She doesn't have to grow up too fast: picking lessons on martriachy from Shaka iLembe

The three powerful women who shaped the destiny of the Zulu Kingdom: (left to right)  Princess Mkabayi, Queen Mthaniya, and Queen Nandi, each a king maker in her own right. Photo credits: news24 

The other day, after swimming class, my daughter asked me to help her dry off. What started as a simple post-swim routine turned into something deeper, a conversation about puberty. My eight-year-old, this beautiful girl who still loves to play, imagine, and be silly, was worried that the changes coming would steal her childhood away. In her voice of concern, she said, “I am not excited about wondering whether I like tampons, period cups, or sanitary towels.” I could absolutely relate to her because, even as a grown-up, finding the right sanitary towel is still a cat-and-mouse game of trying different brands until we find something worth the steal. And yet, in this whole conversation, I missed the voices of older women in my family who would have chimed in to support this little girl as she navigated this part of her life.

As an African woman living abroad, far from my grandmother, mother, and aunties, I felt the weight of that moment acutely. I realized how much we've lost in this diaspora, this distance, this digital age. It is unfortunate that my daughter cannot have the collective wisdom of the women in our family, the matriarchs who would naturally guide her through this transition. Instead, it's just me, trying to fill gaps I never had to fill before. These thoughts have spilled out of my current research on re-gendering historical epics, focusing on the film Shaka iLembe and how the restructuring of narrative power, by elevating women's identities and voices, shapes its narrative.

The missing matriarchs

Growing up in Africa, a girl's transition into womanhood was never a solo journey. It was held within a community of women, grandmothers, mothers, aunts, and older cousins. These matriarchs didn't just teach you biology; they taught you who you were, who you could be, and how to hold onto your joy even as your body changed. Within traditional African cultures, women serve as custodians and sustainers of cultural values and virtues, wielding influence that shapes generations. As a child raised by both maternal and paternal grandparents, I only realized later how much time with them shaped, influenced, and prepared me for the person I have become. I remember walking on the farms with my grandmother, and whenever a plane would grace our skies, she would tell me that wherever the plane went was as far as I was meant to go in life. Several years later, as I pen this article in my office in Eugene, Oregon, as a research student, I can only attest to such manifestations of her utterances.

But generational gaps, digitalization, migration, and globalization have widened the distance. Today, many young girls face this transition alone, or worse, they absorb messages from social media and peers that tell them puberty means losing themselves. They're convinced it means trading childhood for a premature maturity they're not ready for.  My daughter expressed exactly this fear: that she'd have to stop being a child. Shaka iLembe superimposes these matriarchal roles on the screen as a reminder of how essential they are to the growth of every child, in this case, the African child, who becomes my unexpected teacher on this. The film, set in the 1700s, tells the story of King Shaka's rise to power, but more importantly for me, it shows the pivotal role of the women around him, particularly his mother, Queen Nandi.

Ntando Zondi as Young Shaka and Nomzamo Mbatha as Indlovukazi Nandi in Shaka iLembe. Photo Credits:tvmzansi

Nandi's journey is one of fierce protection and unwavering devotion. She moves her child from kraal to kraal to ensure his safety, embodying the kind of protective love that a matriarch offers, not suffocating, but strategic, aware, always thinking several steps ahead about what her child needs. What strikes me most is this: Nandi doesn't make Shaka grow up too fast. She doesn't force him into manhood. Instead, she shields him, trains him, and guides him, allowing him to be exactly what he needs to be at each stage of his life. Unfortunately, Nandi’s protection of Shaka’s childhood becomes a sight for mockery amongst his peers, even his father, yet in his later years, he discovers that this protection becomes a powerful place to which he constantly returns to strategize and find wisdom in his leadership.

This is the matriarch's quiet superpower. She knows that puberty, those rites of passage which clearly define gender roles within African cultures, are not moments to rush through or dread. They're transformative, yes, but transformation doesn't mean losing yourself. It means becoming more fully who you're meant to be. Queen Nandi lets Shaka discover his connection to animals and nature, which he uses to save his father and other warriors during an elephant attack while hunting in the forest.

The wisdom of extended matriarchs: Mkabayi and Ntombazi

Shaka iLembe shows us that matriarchal influence extends beyond just mothers. There's Mkabayi, the great-aunt, a princess and kingmaker who wields profound influence through her wisdom and strategic counsel. Though she must defer to male authority in the formal hierarchy, her wisdom is sought, her words carry weight, and young people observe her navigating power with intelligence and grace. Mkabayi, played by Dawn Thandeka, exposes the role of the first daughter as the matriarch, whose position within the family is akin to that of the first male child. She never leaves the home, and her role as the custodian of culture becomes essential to the girls born into that family. As a first daughter myself, the weight of the shoes I wear makes me realize that, besides my daughter, I hold the rest of the daughters in tow should they come of age and need guidance as they navigate puberty.

