FEATURES
Afrique Noire Magazine explores and showcases the beauty of Africa. Committed to narratives that elevate the culture, Afrique Noire’s features include videos, interviews, editorials, and cultural highlights.
Poetry
Creative Resistance: How Art Fuels the Fight for Environmental Justice
Interviewed by Dhayana Alejandrina. Lead Poetry and Cultural Collaborator at Noire Magazine. Today, I am excited to present a special interview with Carmen Danae Azor, a multidisciplinary artist specializing in video, performance, photography, and earth art. With a profound commitment to ocean conservation and environmental justice advocacy, she has spearheaded transformative initiatives through various collaborative projects. Carmen combines her artistic creativity with a passion for biodiversity conservation and climate action, aiming to foster positive change globally. Why this interview, you may ask? As someone born and raised in the Dominican Republic, nature has always been very important to me. The other day, I discussed the effect nature had on my childhood and stated that, “I am grateful for the way my parents exposed me to thebeauty of nature and the lessons she bestows. It is one thing to admire nature, but a completely different one to respect it and want to take care of it.” Now, as an adult, I have learned that nature is a reflection of us, and we are a reflection of her. In “Spiritual Ecology,” a book Rudolf Steiner that I have been reading, he emphasizes the interdependence between humans and nature. He argues that humans are an integral part of the evolving natural world and that this world surrounds us, allowing us to rediscover ourselves within it. Steiner’s work highlights the necessity of a balancedrelationship where neither exploitation of the Earth nor seeing ourselves as mere irritants is appropriate. Instead, we should strive for a conscious equilibrium, understanding that our existence and the well-being of nature are deeply intertwined. With this important perspective in mind—that “our existence and the well-being of nature are deeply intertwined”—I hope this interview inspires you to consider the ways in which you can contribute to environmental conservation andawareness. Let’s explore how our individual efforts can collectively make a significant impact in preserving the beauty and vitality of our natural surroundings. An interview conversation with Carmen Danae Azor Thank so much for joining me in a very important conversation about nature and environmental justice, Carmen! I would love to start by discussing your upbringing a bit. How have your culture and environment played a role in your journey as an Environmental Justice Advocate? My mother is from Samaná, Dominican Republic, and my father is from Spain, placing me at the intersection of worlds. As a diplomat’s daughter, we moved every few years— Costa Rica, Uruguay, Mexico, the Dominican Republic, Spain, and the United States. Each move offered a new lens, revealing the beautiful diversity of our planet. Growing up light-skinned in a world marred by colorism and racism, I was painfully aware of the privileges and expectations imposed upon me. My hair, a symbol of my Afro- Caribbean heritage, was straightened weekly to conform to Eurocentric ideals. These experiences taught me the harsh realities of assimilation and the cost of invisibility. Returning to Ayiti, my mother’s homeland, after nearly a decade away, was a pivotal moment. The island’s beauty was overshadowed by the pervasive presence of plastics, pollution, and environmental degradation. This stark reality cemented my passion for environmental justice, merging my personal experiences with a commitment to fight forsustainable and equitable solutions. Through my art and advocacy, I aim to address the intertwined issues of environmental degradation and social inequality, striving for a future where both people and nature can thrive. What does it mean to you to be a multidisciplinary artist? Being a multidisciplinary artist means embracing the freedom to express myself through various forms and mediums. It allows me to weave together different threads of creativity —visual art, writing, performance, and activism—into a tapestry that speaks to the complexities of our world. This approach not only broadens my creative horizons but also deepens my understanding of the interconnectedness of social, cultural, and environmental issues. What is the “why” behind your work? The “why” behind my work is rooted in my desire to disrupt the status quo, and to tell stories that matter. Growing up in a world marked by environmental degradation, social injustices, and cultural erasure, I feel a profound responsibility to use my art as a vehicle for change. I strive to amplify the voices of marginalized communities, highlight the beauty and resilience of diverse cultures, and advocate for environmental justice. My work is a call to action, urging people to see beyond their immediate reality and to engage with the broader struggles that shape our world; it’s about decolonization and unlearning. Ultimately, my art is about connection—connecting people, to their environment, and to the deeper truths that lie beneath the surface of our everyday lives. Through my multidisciplinary approach, I aim to create a space where dialogue, understanding, and transformation can flourish. Growing up in the Dominican Republic, surrounded by the beauty of its nature and fruits, and influenced by my parents and grandmothers, I developed a profound connection with nature, seeing it as a reflection of myself. How has nature shaped you? What is one of the biggest lessons it has taught you? Having Taino ancestry like we do means that we are aware, and in touch, with our deep and ancestral connection to Nature and other species. Nature has taught me resilience. Watching the cycles of growth and renewal, I have learned that even in the face of adversity, life finds a way to persist and flourish.The way a tree bends with the wind yet stands firm, or how a river carves its path through the toughest rock, has shown me the power of adaptability and perseverance. One of the other biggest lessons nature has taught me is interconnectedness. Everything in nature is part of a larger web of life, where each element plays a crucial role in the ecosystem’s balance. This understanding has profoundly influenced my approach to environmental justice and activism. It reminds me that our actions, however small, have a ripple effect, impacting the broader world around us. This lesson of interconnectedness drives my commitment to creating a more sustainable
