic tension and open clashes. While some
husbands supported their wives’ political activities, others strongly
opposed this challenge to their control over their wives. These disputes led to increases in wife-beating and divorce; men taking additional, more subservient, wives; and misrepresentations of the RDA
as a refuge for prostitutes, divorced women, and loose women. But
these accusations did not deter most women, some of whom threatened to refuse to have sexual relationships with husbands who would
not join the party.
Yet, as historian Elizabeth Schmidt concludes, women took on
traditionally male roles during the independence struggle because of
unusual circumstances that thwarted their ability to fulfill their obligations to their families. In the end, however, they sought to recreate
a society that allowed them to resume their accepted positions as
mothers, traders, and caretakers, not to challenge social practices that
accepted women’s inferiority and inequality.
23
Elizabeth Schmidt, “ ‘Emancipate Your Husbands!’ Women and Nationalism in
Guinea, 1953–1958,” in Women in Colonial African Histories, eds Jean Allman, Susan
Geiger, and Nakanyike Musisi (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2002), 288.
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MOTHERS OF NATIONALISM
Cameroon: petitioning for freedom
In Cameroon, like Tanzania a former German colony ruled as a United
Nations mandate, the main nationalist group, the UPC, Union des
populations du Cameroun (Union of the Peoples of Cameroon) was
a leftist party with a revolutionary ideology. Inclusive in its membership, the UPC spanned class, ethnic, and regional boundaries and
embraced women as equal partners in the struggle for independence. It also sought to merge the British- and French-ruled parts of
the country. With ties to international anti-imperialist organizations,
Cameroonian women followed the path of Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti
and came under the influence of WIDF, the Women’s International
Democratic Federation. In 1951, after accepting an invitation to travel
to Vienna to take part in planning a conference on the rights of children, women founded their own organization, the Union démocratique des femmes camerounaises (Democratic Union of Cameroonian
Women, the UDEFEC). They also joined with the UPC to launch the
Écoles des Cadres, a school to train a new generation of administrators and civil servants.
In the course of the independence struggle, which turned violent in
1955, women leaders remained on an equal footing with men, aggressively voicing their concerns internationally through the thousands
of petitions they sent to the United Nations Trusteeship Council.
Many of their grievances concerned the ways that colonial policies
had restricted women’s economic independence and, by encouraging
male migration, disrupted fertility patterns. Rural women, seeking
to restore control over the fertility of the land, sought the right to
grow coffee and to be given agricultural machinery. In the Grassfields
region, where women were the primary farmers, they relied on established village associations known as fombuen or anlu to take more militant action. By digging up roads and planting them with crops women
activists could block French troops and military vehicles, while also
by-passing traditional constraints on where to plant their fields.
As the movement expanded in the countryside and larger numbers
of men disappeared (whether exiled, in hiding, or in prison), fears
about women’s fertility transformed into more general alarm about
Western biomedicine and rumors of campaigns to defeat nationalism by harming babies and expectant mothers. Although earlier in
the struggle women’s leaders had pressed for the expansion of prenatal care and birthing clinics, they now began to refuse treatment
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CONCLUSION
87
at European medical facilities, to distrust injections, and to perceive
doctors as sources of infection. As violence escalated in French-ruled
parts of the country and stories of rape and torture of women escalated, so did heightened fears about a colonial project to exterminate
nationalist supporters. Gradually, UDEFEC members came to see
both European administrations and missions as sources of ill health,
infertility, and death. In this view, independence would restore abundance and well-being to society.
In Cameroon, as elsewhere, women identified as mothers and
wives in ways that empowered them to play a full role in ending colonial rule. More than in many other nationalist struggles, however, they
were both active and independent in relating to their male counterparts. This difference resulted, in part, from the revolutionary ideology of the UPC that envisaged dramatic social and political change
as a result of independence. In the course of the struggle women also
politicized issues of agricultural and reproductive fertility and began
to reclaim motherhood and birthing practices as acts of resistance to
colonial rule. In the opinion of historian Meredith Terretta, for the
neocolonial government that took office in 1960, excluding women
from government was integral to staunching the radical social and
economic change that the UPC and the UDEFEC had envisaged.
Conclusion
The involvement of some educated women in nationalist struggles
followed the standard narrative of independence movements – that
elite Africans facing the strictures of colonial society and government
(such as Ransome-Kuti or Waiyaki Otieno) rebelled in order to create political systems in which they could move into privileged positions in place of Europeans. But taking women into account expands
and counters this top-down view of decolonization to include peasant
women, traders, domestic and factory workers, and members of dance
societies and village associations. Their mobilization and leadership
challenges narrow male-oriented narratives of African nationalism in
the 1940 and 1950s as a call for self-government by a small elite class.
Rather, the movements that engaged women were popular protests,
often risky, that supported nationalist struggles to express women’s
hopes of a better life for themselves and their families. Though women’s equality was rarely the primary concern of women activists, in
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MOTHERS OF NATIONALISM
Nigeria, the conservatism of northern politicians prompted a call for
women’s suffrage and one of the country’s most prominent nationalist
leaders, Ransome-Kuti, identified herself as a feminist. Cameroonian
nationalists embraced a revolutionary ideology that treated women as
equals. In South Africa, a broad-based multiracial women’s organization issued a wide-ranging Women’s Charter calling for gender equality, although since all blacks were disenfranchised, African women
were most concerned with ending apartheid pass laws that were
destroying family life.
By the mid 1960s, the nationalist phase of Africa’s history had concluded for most of the continent and a majority of countries began
a new period of self-government, with more or less interference by
former colonial powers. Yet just as some European historians have
posed the question “Did Women Have a Renaissance?” historians of
Africa may justifiably ask whether and how “independence” applied
to African women. To what extent did women attain greater power
over their own lives in these newly independent countries; how did
norms and expectations change to reflect women’s contributions to
the struggles for independence; and how did the pervasive ideologies
of motherhood and domesticity affect their political participation in
a new era? Adding another dimension to women’s politics, the events
of this period included not only newly installed African governments,
but also continuing struggles for liberation in white settler societies
and Portuguese colonies and the emergence of a strong transnational
women’s movement.
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