Then there's Queen Ntombazi, portrayed as the keeper of family ambitions, the matriarch of her household who forged her path with her own hands. For young girls watching these figures, these aren't just characters on a screen; they're examples of what's possible. They show that being a woman doesn't mean accepting limits. It means knowing when to speak and when to listen, when to lead and when to guide. These are the conversations my grandmother and aunts would have with me, simply by being present, by living their lives openly. My father, perhaps in his wisdom, had a tendency to send me to stay with my grandmothers, most of whom were still working in different cities at the time, and some had retired in the village. There was always something new to learn during visits to the river, on the farms, while cooking in the smoky huts, and even at events like funerals and weddings, when it was easier to put a face to the names of some of the characters in their stories. I'm trying to recreate that now, but I'm doing it alone.

Waddling through this crisis

Here's what troubles me most: societal pressures have subjected women to a premature maturity based on the physical developments of puberty. We slowly deplete the child in girls, making them believe they must suddenly become young ladies, proper, careful, no longer wild, no longer free. My father, in his own wisdom, did not think that learning to cook was a bigger emergency than me spending time reading, acting out plays at the drama club in school, or even being part of church activities like camping. He whisked me away every time he had a chance to. Yet there was still a communication disconnect, particularly between my mother and myself about what was essentially important to my growth as a young girl: play or transition into an adult as soon as the first signs of puberty showed up. I still remember my first conversation with my mother when I first received my menses. It was a completely open and closed conversation, “You are now a grown woman. You must not play with boys.” This is also the last time my father tried whisking me away from the kitchen. How would my 11/12 yr old self have decoded such complex messaging?

Research confirms this is a real problem. Effective parent-child communication on issues related to reproductive health and identity is crucial, yet cultural norms, generational gaps, and traditional perspectives often create barriers to such conversations. But there's something deeper here: we're not just failing to communicate. We're allowing a false narrative to take over, that growing up means growing serious, that puberty is something to be ashamed of, that childhood must end. The matriarchs in Shaka iLembe knew something different. They knew that women could be warriors and mothers, powerful and tender, grown-up and still playful. They showed this through their own lives.

What I'm learning to tell my daughter

When my eight-year-old asked me if puberty would take away her childhood, I told her what I wish someone had told me: “No, baby. You don't have to stop being a child. Puberty is just your body getting ready for the possibilities ahead. It doesn't mean you stop laughing, stop playing, stop imagining. Women can do all those things. The strongest, wisest women I know still play. They still laugh. They still dream.”

I want her to understand what the matriarchs in Shaka iLembe embody, that women play a significant role in shaping the destiny of the next generation. Her strength, her joy, and her childhood wonder are not things she'll outgrow. They're the foundation of who she'll become.

The matriarch's role, even from far away

As I sit with my daughter, living far from my own matriarchs, I'm trying to be what I couldn't be alone: the grandmother's wisdom, the mother's protection, the auntie's counsel. I'm trying to bridge the gap that distance has created. The matriarch's role in African child development during puberty transcends biology. It's about cultural transmission, emotional support, and modeling resilience. It's about showing young girls that they can hold multiple truths at once: they can grow and stay playful, develop and stay wild, become women while remaining girls.

Shaka iLembe reminds us of this legacy. The women in that story didn't raise their children in isolation. They were part of a village, a family, a tradition. But even when we're physically separated from that village, we can still access it. We can still teach our daughters what those matriarchs knew: that you are not diminished by your body's changes. You are expanded by them. You become more yourself, not less.

A message to diaspora mothers like me

If you're reading this and you, too, are far from the women who raised you and your mother, know this: you can still be a matriarch to your daughter. You can still teach her that puberty doesn't steal childhood; it deepens it. You can still show her, through your own resilience and joy, that a woman can be many things at once. We're bridging the generational gap, one conversation at a time. And that matters just as much as being surrounded by a village.

The village might be far away. But its lessons? Those we carry within us.

The African Languages Week: Remembering the 'disk'

 When you ask anyone how many languages they speak they are most likely to mention all other 'international' languages and never an African indigenous language. Even if it's their own indigenous language they do not count it as part of languages they should be proud to tell the world they speak. But how could we blame them when we have not created a safe space for people to be comfortable in their dialects, accents and language. We have been wired to believe speaking other languages is a mark of intelligence and it's intentionally done in our homes and schools. 

In my primary school we had days for speaking English and for Kiswahili. And then French was introduced. There was no room for speaking indigenous languages. There was no room for having a local accent while speaking English or Kiswahili. Your English was to be as polished as could be and your Swahili was expected to be closer to Wallah Bin Wallah or you didn't stand a chance. The effort to polish our spoken and written English was done under duress. That is beyond the many books/novels we were encouraged to read to build on our vocabulary. Even though Kiswahili shared the same space, given it is also a national language, little to strangled effort was made to have us polish it as much as English. And thus there was the DISK. The disk changed structures, from being a horn hanging on a string to being a well curved piece of wood written, disk. 

We had days secluded for each language and unfortunately even Kiswahili was not a priority because it was only spoken on Fridays. Lucky were people like myself whose parents were Kiswahili teachers. It was a personal prerogative of my father to instill the appreciation of Kiswahili in me. He tasked himself with providing the needed reading materials, went through every assignment with me and sometimes we had to go beyond just the assignment. However his only shortcoming was not allowing us to speak 'mother tongue' in the house. The only mother tongue I could speak was Luo, even though I am Luhya. My mother had subconsciously done her bit of work by always speaking the language to me and taking me to her home as many times as she could, where the only language of communication was Luo.  I'm never sure why my father wasn't speaking Luhya to us. 