Inside the Artistic World of RA YUKAWA: Taboo Stories and Diasporic Spirituality
INTERVIEWED BY DHAYANA ALEJANDRINA Welcome, Noire Family, In this interview, I had the pleasure to sit down with the talented and amazing artist, Ra Yukawa, as they offer a captivating glimpse into their inspirational journey, delving into their roots, the reasons driving their creative endeavors, exciting future projects, and more. Please join me in welcoming Ra Yukawa to Afrique Noire Magazine! Can you share a bit about your background and what initially inspired you to pursue writing/poetry? Yeah, so I think what inspired me to write was my love for seeing my inner worlds personified and visualized in the world outside of me, in a way that made it more real, you know? I just loved creating an external world of my world that I could sort of live in all over again, and then share that with whomever I invited into my space. And I believe I started doing this at a very young age, around four or five years old. I would doodle and scribble all over my bedroom walls with crayons — which, according to my mom, I was never allowed to do, so I would get my “tail to’ up.” But I don’t remember such a thing at all; I just remember the joy of having my stories on my walls. I vividly remember that freedom. From what I can remember, to me, that art — those “illegible” words and toddler sketches — was my earliest hand at writing, at poetry. Then, of course, as I got older, I started compiling composition books of songs I would write, alongside poetry and more sketches. How does your identity, including cultural background, influence your writing and the themes you explore? In what ways do you navigate the intersection of your personal identity and the broader cultural context in your work? As for my identity, I believe that instead of my writing being influenced by my identity, I explore the many facets of my identity through my writing. Whatever comes of it tends to influence me or shape-shift who I’m becoming. So, my writing is like a mirror, a spiritual map that my ancestors and descendants across lifetimes create through me, for me to find myself, and hopefully, help others find themselves. With that said, my writing usually revolves around the transformation of identity within the experience of chaotic or complex life changes. Creatively and journalistically, I’m constantly exploring that for myself, as well as for others. I suppose this ties into my culture, as I come from multiple diasporas that I had to educate myself about and ultimately redefine for myself, due to a sense of displacement within my background—not feeling at home in my own home (America). It’s like, who are you as a whole if part of you rejects you? Moreover, being a “free-spirited,” gender nonconforming, transmasculine, queer person navigating the mental and emotional waters of disorders such as BPD, Bipolar II, and PTSD, I often don’t even feel at home within my own body or my family—my literal home. Yet, it’s a double-edged sword, because in the same breath, that perceived lack of belonging has gifted me the space and ability to make an omnipresent home out of “no home,” within my art. All of this converges within the framework of pain and love, as a human experience that we all can relate to; yet from my narrative, my work is especially relatable to those who can see themselves in me, who share parts of my personal identity and cultural background. That’s how I navigate the intersection of the two, by allowing them to be one through the shared scope of turbulent growth and intimate disconnections that symbiotically occur there. How would you describe your creative process? Do you have any specific rituals that help get you into the writing mindset? There’s something special about the time when I first wake up. I think it’s because my brain is just emerging from the depths of sleep, entering a new day with no other energetic influences but my own. The guards of my ego are down, and I’m open to a smooth, creative flow. I find that I do my rawest, most immersive work during that time. Similarly, the time between eleven at night and four in the morning is exquisite. The world is quieter, and it feels like the moon’s playground, so I give her full creative reign over my process. Sometimes, I’ll light incense or a candle, do some breathwork or yoga, maybe even work out beforehand to set the mood even more. But usually, I just enter my writing cocoon raw and maintain the mood with those rituals being done intermittently and intuitively throughout my flow. Of course, as an artist or storyteller, you’re always in the creative process. Throughout the day, I take notes and photos, capturing ideas, words, or visions. Occasionally, I have to drop everything I’m doing and flow to completion with whatever is coming to me. But more often than not, I receive a concept and flesh it out during those flow-state times that I mentioned. Who are your literary or poetic influences, and how have they shaped your work? My literary and poetic influences include Jean-Michel Basquiat, Audre Lorde, Edgar Allan Poe, Rūmī, and Paulo Coelho. Basquiat was a writer and poet through his paintings and notebooks. Like my early pieces at four years old, he told stories through images, using words or “words”. Though our work was on walls, it was poetry nonetheless. His unique use of language within his paintings, sometimes as his paintings, is poetry—just words and illustrations. He crafted childlike stories that defied and mocked adult logic, yet made you ponder it all the same. His work reminds me of my childhood room and the freedom on those walls—how I’ll never read those stories through adult eyes. That whole trailer park is woodlands now. Yet, studying Basquiat’s work makes me feel a direct connection to it all, helping me honor the