The Disk was used to shame those who couldn't speak English on the days when we were supposed to speak the language. It is a pity that the very custodians of our culture were the same ones pushing us to think speaking proper English was a mark of literacy or a hierarchy of intelligence. I cringe when I hear people speaking Luhya and all I do is fumble around with chippings of the language that I struggle to pick when my people speak. 

It is interesting that most language policies in Africa state that the L1, first language (mother tongue) of the child is the first language that a child should have access to until a certain stage when they begin to pick other languages like  English. Not many institutions have this in practice because we have mentally locked ourselves with the DISK and convinced ourselves that we are as good as how much we can master not only the English language but also the accent. It is hilarious how an African who has never travelled anywhere beyond the river at the back of their homestead to actually speak ' English of the nose'. If you ever travel the world in reality you will realize people don't care for those accents. You will meet highly intelligent people that speak no English but are making a great impact in their society. 

And just before you make a defense, this post is about encouraging you to be comfortable in your indigenous language. That you can learn another language and use it only for purposes of communication but not to change your entire identity or feel like your own language will leave less of a mark. Remember the only way to take chargee of someone is to take away that which provides them with power, their language. 

Oya make you join am for this discussion today and let's go unlearn and learn a thing or two about language and the role it plays in sustainable development... maybe we can convince you to rather begin thinking about language sovereignty in sustainable development. 

Akwabaa! Waruako u! Karibu! Murakaza neza!

MUTARAKWA...

 Music wafts from a distance, its melody waves through my vein as I nod my head in a sequential move. There is the sound of drumming and footsteps thudding in the ground in a repeated pattern of patapata patapata….patapata…. patapata….patapata. A whistle is blown and loud ululations can be heard, followed by a tambourine. By now am on my feet twirling in the music, buried in the drum beats and my body has been seized by an obsession. I throw my hands in the air as if to catch the winds then I stop suddenly and look beyond the hills and chant incoherently, in a sequence as if in response to the music. I sing with a dramatic tone, a demeanour that belongs to someone else; my essence has clearly taken flight.

The footsteps can be heard again in the same repetitive pattern of patapata… patapata…. patapata…. patapata. This time it’s followed by drum beats. I move in musical steps towards the direction of the sound chanting in unison to unknown music. I am totally unaware of the events that surround my change of behavior at the moment. The sounds lead me to the shores of mulwakupa, the great river that separates the Wanga people from the Marama. No one has ever had a clear explanation of its existence other than centuries of narratives of the power of the mutarakwa trees that have found home on its shores. The level of the river has since reduced but the mutarakwas are still lined up on both sides, standing at attention, like police officers during an inspection, waving their leaves and branches in the air with such confidence and hope that one time the river will flow as much as it used to twenty years earlier. They refuse change and are holding into the soil intent, with no intentions of ever disappearing. Stories have been told over glaring bone fires of how the trees have saved the land from looming poverty, but the continued increase in land laying fallow and unattended does not seem to share in the same sentiments. The trees stand morose as if they know something about injerekha that villagers know nothing about. In spite of this, no one is bold enough to make the first move to bring the trees down. Indeche, the village hunch back, was the only man to try and pull a stunt about not fearing the trees and went about trying to bring them down. His became a tragic history that compelled everyone into frenzy as they buried the blood stained axe he had gone to use. The only evidence that he was there since his body could not be traced even several years after the incident. Rumors wove around the village that he must have drowned in the rivers and ended up in the big sea.

The music stops as soon as I reach the edge of the wooden bridge. The same place where you fell down and broke kukhu’s precious pot. There is silence as dead as the graveyards and I can hear the sound of water from the stream on the other side of the river. It pours with mighty strengths and thrusts that split into two on the surface of the stones that makes the waters clear. You loved to stand on this stones in your innocent skin. Your breasts had just started to show and they stood out lustfully and teasingly in the face of my ignorance. Sometimes you would lie on these stones and let the waters thrust on your buttocks. The feeling of the water splashing onto my face from your buttocks was exciting. On a good day you would let me stroke the tips of your breasts as you lay spread on the stones, your feet up in the air and your face down towards the rivulet that joined the mulwakupa. You smelled like ripened bananas in the early hours of the morning and when your hand slipped and touched my face, it felt supple, like finely ground nuts ready to be used for soup.  I worshipped the air that you breathed because it was eternal and I adored the sound of your voice because I thought the ancestors made you just for me.

The sound of footsteps again patapata...patapata....patapata...patapata. This time they seem to be coming from different directions. I stand right in the middle of the wooden bridge and a shadow forms under it. The moon is high in the sky, it is the honey season and lots of bee farmers are harvesting by this time of the night. I look back where I am coming from and I see bouts of smoke in the sky. The shadow moves towards the mutarakwa and stops under one tree. I take a deep breath and pull my trousers to the knee so I can wade through the shallow waters to the shadow. My heart beat is faster than the drum beats during the circumcision period but I must face my fears if I want to conquer my desires. The shadow is at the same spot where they picked you years ago. This is the same spot where I fought tooth and nail trying to save you from them. Tears are slowly welling in my eyes as the water makes swishing sound as I approach the shadow. I almost fall into the waters when a branch traps my leg. The shadow does not move till I draw closer to it and it all becomes clear to me.....

The clouds were gathering in the sky in the eastern horizon and the winds were beating through our ears. It would begin to fall any minute. You stood at the edge of the stream and told me to see how beautiful the sky was in its grey colour and how the red colour struck once in a while. From a distance there was the sound of an owl, a great cause of alarm in the community.  I never really saw anything beautiful about the rains. When it was thunderous like that it meant something bad was about to happen and when an owl sound followed it meant someone had to be sacrificed. You never really seemed to be bothered about these things. You raised your hand in the air and pulled your head towards the angry winds and closed your eyes in a calm collected manner. Kukhu always said you were a special creature and I believed her. While people gathered their earthen pots and ran home before they became sacrificial lambs you stood there and faced the gods of the land with an iron heart. I did not admire your resilience much as it sounded rather foolish to me.

“Ifula yetsanga!” (It is coming to rain)

I screamed at the top of my voice amidst the winds but the words seemed to have been flown to another direction. Your legs were now a little raised and you seemed like one in a trance. I was beginning to get scared of the darkness as my home was far away beyond the new church at the edge of the forest. Your home was equally not near. Noticing that you would not budge I walked up to you and pulled your hand: You almost fell into the rivulet but you hanged in my grip.

“Khutsye ingo Petronila ifula yetsanga” (Lets go home Petronila the rains are coming)

You smiled coyly and grudgingly lifted the earthen pot to your head and we began the journey home. Darkness was curving in like a blanket and I had to hold your hand. The ground was wet and slippery and our footsteps kept making some sloshing sound. You stopped suddenly when we reached the wooden bridge and looked into my eyes and opened your mouth as if to tell me something but stopped and turned your face to the bridge. I thought you wanted to be naughty so I insisted that we keep going. You did not move even an inch but turned to look even deeper into my eyes. Then I heard the sound, at first people talking in low tones then sounds of patapata....patapata.... patapata, movements of gigantic creatures coming from injerekha. Hurriedly we began walking on the wooden bridge to the other side of the mulwakupa and then pu!  The fall was sudden with no alarm and the pot strewn in a certain pattern in the mud. You were still holding the ingara in your hands in the mud but your face showed no flicker of an emotion apart from a surprised looked. I craned my neck towards the sugar cane plantations that climb uphill towards injerekha but it is all quite, just the sound of the rain landing softly on the leaves and its droplets hitting the surface of mulwakupa. I could feel blood racing from my head to toes in hot torrents, like when a molten volcano suddenly erupts exposing its contents down the mountains. Beads of perspiration gathered in my under arms making them greasy, sticky and itchy. The showers began to fall and we could not go home anymore. I picked you up slowly and dragged you under the mutarakwa. That is the only shelter I could find. It was dead silence apart from the mulwakupa roaring and threatening to busts at its seams due to the heavy down pour. I lifted my head to the sky and the let the waters fall on my visage then skilfully, the drops mix up with the tears forming at the edge of my eyes and the whole mixture rolled down.

You raised your head and searched for my eyes in the rain. With your tongue you tried to wipe the tears that were now flowing in controllably. The rains had stuck your clothes to your skin. The yellow dress that had been hanging loosely on your body was now glued to your skin forming artistic patterns of the huge waves of a sea when on a high tide. It revealed your sexuality in blue print, the reality that haunted my existence and which I had totally failed to succumb to. I folded myself in a ball like a scared mice and turned my face to the side but your breasts were pressed against my bare chest and your slender legs twirled in an angle with mine.  Your tender and full lips managed to find mine and I devoured each piece of their fullness like it is the last I will see them. You did not relent but equally subdued me with your hands, moving them into my trousers and playfully sized my genitals. I held my breath and tried to find your eyes. You did not look disturbed but consumed in your own clandestine world. My mouth ran your body and found the tip of the breasts, round and intent. They had the assurance of the rains, that when it comes down we shall harvest. Yet still they appeared cunning, almost warning me of an impending danger, the bitter endings of something that had suddenly began to be good. I steal a glance at the mutarakwa and they still wave their leaves in the same direction, as forceful as the strength of the wind trying to convince us that there was no shelter under the covers of these trees.

A sharp pain at the back of my head stopped my illusions all at once. I stared at you blankly as another creature dragged you towards the shores of the mulwakupa. You tried to hold onto my arm but there was not enough strength in me to hold you. A trigger was pulled, an AK47, and then the colt and a gunshot aimed in the air. The rains stopped in milliseconds then fell all at once like they had been summoned by some super powers. The high branches in the mutarakwa trees suddenly stopped shaking as well and looked into heaven searching for some kind of instruction then they began to swing even wilder. Your dress was ripped in two, from the seam to the hem, exposing your whole body to the rain. He then ran the nozzle down your body and laughed heinously. In the blurriness of the rains I saw you trembling, your eyes gushed out in white and your tears drying at the edges of your mouth. You held yourself in a tight grip as the water dripped from the hem of your dress to your feet. I lay face down, not courageous enough to see what I looked like in your disparity. I had failed you and failed myself.