Exploring the Poetic Genius of Dr. CarolLaine M García
INTERVIEWED BY DHAYANA ALEJANDRINA Welcome, Noire Family, In this interview, I had the pleasure to sit down with the talented and amazing writer, CarolLaine M. Garcia., as she offers a captivating glimpse into her inspirational journey, delving into her roots, the reasons driving her creative endeavors, exciting future projects, and more. Please join me in welcoming CarolLaine M. Garcia. to Afrique Noire Magazine! Can you share a bit about your background and what initially inspired you to pursue writing/poetry? I’m a first-generation Dominican-American immigrant woman who came to America on my mother’s back to chase the American dream. Much of my family had already emigrated, and my brother, mom, and I arrived on travel visas. Years later, after an encounter with immigration authorities on a summer visit, I was forcibly sent back to the DR for a year while my case cooled off. Upon my reunion with my family in the States, my mom was on a mission to acquire citizenship for us and halted our travels so no one would risk deportation. All of those changes between countries and school were incredibly challenging, as I adjusted to leaving my island and father behind and adjusted to the American life. It was writing letters to my father that first awakened this gift within me. Through the ups and downs of my life, writing has always kept me connected to myself and the happiness I’ve so desperately sought to find. How does your identity, including cultural background, influence your writing and the themes you explore? In what ways do you navigate the intersection of your personal identity and the broader cultural context in your work? After completing my PhD, I stepped away from writing for quite some time. The rigor of my doctoral studies eventually wore me down, dampening my passion for reading and writing. As I drifted from writing, I lost touch with myself and my ability to connect with my truth and experiences.Despite always harboring a desire to be a writer, I found myself in a “successful” consulting career, viewing it as a significant milestone in my American success story. However, it was during the pandemic, with the help of modern technology, that I stumbled upon authors who finally resembled me. This discovery sparked a realization that I too possessed a voice and a remarkable story to share. In my writing, I delve into my intersectional identities, the distinctiveness of my upbringing, and my journey through the American experience. Through my words, I strive to break free from the societal labels that confine me, embracing a more expansive version of myself—the divine queen within. In my poetry, I contemplate the experience of belonging to no group but oneself, reveling in appreciating the diversity of nature, whether in human company or not. In essence, my writing allows me to embody my true, multifaceted self. How would you describe your creative process? Do you have any specific rituals or routines that help you get into the writing mindset? Crafted over the years, my approach to writing has evolved into a practice of romancing my words. For me, writing is no just a creative outlet; it’s a spiritual and ancestral connection. Through my writing, I honor my ancestor father and other ancestors, recognizing the hurdles they overcame so that I could freely express myself. In my writing space, I adorn the walls with old family photos, including ones of myself as a baby, alongside inspiring art. Each piece holds significance: a print of a wild mane in a field symbolizes my “untamed” years on the island, while a sunsetty picture of the Brooklyn Bridge represents my entry into the American experience through New York. Another piece depicts just the hips of a thick woman, adorned with a massive butterfly—an allusion to the freedom of expression I cherish.To enhance my writing experience, I light candles and immerse myself in the soothing sounds of lo-fi or reggaeton. Recently, I’ve come to see my writing as an integral part of my being, a necessary and fulfilling practice that enriches my life. Who are your literary or poetic influences, and how have they shaped your work? Since I was a young girl in America, I’ve been an indiscriminate reader. My obsessions lie in genres that depict women overcoming their fears, poetry that explores the gamut of human emotions and experiences, and non-fiction books chronicling authors’ triumphs over their lives and the limiting narratives they faced. I’m also drawn to memoirs that offer diverse perspectives, broadening my understanding of humanity. Through these writings, I’ve been able to cultivate a more liberated and bold version of myself, almost as a rehearsal for the embodiment that typically follows. What challenges do you face as a writer/poet, and how do you overcome them? The initial challenge was accepting myself as a writer. I had to overcome the notion that pursuing writing, something I hadn’t studied and divergent from the typical American pursuit of maximizing income, was a valid path for me. It required extensive therapy and coaching to believe in my ability to blossom late in my writing journey. Today, I find myself exploring my creative blocks around writing as much as I do my daily experiences and musings. Could you share one of your favorite pieces or an excerpt from a project that holds personal significance? What does it mean to you? During my first writer’s retreat, I penned a piece prompted by the task of creating a character embodying our essence rather than a literal self-introduction. This exercise symbolizes to me the essence of freedom as the quest for happiness. Through the struggles of my immigrant journey to the US, a passion ignited within me to explore and understand myself, culminating in the realization of the woman I was destined to become: free. The Mountain Climber Her name was Mountain Climber. She just loved the feeling of crowning a
Fashion
Why African Aunties Are The Real Influencers
Before social media made influence a profession, African aunties already had it down to an art. If you think content creation is a flex, try surviving a family function under an auntie’s gaze. With no camera crew, brand deals, or curated feeds, these women have been shaping trends, narratives, and entire family dynamics without even trying. The Look that Launches a Thousand Judgements It starts with the stare. That slow, calculated glance African aunties give when you walk into a room, half inspection, half silent judgment. Congratulations, you’ve been officially noticed if you’ve ever been on the receiving end of that gaze. And if an auntie notices you, it means you exist. Their influence begins with presence. Not the kind measured in likes or views, but the kind that stops conversations mid-sentence. The kind that walks into a party dressed in a flamboyant Bubu gown, gele perched high like a crown, heels clicking with authority. They don’t announce their arrival as they are the announcement. The Original Curators of Style While influencers rely on filters and flash sales, aunties move culture with a few well-placed accessories. Before oversized sunglasses became a fashion statement, they were already a staple at church services and weekend owambes. Aunties have been swinging those structured handbags fashionistas now flaunt with flair since before it was cool. From their nails to their perfumes, everything is intentional. A full face beat, jewelry that jingles with confidence, and a walk that says, “I’ve seen things you can’t even imagine.” They were soft-launching influencer aesthetics before Instagram even existed. Owambe Icons Nowhere is their star power more obvious than at Nigerian parties. Aunties’ headline owambes. Draped in coordinated aso-ebi, every outfit a designer’s dream, they command the dance floor like royalty. Hands in the air, rings glinting under party lights, nails flawless as they signal the DJ to “play that track again!” Their movements are precise. Their expressions are Immaculate. They throw money like confetti, never losing rhythm, never letting their gele slip, not even once. And if you ever catch an auntie dancing in slow motion, eyes closed, in pure bliss, you’re witnessing someone fully in her power. She is the vibe. She is the moment. Ojude Oba: The Met Gala of the West Every year in Ijebu land, aunties transform into full-blown fashion icons for Ojude Oba, a celebration of Yoruba royalty and heritage. It’s a cultural spectacle. Outfits coordinated down to the last bead. Color themes chosen with the precision of a royal court. Synchronized walking, regal glances, and competition-level posing for photos. This is not just showing up. This is legacy on display. And the peer review always ruthless. One head-to-toe glance from a fellow auntie can determine whether your tailor gets another job or a stern warning. Unsolicited Advice, Certified Impact Their style might make you stare, but their words stay. Aunties don’t need microphones or megaphones. A single “hmm” can quiet a room. A raised eyebrow can trigger an existential crisis. And when they start with “Come, let me talk to you…” you know a life lesson or lecture is loading. Yes, their advice can sting. “See your mate, she’s already married with two kids and a house in Lekki.” But wrapped in sarcasm, wisdom, and just the right amount of roasting, is often some real-world truth. They’ve lived through wars, recessions, heartbreaks, and homecomings. Their influence isn’t always soft, but it’s almost always rooted in care. The Life of Every Gathering Aunties are the heartbeat of African events. Be it weddings, funerals, naming ceremonies, or Sunday lunches, they bring the energy. They’ll laugh, gossip, dance, and subtly plant the seed of matchmaking ideas. Remove them from any event, and you’ll feel the absence in the air, like the music suddenly lost its beat. And yes, they can be a handful, opinionated, dramatic, even overbearing. But that’s part of the charm. They are layered, vibrant, and complex. Equal parts pressure and presence. Love and legend. Legacy Over Likes So while social media influencers chase algorithms and analytics, African aunties continue doing what they’ve always done: showing up, showing out, and shaping culture. No ring lights. No brand deals. Just pure, unfiltered influence. With digital clout in present times, maybe it’s time we logged off a little and learned from the original influencers. Because aunties don’t just set trends; they leave legacies.
Fashion vs. Style: What Are We Really Wearing?
Every day, we wake up and choose what to wear. Some people stand in front of a closet full of options and still feel like they have nothing to wear. Others grab a basic tee, jeans, a scarf, and suddenly magic has been made. Why does that happen? Because there’s a difference between fashion and style and while we use those words interchangeably, they are not the same. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, let’s unpack what each really means. The Fast Fashion Trap Before we define anything, we need to start with where most of us live; in the thick of fast fashion. One day your social feed is pushing clean girl minimalism: slicked-back buns, beige tones, delicate gold jewelry. Next week is the Mob wife energy: big fur, big sunglasses, big attitude. Micro-trends rise and collapse at such a speed that fashion feels less like a creative force and more like a treadmill — always running, rarely arriving. The thrill of the new wears thin when you’re constantly shedding pieces that felt essential just two months ago. It’s no wonder so many of us feel overwhelmed. Fashion, in this context, becomes noise. But it didn’t start that way. Fashion as an Industry and Invitation Fashion is the system. It’s commerce and culture. It’s the creative eye of runway designers and the commercial machine that translates their visions into affordable looks in record time. It’s the reason Lagos Fashion Week draws global eyes, and why Dior stages collections in Marrakech or Dakar to borrow relevance, rhythm, and beauty. Fashion is the world’s wardrobe, but it’s also a mirror. It reflects the moment, the economy, the mood and the power dynamics. It says: This is what’s in. Are you in? It’s why your social feed last year was filled with moto and knee-high boots, cargo pants, sweater over shoulders, and now everyone’s wearing bandana silk scarves. It’s the newness that fuels our