“Olangwa wina mkhana?”  (What is your name lady), the voice was thunderous and assertive. It could be heard from the rumbling and fumbling of the thickets that surrounded the river.

“Pet...Pet...Petronila” you responded amidst your shaking and trembling.

“Uno ni omtsatsa uo?” (Is this your husband), he asked again but this time you nodded your head in acceptance. The guy looked at his colleague and they all joined in crude laughter, the kind that is laced in a murderous tone. He then pushed you to the ground and asked you not to open your mouth. The other guy reached for my trousers and exposed my manhood to the rains.  He handed me a stick, the size of a young sugar cane, and told me to ‘play’ with it in you. My heart must have missed a bit and my world suddenly became grim. I could see how teary your eyes were as you lay there, begging me to fight for you. I saw how your heart willed for me to be a man and fight for us. A heavy blow landed on my left rib and I toppled over. They placed the twig in my hand, and forcedly pushed the stick inside you. A writhing pain in my spine caused me to stop all at once, immobile and wasted. Your screams in the rain as you writhed in pain is a nightmare I can never get rid of. My hands were filled with warm blood from your body and it dripped to the ground and got mixed with the rains. I watched as you became weaker and wearier, and your eyes were turned pale almost purple and then you collapsed at my feet.

“Petti bhukha....Petti...Pet...” (Petti wake up....Petti....Pet)

You did not stir. Your body was stiff and cold. Our assailants stood aside watching and rolling their eyes, beaming with unadulterated joy. I tried to swallow my saliva but it was like a heavy cotton ball had suddenly stuck in my throat. The mound of your body laying on the ground right before me in a curled ball and the face of a hero who had died fighting for her own life. They grabbed your body and swung it once into the river and they let me watch as you floated away, into bigger streams, maybe you would end up in the Mediterranean Sea, the same place where Indeche went. Then they fled. Yes just like that they left. For a moment my body was stuck on the ground and the Mutarakwa trees seemed to be nodding at me, cursing me for not heeding the warning that the trees did not provide any shade in the rains. They seemed to be accusing me for failing to be a man. A heavy wind jolted me from the ground and I ran all the way home and sat at the edge of my isimba. I trembled like a leaf and hugged myself tightly like someone who is possessed......

 The music I was dancing to begins to waft in the air again. I am exhausted and almost out of breathe. My whole visage is covered with sweat and on my chest the sweat trickles down in thin strands of water. A clear cloud forms in my vision and you are standing at the edge of the river; your hands soaring in the air in the same way you did at the stream and your eyes shut, facing the direction the wind is coming from and you begin to fly like you always do. You begin to hum sweet melodies as the winds beat your dress and make it flatter in the air. You turn around to face me and I notice a piece of the broken earthen ware in your hands. There are no more footsteps. You beckon me to draw closer till you can hold my hand. You smile coyly and tell me not to be afraid. You then show me a deer that stands at the edges of the injerekha thickets. Its brown skin shines brightly in the evening moonlight and its horns stand tall in the air. Beside it, a baby deer presses to its side and looks our direction. Thus I discover the spear still in my hands and the veins that have formed on my chest from chasing the deer. Vapour escapes my heavy breathes and forms thin layers of cloudy like effects in the chilly breeze. The deer makes a sound then takes off into the thicket in the same sound of patapata....patapata...patapata...patapata.

The rains have stopped now and the air is fresh again. You kiss the palm of my hands and I touch the strands of your hair, stroking them back and forth. You beauty surpasses the understanding of a common man. Your eyes stand out boldly like torches, shinning into the night with protection. The perfection of your body is the reflection of hours of discussion between the ancestors and the gods of the land just to create you to serve your purpose. Your strength puts me to shame when I see how you command such a great force like the wind. I was lost in my own illusions and obsessions of your existence that I did not see you fall into the river and swim to the trees that protect the generations borne in our land.  I did not realize how fast my feet could carry me from my isimba. Your smile puts the world to a halt; the rivers stop and topple over its waves and the trees suddenly do not swing in the same swishing sound.  Your legs are covered with mud from wading at the edges of the river to get to the trees. Your spirit does not fear anything in the world yet you drop yourself at my feet hopping I will walk you into your liberation. You hold my hand and let me walk you home. We will tell kukhu the pot was a mistake.

Breaking cultural barriers in Africa through visa-free movement – Kenyans in Ghana

The Dipo ceremony of girls initiation by
the Krobo tribe in Ghana. (File: Author's
photo album)

In 2013, African leaders, at the African Union summit adopted a 50-year policy document on the vision of accelerating the sustainable development of the continent. They named it the AU Agenda 2063. Its main aim was a drive towards a common visa policy and a single continental passport that would enable Africans free movement within the borders of Africa by 2018. This initiative is already bearing fruit in accelerating interregional trade, economic development as documented in the UNCTAD report (United Nations Conference on Trade and Development) which was held in 2018. The report was on migration for structural transformation: Economic development in Africa report 2018. However, this report did not capture the implications of increased exposure to host cultures by migrant populations which will be the reigning discussion in this article as the writer takes you through how Kenyans are managing life in Ghana. Hopefully this is a representative of what other African migrants in African countries encounter.