curiosity and creativity, but also our constant need to keep up. But in its chase for novelty, fashion can forget people. Especially those who don’t or refuse to fit the mold. This is where style begins to push back. Style as the Voice that Pushes Through Style isn’t seasonal, it’s personal. It’s not just what you wear, it’s why and how you wear it. It’s when African women tye their headwraps in a way their mothers taught them. It’s the African creative who pairs second hand blazers with printed trousers, breaking every rule and starting their own. It’s the auntie who’s had the same pair of leather mules since 1996 and still wears them better than anyone else. Two people can wear the same white shirt. One tucks it into cigarette pants with loafers and a leather sling bag. The other leaves it open over a kitenge-print slip dress and stacks beaded necklaces. Same outfit, entirely different identities. Style doesn’t need a trend cycle. Style lives in those subtle choices: the roll of a cuff, the clash of patterns, the reworking of something old. It comes from knowing who you are or at least being curious enough to find out. Fashion vs Style: Can You Have One Without the Other? Absolutely. You can be fashionable without having style, we see it all the time. You can also have incredible style without ever chasing fashion. Think of people who wear thrifted gems, rework hand-me-downs, or repeat outfits and still turn heads because their clothes speak for them, not over them. When young people in Accra remix agbadas with sneakers, or drape kente with denim jackets, they’re not just being creative, they’re styling memory into modernity. Fashion is the canvas. Style is the brush. Finding Your Style in the Scroll Era So how do you develop style in a world that sells fashion by the minute? Start small. Don’t shop only, but study along and that means paying attention – What colors bring you joy? What fabrics make you feel grounded? What silhouettes make you stand taller? Explore, make mistakes, repeat outfits, and break your own rules. You don’t need a full wardrobe refresh. You need a relationship with your wardrobe. Try this: style a single dress five ways. With sneakers and a straw tote for errands. With block heels and brass earrings for dinner. With a headwrap and bangles for Sunday service. Suddenly, you’re not wearing an outfit — you’re telling a story. Style isn’t about having more. It’s about seeing more and more possibilities in less. So, What Are We Really Wearing? The debate between fashion and style will always exist. Some say fashion inspires style. Others believe style renders fashion irrelevant. But the real question is what matters more to you? Is it staying on trend, or staying true to yourself? Is it about wearing what’s new, or wearing what’s you?We’ll leave you with this: If you couldn’t buy a single new item this year, how would you style what you already have? Written by Kemi Adedoyin
Before the Shutter Clicks: African Photography In Its Own Light
There was a time, not so long ago, when if you saw an African in a photo, you could bet someone foreign was behind the camera. A missionary, a journalist, or a tourist with a zoom lens and a list of “authentic” moments to collect—famine in focus, dust in the light, smiling school children, every face perfectly grateful. But rewind further to the present African corner studios, where people posed like royalty against painted backdrops, dressed in their Sunday best, beaming with a pride that needed no translation. Those images weren’t for outsiders. They were for us. This is how the camera changed hands and what happened when we started telling our own African stories through the lens. Photography in Africa was never just a matter of pointing and shooting. It was a question of who held the frame and why. Studios, in the early days, were temples of becoming. They were sites of deliberate self-invention. A young man in a double-breasted coat. A woman with kohl-lined eyes and a radio on her lap. Backdrops of palm trees, cars, waterfalls. All imagined futures. These portraits weren’t vanity; they were evidence. We were there and we mattered. We existed outside the colonial gaze. Over time, the studio became a casualty of speed. Instant culture—disposable photos, selfies, reels—changed the ritual. And now, we can see the change. Young photographers are restoring the studio’s magic, this time with LED lights, projection mapping, and fabric sourced from grandmothers’ trunks. The Fight for Self-Representation Photography has long been used to define us. The colonial photo was surveillance disguised as curiosity. The aid agency photo, a form of propaganda. And even now, photo contests and international exhibitions often reward one aesthetic: struggle with a hint of hope. But African photographers today are fighting to turn the lens inward, reclaiming the right to complexity. Self-representation demands that we look beyond what’s expected. That we linger in boredom. That we dignify mess. That we challenge the algorithm’s thirst for suffering. From the Margins to the Center Twenty years ago, there were fewer names, fewer platforms, and far less interest. Many of our greats were dismissed as hobbyists or artisans. Yet they built archives. They captured ceremonies, conflicts, and quiet moments with a consistency that whispered: one day, someone will need to remember. We remember, but we also reinvent. The evolution of African photography is not a straight line. It’s a conversation between generations. J.D. ‘Okhai Ojeikere’s sculptural documentation of Nigerian hairstyles now speaks to Laetitia Ky’s self-portraits made with hair. Seydou Keïta’s Malian elegance walks beside the surreal experiments of Prince Gyasi, who paints his images in saturated candy tones. The tools have changed. Digital cameras replaced film. iPhones replaced digital. But what hasn’t changed is intent to witness, to question and to protect. The Personal as Political What’s the role of cultural identity in all this? It’s everything. A photograph isn’t neutral. Every choice—lens, subject, background, even what’s cropped out—says something. And when that photographer is African, the stakes are higher. Our identities are layered: linguistic, tribal, urban, diasporic. Our cultures are fluid, but they carry memory like a spine. Photography allows that memory to breathe and to find new form. Whether it’s documenting Maasai rituals, queer fashion in Kampala, or the fading blues of indigo dye pits in Kano, African photographers are mapping a continent. Against the Global Glare But with recognition comes friction. African photographers still face challenges in the global art and media ecosystem. We’re often included as tokens, the African perspective, in panels curated by outsiders. Grants come with invisible strings. Publications want our work but not our critique. Our images are licensed, exhibited, and praised but are we heard enough? There is also the burden of representation. If one Ghanaian photographer makes it, the world thinks they understand West Africa. If a Nigerian wins a prize, others must wait their turn. This can seem quite unfair. And yet, despite this, the work persists. Photographers build their own festivals like LagosPhoto. They teach workshops in townships. They print zines. They shoot weddings, then shoot editorials. They keep going. Because they have to. Not because it’s lucrative. Not always because it’s seen. But because the image is a form of survival. Seven African Photographers You Should Know In this renaissance of African photography, several voices have risen with singular vision of shaping not just how Africa is seen, but how Africa sees itself: Zanele Muholi (South Africa): Visual activist documenting Black queer identity with fierce intimacy and elegance. Malick Sidibéi (Mali): The “Eye of Bamako,” celebrated for capturing Malian youth culture in the 1960s and ’70s. Yagazie Emezi(Nigeria): Known for striking photo essays on identity, trauma, and womanhood across African landscapes. Mous Lamrabat (Morocco): A master of contradiction, blending Western symbols with Moroccan tradition in dreamlike fashion. Sarah Waiswa (Uganda): Explores displacement, beauty, and belonging through soft, thoughtful portraiture.. Prince Gyasi (Ghana): Redefines visual storytelling with hyper-saturated images that blend surrealism and social commentary. Aïda Muluneh (Ethiopia): Fuses traditional aesthetics with futuristic vision, using bold colors to discuss African dignity and self-determination. These artists are not just photographers—they’re translators of experience. Each frame is a dialect of memory, protest, play, and possibility. We Are the Frame Now In the end, photography in Africa has become something no one anticipated. it has become a conversation we are having with ourselves. We are no longer image subjects. We are image makers. We are the glitch in the narrative. The color correction. The uncaptioned moment. The memory that doesn’t fade. We photograph not just to be seen but to see ourselves. To archive the truth, to question beauty, to hold space for everything that came before and everything still unfolding. Before the shutter clicks, there is that sacred second where everything aligns. The African story, the light, the intent. Written by Kemi Adedoyin
Culture
Senegalese Handicraft is Deeply Personal
The Soulful Art of Senegalese Handicrafts At the edge of Kaolack, where the midday sun sits heavy and unflinching, a circle of women hunch quietly beneath the shade of a neem tree. Their hands move with unthinking precision, coiling blades of dry grass, threading in stripes of plastic, shaping baskets that will travel far beyond this dusty square. A toddler toddles between them, weaving her own invisible path. A woman laughs, correcting her neighbor’s weave. It is a scene that could have played out years ago. But look closer, and you’ll see signs of change—mobile phones nestled beside bundles of ndiorokh, price negotiations happening over WhatsApp, plastic strips cut from imported rice sacks. This is Senegal’s craft. Craft as Culture and Crisis To understand Senegal is to understand its artisans. In this West African country bordered by ocean and desert, craftsmanship is more than a decoration. It is more cultural and personal. From the clay-rich villages of Casamance to the coastal ateliers of Saint-Louis, the entire nation hums with the rhythm of craft. Markets pulse like arteries, alive with motion and color. You don’t just shop in Senegal, you wander through living galleries, each stall a curated corner of someone’s world. When the wind blows through the open plains of Kaolack or the coastal alleys of Saint-Louis, it does more than stir the dust. It lifts the scent of dyed cotton, the hush of straw brushing straw, the low hum of chisels on wood and carries with it the stories of a people who have always shaped beauty from what their land offers. But these traditions now face questions that requires answers: How do you preserve what the world wants to commodify? How do you innovate without erasing? Who gets to decide what remains authentic? The Basket That Sings in Color Perhaps nowhere are these questions more visible than in the Afrikaanse wasmand, the tall, sculptural basket now sold in boutiques. In Senegal’s interior regions, it is still made the old way: coiled grass, co-operative women sitting in a loose circle, hours upon hours of labor. But the introduction of colored plastic, once a practical response to material scarcity, has become a visual signature. That plastic now makes the basket sell. But it also raises new tensions. Purists scoff, export buyers applaud, and rural weavers? They adapt. For many, the plastic strips are more than aesthetic. They are survival, allowing older women to compete with cheaper, factory-made imitations and support their families in a shifting economy. What gets lost in debates about design is what the basket means: not just income, but independence. For some women, it is the first time their work is being paid for in euros. For others, it is a way to stay on ancestral land rather than migrating to the city. The Loom as a Storyteller If the basket is Senegal’s most recognizable export, then tissus Thiès is perhaps its most sacred. In workshops around the city of Thiès, the steady click and pull of looms form a quiet symphony. These handwoven textiles are thick with cultural symbolism, often used in