There is still many Kenyans who do not know that they need no visa to travel to Ghana. Interactions with Ghanaians who have shown interest in travelling to Kenya equally reveals the same lack of knowledge that Ghanaians need no visa to Kenya. Furthermore, a good number of local people in Ghana barely know which side of Africa Kenya is. On the other hand, most Kenyans, including myself – (before travelling), think that Ghana borders Nigeria, until we travel and realise this beautiful anglophone country, richly endowed with cultural diversity, is sandwiched between three francophone countries. Cote D’voire (Ivory Coast) to the left, Togo to the right and Burkina Faso to the top. Interesting, right? 

Having lived in Ghana for about six years, manoeuvring the cultural richness in the country is a daily routine. Yet, like any other Kenyan in the country, continue to be baffled by these cultural encounters. Speaking to Kenyans while carrying out research for my postgraduate program revealed this uniqueness in expressions and values between Ghanaian and Kenyan cultures in their day to day interactions, offering important insights on the implications of visa-free travel within the continent, specifically on intercultural communication. Let’s use some of the experiences shared by Kenyans to understand how they manage their identities while working, living and schooling in Ghana.

Reasons or motivations for travelling from Kenya to Ghana 

A group of Kenyans in Ghana during a get together.
(File: Kenyans in Ghana Facebook page)

While interviewing Kenyans in Ghana, several reasons guided their travels into the country, but what stood out was moving to Ghana because of work, school and marriage. This derives the very importance of being prepared to mingle with people of a different cultural orientation from your own. It shows the importance of cultural understandings or cultural interaction in a world that would eventually become one if visa-free movement is encouraged. Cultural barriers will be broken through these adventures and lead to a more accommodative world where one does not feel intimidated by another person’s culture or feel inferior being away from their own cultural comforts. The visa free agreement between Kenya and Ghana enabled the process of Kenyans moving to the country less strenuous. These are some of the responses given by interviewees when asked the reason and motivation behind their coming to Ghana. 

“I came primarily for work but was motivated by the urge to know and explore the nation.” 

“I worked with the same company at Westgate Kenya. It was a transfer and who wouldn’t want a change in life.” 

“I chose a course that would lead me to studying my masters in Ghana. I had never travelled there before but was curious about it being the first African country to gain independence, gold and cocoa.” 

Knowledge of visa-free policy as factor to visit Ghana 

One thing that stops people from the thought of travelling to venture into new experiences is the difficulties they might experience in acquiring documentation for the travels. Stories of denied visas are not pleasant to the ears and thus when one finds a destination that is an exception, they jump into the adventure. Most Kenyans interviewed expressed how relieving it was that this diplomatic understanding between Kenya and Ghana existed. What people may not know is that most of this information is available online. One can just look up countries that offer visa free entry for Kenyan citizens. Such were the responses received: 

“I knew a few things about Ghana, but before travelling, I checked stuff online on dos and don’ts when travelling to Ghana. Yes, so I did. I checked online on the countries one can travel to without visa.” 

“I had done enough research on the travel requirements. I went ahead and called the Ghanaian office in Kenya for confirmation.” 

A side note: whenever you are not fully confident of the information provided on the internet it is advisable to seek further advice from the consulate of the country you desire to travel to. You can do so online or walk into their offices if they have one in your country. I am glad to note that Kenya, since early 2020, has an embassy in Ghana and thus Kenyans in Ghana no longer must go the longer way to Nigeria to enjoy such services. 

Prior cultural expectations 

A traditional ceremony in Ghana. (File: Google images)

We all have certain stereotypes about certain countries based on the information given in books, social media or mass media. For example, the assumption about all white people being racist which stems from a historical background of colonialism or how most white people assume Africans to all hail from one country and have one culture and even know each other. Some assume that Africans live in forests and open fields with no electricity and internet connections. All these are gathered from films, literature works and mass media. Such information is very limiting and may cloud one’s judgement of the people and culture they are about to encounter. The Kenyans in Ghana were not spared these expectations as well. Being a country in the west of Africa, most Kenyans had a predefined assumption of Ghanaians being no different from Nigerians. It is even more confusing because actors from these two countries often work together from time to time, their music seems to have a similar lyrical and beat pattern, their dressing seems to be similar as well. One must even listen very closely to realise that the Ghanaian pidgin is not like that of Nigeria, their food may have similar names but be entirely different. Here are some of the responses from the interviewees: 

“Ghanaians are louder than Kenyans, very stylish, loved functions and events, quite intelligent. I had seen this in Ghanaian movies and was same as I am experiencing now.” 

“I was largely guided by the single story of Africa as a country. I didn’t expect Ghana to be very different from Kenya, after all it was in Africa. However, that changed due to cultural shock and exposure. I also felt I knew much about West Africa based on the Nigerian movies. Also, in Kenya, using the right hand is a sign of respect but when you subconsciously make the use of left hand it’s never that serious. However, in Ghana the use of the left hand is culturally unacceptable. People often apologise whenever they unavoidably use the left hand. Also, the Ghanaian meals are mostly prepared using pepper which is very different from the Kenyan ones.” 