ceremonial garments, home décor, or gifted during important life moments. The process is rigorous. Cotton threads are dyed once with natural pigments from bark and soil, now sometimes with brighter synthetic colors, and strung onto looms in measured order. Weavers, often men with decades of experience, create geometric patterns with astonishing precision. Lines, squares, chevrons, each motif carries meaning. Some reflect ancestral lineage, others speak to community values or spiritual beliefs. In many Senegalese families, these patterns are known by name and associated with heritage. And yet, new life pulses here. Some young designers are incorporating tissus Thiès into streetwear or upcycled fashion. Diaspora Senegalese seek out these cloths for weddings and naming ceremonies. Woodwork and the Carvers of Saint-Louis Walk through the colonial city of Saint-Louis, and the scent of mahogany hangs in the air. In small workshops, away from the bustle of traffic, artisans lean over slabs of wood, chiseling, sanding, whispering into form. A carver’s workshop is a room with no roof with customers being split between local weddings and Instagram orders. And their fear? Children who won’t want to inherit their blades. In Saint-Louis, meanwhile, the scent of mahogany fills the air. Artisans here carve masks, stools, and walking sticks, some for rituals, some for tourists. The line between sacred and souvenir is thin. Many woodworkers walk it carefully to suit international tastes without betraying spiritual meaning. Some artisans blend Islamic motifs into their carvings—stars, arabesques, calligraphy—echoing Senegal’s religious plurality. Others say it’s like carving your own culture for someone else’s living room. Gourds Turned into Canvas The calabash, a dried gourd, is one of the oldest vessels known to African households. But in the hands of Senegalese women, it becomes an emblem. After harvesting and drying, the gourds are scraped smooth. The surface is then etched using knives or fine blades. Designs are not pre-drawn. They emerge concentric circles, waves, fish, birds, fertility symbols. Some are dyed with natural pigments or smoked to deepen their hue. Used as bowls, instruments, or ceremonial vessels, calabashes are passed from generation to generation. Beadwork and Metal Jewelry Jewelry is worn not simply to adorn but to express, protect, proclaim. Among the Fulani, large gold earrings curl like crescent moons, a sign of wealth and prestige. The Serer people craft beaded necklaces believed to hold spiritual power. Markets in Touba and Ziguinchor are dotted with brass-smiths hammering bangles over open flames, or silversmiths etching symbols into rings with practiced grace. Glass beads, some recycled from old trade stock, are strung into waist chains and layered necklaces each color carrying emotional weight. Jewelry is talisman. Craft Villages as Living Archives Across Senegal, villages artisanaux, craft villages, have been developed not only to support artisan livelihoods but to keep these traditions alive in an increasingly digital, fast-paced world. These villages are more than production sites. They are classrooms. Archives. Breathing museums where knowledge is
African Creative Stories ft. Badara Preira, a Photojournalist
AFRICAN CREATIVE SERIES What is your name and in which country do you live? My name is Badara Preira and I am a Senegalese photographer based between Senegal and France. 2-How did you start photography and how long have you been doing it? I’ve always loved photography, but it was a gift that changed everything. My Senegalese-Swedish cousin, on vacation in Dakar, noticed my enthusiasm for his camera and gave it to me. From then on, I began teaching myself, out of curiosity and a desire to understand. In 2015, after my Master’s degree, I decided to fully embrace photography. I’ve been living this professional adventure for ten years now, fueled by the same passion I had on the first day. 3-You document a lot of moments around Africans, especially in the religious domain — what influences your choice? What deeply motivates me to document African life, particularly that of Senegal, is the desire to show things as they are. My approach is resolutely documentary: I seek to capture what everyone sees, but few truly take the time to observe. These are often everyday scenes, seemingly ordinary, but imbued with meaning and beauty. My interest in religious moments stems from my personal history. I come from a practicing Muslim family, and these spaces of faith are places where I feel both spiritually and artistically connected. I find an energy, a sincerity, a humanity there that I need to translate into images. These are moments where the visible and the invisible intersect, and where photography takes on its full meaning, in my eyes. 4-What has been your best moment since the beginning of your career? I’ve experienced many beautiful moments in my career, but there is one that I cherish in my memory. It was during my exhibition in Morocco, during the 1-54 Art Fair. I was presenting some of my photographs there, and during the visits, an elderly woman stopped for a long time in front of one of my works. She remained there, silent, contemplating it for a good ten minutes. Intrigued, I approached to tell her the story behind this image. She then looked at me very gently and said: “You know, I’m almost 70 years old, I’ve traveled a lot, seen so many things… but I think I just experienced one of the most beautiful moments of my life, here, in front of you and your work.” It’s the kind of moment that gives meaning to what I do. 5-What is your favorite project so far, and why do you like it? As a freelance photographer, I choose to work on projects that speak deeply to me. One of the most memorable projects is my collaboration with the 2022 Olympic Games. Working with the Olympics had been a long-time dream, and this project exceeded all my expectations. The team trusted me by giving me carte blanche, which is rare and precious—they were already familiar with my work and wanted me to be able to express myself freely. This creative freedom, in such a prestigious setting, remains an unforgettable experience. Another project that is particularly close to my heart is an artistic series I titled Singularity. It’s a very personal project, in which I fully identify. It addresses the question of difference—our own, that of others—and invites reflection on self-acceptance and individuality. Through this series, I seek to raise awareness of how we view things that deviate from the norm, and to celebrate the uniqueness of each individual. 6-What are you looking forward to doing as a photojournalist? As a photojournalist, what drives me above all is the curiosity that each subject can arouse. I would love to experience being the personal photographer of the president or the presidency, to offer a different perspective—my own—on the corridors of power. 7-Who would you like to collaborate or work with one day? I would like to collaborate one day with renowned media outlets like Getty Images, The New York Times, or Reuters to take my photographic vision beyond borders and tell the world through a personal and engaged prism. 8-What advice would you give to someone who wants to get into photography but doesn’t know how to go about it? To someone who wants to get into photography but doesn’t know where to start, I would first say: put aside any doubts. If you have the means, a school can give you a good foundation, but you can also learn a lot through online tutorials. Finding a mentor is a real plus, but the most important thing is to start. Take your camera, explore, make mistakes, start again. Don’t be afraid to fail, and above all, avoid comparing yourself to others: everyone progresses at their own pace, on their own path. 9-Describe your journey so far in three words. Reconversion – Passion – Freedom
My Father’s Shadow: A New Dawn for African Cinema at Cannes
Cannes is the heartbeat of world cinema. For decades, it has been the place where stories are immortalized. Films that cross borders, challenge perceptions, and speak to the core of human experience have walked its red carpet, leaving their mark on global storytelling. This year, a new scene was written in the annals of cinema. My Father’s Shadow, directed by Akinola Davies Jr. and produced by Funmbi Ogunbanwo, became the first Nigerian film to be part of the Official Selection at Cannes, screening in the prestigious Un Certain Regard category. It’s not just a milestone, it’s a turning point for African cinema. The Prestige of Cannes The Cannes Film Festival is the world’s most prestigious gathering of filmmakers and dreamers. It’s where legends are born, where films like Pulp Fiction, Blue is the Warmest Color, and Parasite found their way to global recognition. It is about storytelling that matters. For African filmmakers, the road to Cannes has often been distant; glimpses of our stories flickering at the edges but rarely taking center stage. My Father’s Shadow changes the narrative. Funmbi Ogunbanwo: Telling Stories with Intention At the heart of this moment is Funmbi Ogunbanwo, who enjoys the process of something bigger than her. She has always been intentional about people and the stories she tells, choosing narratives that reflect the strength and complexity of Nigerian identity. In her interview with Afrique Noire Magazine, she spoke passionately about the importance of storytelling from home. “Home is where impact is,” she said, calling on the African diaspora to remember that their voices matter, that their stories belong not just abroad but at home where change is rooted. Ogunbanwo’s vision goes beyond just making films. For too long, African stories have been boxed into tales of struggle and survival. She wants the world to see the richness, the ambition, the memory, and the resilience that define African life. With My Father’s Shadow, she proves that our stories can be global without losing their soul. The Story of My Father’s Shadow My Father’s Shadow is a poignant exploration of memory, identity, and the longing for connection. Inspired by the real-life experiences of Wale Davies and his brother, who lost their father at a young age, the film dives into the ache of growing up with questions that are never answered. Who was he? What did he believe in? What kind of man was he? These unspoken questions became the soul of the story. Davies imagined what it would be like to spend just one more day with their father, a single moment to bridge the distance that time and loss had created. The film is set against the backdrop of the 1993 Nigerian elections, a time marked by political tension and hope for change. This historical context is woven delicately into the narrative, reflecting how family-saga and political upheaval often walk hand in hand. Lagos, with its chaos and charm, is a living, breathing character that shapes the story. https://youtu.be/WoiVcFxcpak?si=W9g6LzEEcBrrZcOh A Landmark for African Cinema The significance of My Father’s Shadow at Cannes is monumental. It signals to the world that African stories are not only valid but necessary. It is a testament that Nigerian cinema has truly come of age—a sentiment echoed by Prince Baba Agba, cultural advisor to President Tinubu. It is a pivotal moment for African film. It signals to the world that African stories are necessary. For the African film landscape, this is validation. It is a moment that tells filmmakers across the continent that their stories are powerful enough to stand on the world’s most prestigious stage. It breaks barriers and sets a precedent, opening the path for more African voices to be heard. My Father’s Shadow is a beacon of possibility, a whisper to every storyteller on the continent that the world is ready to listen and that our stories are worthy of the brightest lights. Enjoy the full conversation here on YouTube & you can now listen here on Spotify YouTube Link https://youtu.be/wFqHAZZJKqQ?si=RMJYxTxC40nJVkEh Spotify https://open.spotify.com/episode/7MLrtowHEXN9UU2k6ULI5h?si=745Fwd8tR0aBogHbrzBC8g Producer & Directors https://www.instagram.com/akinoladaviesjr?igsh=azI5bXY4aWo2bzBj Akinola Davies Jr https://www.instagram.com/kingxdavies?igsh=NzRwMmgxMnU0bHBr Wale Davies https://www.instagram.com/funmbi_o?igsh=YzBqNDZpOWVmYm1p Funmbi Ogunbanwo For https://www.instagram.com/wearefatherland?igsh=MXZnOTBhaDJwbHB1cQ== Father Land