“From the Ghanaian movies I saw prior to coming to Ghana, I had thought that Ghanaians mostly speak English. Upon my arrival in Ghana I discovered that the Twi language was common, and English was largely used in formal settings.” 

“The internet is limited with information about people’s culture. The first time someone greeted me on the streets I felt very awkward because I don’t see that in Kenya. Eventually I adopted the habit as it sounds very respectful and caring for someone to ask of your well-being. The internet does not provide this kind of information.” 

“I always thought that Nigeria is Ghana. Especially because they feature in most movies together. However, I found that Ghanaians are different from Nigerians in several respects; for instance, Ghanaian older people do not speak much Pidgin English as one will find in Nigerian movies.” 

From the responses it is evident that one cannot rely on information online as a guideline to preparing themselves for the country or the people they are going to encounter in the country they visit. An open mind towards culture will play a larger role in one settling in or enjoying the most of what each country has to offer. One sure thing is that you will always find something that works for you, whether someone you can comfortably relate to or food you can enjoy or a neighbourhood that makes you feel safe. If not, there is always the option of finding fellow countrymen who already live in that country to help you in the first few days until you are comfortable enough to venture on your own. 

Experience with Ghana Immigrations

The immigration is often the most dreaded part of a travelling experience. One is never sure what to expect. The ball of contention in the visa-free agreement is the limited number of days that one has within the country they are visiting. In Ghana, one has 90 days of visa-free visiting. If one intends to stay longer than that they must apply for a visa or get a residency permit that is renewed on a monthly or annual basis. Most Kenyans interviewed said they had no issues with the immigration services. They assumed it could be because they are foreigners. There was no interview done on the Ghanaians and thus the researcher cannot speak about how the citizens view the immigration. The key element in dealing with immigration is having the required documents to stay in the country. Here is what some Kenyans noted: 

“The reception was warm. I thought it was because I was Kenyan and not Ghanaian as I saw the long queues. I presented what was required. In renewing residential permit, the immigration office usually gives me a call when it is ready.” 

“I have found that they are very friendly and accommodative once they learn that I am Kenyan. From the encounters I have had, they hold Kenya in high esteem because perhaps I thought they believed we are more advanced in terms of development, education etc. Also, they have seen the wildlife and tourism on TV and are very impressed. Barack Obama also helped” 

Attraction to visa-required country

The author, at the Kakum National Park in Cape Coast in Ghana,
with friends from Kenya who had come for a visit. (File: From
author's album)

Even as the African union continues to champion for visa-free movement, we hope that this becomes effective as soon as possible. Interviewing Kenyans highlighted their thoughts on visa-required countries. 

“South African embassy was a hustle and expensive. But it wasn’t as bad as European or American country.” 

“The experience of travelling to a visa required country is rough particularly with French speaking countries in Africa where corruption is the order of the day. Corruption of officials and the preparedness of travellers to make offers is the main reason visa required countries are quite difficult.” 

Such restrictive measures encompassing visa is the main reason why Africans should be able to traverse the continent without a hustle. Think of the unity, economic, political and cultural benefits that this might bring across. 

Integration in Ghana

Waakye,  one of Ghana's many delicacies, from Northern Ghana.
(File: Google images)

The decision to maintain or acquire a suitable cultural identity to integrate in Ghana was a very tough choice for any Kenyans. This is due to the diverse cultural experiences that they were met with while settling in the country. While some preferred to maintain the Kenyan identity by sticking to the Kenyan community in Ghana, others loosened up and mingled with the locals to get the full throttle of the Ghanaian cultural experience. I would advise that if you are going to stay in any country for longer than anticipated, you should be deliberate about interacting more with the locals to help you understand the cultures, enable you live in peaceful cohesion with the citizens as well us reap utmost benefit of staying in that country. There is no promise of uneventful days, those are the memories you will carry along to your next destination and help others know what to expect and how to go about such scenarios. Here are the experiences of the Kenyans in Ghana: 

“I have made a number of friends from Ghana and would spend some time with them especially on weekdays. The culture, I would say it is interesting. The African tradition and spirit are well pronounced. That makes it a lovely culture. I no longer stick to hanging with Kenyans all alone at all times that much because I somehow adapted the accent and got to learn a little pidgin and can relate more easily with other nationals or the Ghanaian locals.” 

“Ghanaian culture is beautiful, e.g. music and pidgin. Yet being Kenyan makes me feel different and that gives me some air of being on adventure all the time. It also makes life interesting to know you are just different.” 

“I still feel foreign because I do not understand the Ghanaian languages and they also do not understand Kiswahili. Though we communicate somehow, I always feel of myself as culturally different. I see Ghanaians also keep much to their identities because they will speak their own language even when I am with them.” 

A visa-free arrangement will certainly make it possible for most Africans to experience each other’s cultures and enable us understand one another better. I hope this article serves as a gateway to more open boarders, better migration services, enhanced cultural understandings and an Africa that is economically, politically, culturally and socially empowered through constant interaction and diplomatic missions. 

Reduction of inequalities in our societies through cultural appreciation

In June, 2018, I was extremely grateful to join a group of African youth from the Kingdom of Eswatini, Zimbabwe, Ghana, and Afroeuropeans from the United Kingdom and Germany on an exchange program in Germany. Through the programme ‘Change Through Exchange: Training Young Change Makers Through European-African exchange’ Farafina Institute sought to support the participating youths to identify common challenges of inequalities facing them in their respective societies, learn from each other and share ideas on ways to confront such challenges. There were a couple of activities lined up for us to enable us achieve the goal of the programme, our theme being derived from Sustainable Development Goal 10: Reduction of inequalities. These activities, exciting as they were, included workshops, a one week internship at a company involved in activities whose goal borders on the reduction of inequalities, staying with an Afroeuropean host family to interact with them and get to know more of how they manage as Africans in Germany as well as visits to historical sites and other extracurricular activities. As a Master student studying communication, with an interest in intercultural communication, this was a welcome opportunity to understand more on how cultural interaction affect capacities and transformation of people. Through interactions via the activities that had been lined up for the programme, there was so much for one to learn in understanding how different societies, particularly Africans could get involved through intercultural learning and sharing with their own societies in contributing to achieving the SDG 10.

The Ghanaian team at the Berlin wall historical site. Front from left: Akonobea and Joyce. Back from left: William, Omusula and Denis. (File: Participate photo pool 2018)

There is a willingness by the African youth to make the world a better place. To promote this, and Africa not being just a homogenous people, it is important to learn about various different countries and cultures to understand, appreciate, and learn something from the uniqueness of the surroundings, culturally, socially, politically, and naturally, within which we are brought up or have spent our lives. There were some similarities but also clear and major differences in how the youths from the various countries approached topical issues on the reduction of inequalities or even activities like the kind of food they preferred or even how they interacted amongst themselves. Thus, the exchange program brought to light these cultural uniqueness as it was evident through our interactions that for instance the youth from the Kingdom of Eswatini could not understand the mannerisms  of those from Ghana, Zimbabwe, United Kingdom or even Germany, and vice-versa, yet we were all African if you like. This underscores the importance of the exchange program as an avenue for the youth to learn from each other and through appreciating the cultural, social, political, and natural differences, come up with ways of addressing inequalities in their societies.

Part of the team arrives in Munich, Germany for one week internship and stay with host families. From left: Moses (Zimbabwe), Tina (Liberia, Germany), Mazwi (Kingdom of Eswatini), Joyce (Ghana), Akonobea (Ghana) and Omusula (Kenya, Ghana). (File: Participate photo pool 2018)

In many instances, Africans have been assumed to be the same wherever irrespective of where they are. While there has been an appreciation of the similarities in the struggles that Africans face, especially in the political history of most African nations, there are major cultural differences between these nations. Before taking the trip to Germany, I was on the preliminary stage of my research of the Kenyan society in Germany and had hoped to gather as much information as I could for this work. However, this was not to be as my research focus changed to a study of the cultural interactions of Kenyans in Ghana. My interactions with fellow Africans in the programme informed my decision to change my research focus to really understand how culturally unique African communities were and how this diversity could be harnessed into developing African societies politically, socially and culturally to the extent of achieving the sustainable development goals.

A display of foods during a workshop session at 

EOTO (EachOneTeachOne) depicting some of the 

cultural diversity we experienced in terms of 

food. (File: Participate photo pool 2018)

Through discussions in the exchange program it was quite clear that there are major differences in the struggles of the youth in reducing inequalities in their communities and not even in the country as a whole. For example, in one workshop where participants were to talk about inequalities in their societies that were gender related, it was a heated debate on how culture shapes the ways gender issues are discussed as every team had something different on how issues in relation to gender could be approached. This particular incident clearly indicated the uniqueness of cultural approach to gender related inequalities. In yet another incident, participants had to write down their experiences throughout the programme and issues raised had to do with discomfort in food, inability to relate with other participants due to cultural differences, difficulty adapting to the environment due to differences in the way of life, amongst other reasons. Politically and culturally, in some countries institutions do not allow for the youth to be actively involved in the development of the countries. For instance, in some countries, cultural and political differences based on tribe divide people and post constraints for young people to effectively contribute to the positive transformation of their societies. It is thus important that the youth identify these hurdles and struggles and find ways to confront them and still get involved in achieving the sustainable development goals.

Beyond the diversity of Africa and uniqueness in the struggles we all face in our various societies, the very aspect of communality and brotherhood stands out as a unifying factor wherever we are in the world. There is a tendency to put aside differences and to harness all this diversity in culture and go for the ultimate goal which is the African Union. In fact, this is the goal of the African Union, as stated in the AU Agenda 2063 document: Diversity [of Africa] (ethnic, religious, economic, cultural, etc.) would be a source of wealth and accelerated economic growth rather than a source of conflict. (AU Agenda 2063; 17). The importance of exchange programmes like this present one cannot be overemphasised. They set the pace for the realisation of the importance of the African unity and harnessing youth capacities and innovations in rethinking and effecting the reduction of inequalities in our societies through cultural appreciation.