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A Woman’s Place
The human history with strewn with events that glorified men while women were pushed aside. In the historical context, whether it about wars or people, the vast majority was a platform for posing men as figures of worship and women as accessories for men’s decoration. History has been written by men for men. The last five to six decades have shown some signs of progression as women have acquired positions of power and gained new grounds for the equality that is as substantial as the freedom men have had since birth. But archaic traditions and gender roles are so deeply rooted into human culture that women’s efforts to gain equality often prove futile and are suppressed from breaking out of the inferiority men have forced them into. The issue of feminism is most in discussion in the western world but Mariama Bâ’s So Long A Letter and Assia Djebar’s Fantasia: An Algerian Cavalcade sheds light onto the feminist movements arising across Africa. These two novels showcase how the female characters deal with modernity and the ways in which it conflicts with the traditions of their society as well as giving a new definition to feminism.
In So Long a Letter, the protagonist, Ramatoulaye is coming to grips with her deceased husband’s adultery with a former friend of her daughter’s, Binetou. She writes about the hardships placed upon her as the new wife’s family and her former in-laws try to get dibs on her husband’s property that she inherited. Ramatoulaye writes that everyone around her seemed to know about the affair but left her in the dark until Modou’s death. At the beginning of the novel, Ramatoulaey is stuck in a dilemma of whether she can leave the life she had created with a cheater, or whether she can forgive him for his disloyalty. Her conflicting emotions certify her as a borderline feminist because she can’t decide to pursue her own happiness or maintain her image as a proper and respectful wife who upholds traditions. That being said, Ramatoulaye is still somewhat submissive to the ways of tradition. She ponders on the alternatives but ultimately forgives her husband. Her marriage paralleled that of her good friend’s Aissatou, although Aissatou was able to forge a new life that did not involve polygamy. Armed with her education and her strong sense of individuality, Aissatou did not let tradition or fear sustain her in a relationship that degraded her as a wife and a woman. She is the embodiment of all the hopes that Ramatoulaye and Aissatou had when they were young: to become strong independent women who would hold their heads up high during times of hardship. Ramatoulaye is envious of her friend Aissatou who is able to cut all string of love, attachment, and fear and lead a life that is not tainted with betrayal or deceit by one’s husband. Ramatoulaye has yet to achieve this because of the social stigma that surrounds a divorced Muslim woman in Senegal. At some instances, Ramatoulaye’s tone even hints jealous at the fact that they both suffered the same fate, only Aissatou was able to move on while Ramatoulaye wasn’t. Ramatoulaye’s resentment is conveyed when she notes that she knew her friend’s husband had acquired a second wife when Aissatou herself didn’t. Albeit she is an educated woman who was raised in a wealthy family, she still indulges in her life with Modou and can’t move past the customs that keep her in an unhealthy relationship. She is sanctioned by her feelings, insecurities, and the conditions of her family. Ramatoulaye writes, “And to think that I loved this man passionately, to think that I gave him thirty years of my life, to think that twelve times over I carried his child. The addition of a rival to my life was not enough for him. In loving someone else, he burned his past, both morally and materially. He dared to commit such an act of disavowal,” (Bâ, 13) showing that she’s aware of what’s wrong in her life but can’t gather the courage to leave. But her shortcomings are redeemed with her liberal mindset and tact when she comes across hair-raising situations. When Ramatoulaye’s daughter, Aissatou, becomes pregnant, Ramatoulaye doesn’t disown her as her culture would advocate. Ramatoulaye says that she “could not abandon Aissatou as pride would have ‘her’ do for ‘Aissatou’s’ life and future were at stake, and these were all powerful considerations, overriding taboo and assuming greater importance in ‘her’ mind and heart,” (Bâ, 87). She handles the news with wisdom and sternness by questioning her daughter who the father was to ensure he was of class. Her self-assurance and confidence are unveiled when Modou’s brother, shamelessly proclaims he would like to marry her and Ramatoulaye responds with “You forget that I have a heart, a mind, that I am not an object to be passed from hand to hand. You don’t know what marriage means to me: it is an act of faith and of love, the total surrender of oneself to the person one has chosen and who has chosen you,” (Bâ, 60). The last line reflects that she is finally starting to focus on what she wants, not what her society wants of her. She also says, “I shall never be the one to complete your collection,” (Bâ, 60). Her word choice confirms that she disapproves polygamy and how men treat wives as currency; the more the merrier. She doesn’t cower in fear of being judged and stands her ground with a man that disrespected her and her beliefs to her face. When another love from her past comes and proclaims his love to her, she also denies the marriage proposal. For both men, she clarifies that she does not want to marry them and have their previous wives to endure the same pain she felt after her husband’s infidelity. When Ramatoulaye hears about Binetou’s “sugar daddy” she tells Daba to encourage her friend to continue her education to enlighten herself, unbeknownst to the unfortunate fate she shares with Binetou, who is just as much a tragedy figure as Ramatoulaye. Binetou may seem like a lowly homewrecker at first glance but her character has many undone layers. Like Ramatoulaye, she is also chained down by tradition, and is stripped of her youth and the carelessness that accompanies it. Instead, she falls victim to the whims of her family and her obligations to her mother to marry a wealthy man that will provide the financial security they lack. In exchange for the luxuries rewarded to her family, she sacrifices her own dreams of finishing her education and finding true love. When Binetou goes clubbing with Modou, she can’t help but notice the other younger couples that are actually in love. Her contempt for Modou is evident in the way that she refers to him as “sugar daddy” and “pot belly” when describing him to Daba. Daba also shares her mother’s distaste for her father’s second marriage, and serves as the revenge seeker for her mother. After inheriting her father’s villa, she orders Binetou and her family to leave without a hint of pity. She finds a relationship that her mother yearned for and a man that showers her with praise and affection, a trait that Ramatoulaye’s husband lacked. It is through her that Ramatoulaye’s hopes will be brought to life, for she has the same idealist beliefs as her mother and tries to stay true to them. She is representative of a generation of women who stay true to their beliefs despite the social stigma that comes with it, revoking any customs that belittle their value. Throughout this novel, there is a battle of the old and the new. This story is about how women of different generations and backgrounds affect each other’s lives. Ramatoulaye sums up the conflicting scenario with, “Now our society is shaken to its foundations, torn between the attraction of important vices and fierce resistance of old virtues,” (Bâ, 76) near the end of the novel.
In Fantasia: An Algerian Cavalcade, Assia Djebar deals with the quandaries of a modern woman in a male-dominated society. Not only does she express her own discomforts, she tells stories of her less fortunate female counterparts who are pressured to abide by strict regulations that align with their old traditions. The French language, however, offers the author boundless freedoms. She can wander the streets freely without wearing a veil, a right her female relatives can’t practice. The French language also changes the relationships of those around her. She writes of the changed dialogue between her parents because of the French language; she starts calling her father by his name instead of just referring to him as her husband. Since in Algerian society females must refer to their husbands in the third person, Djebar’s mother addressing him by his name rids of the unnecessary formality between husband and wife that used to be in place. Djebar’s father also writes a letter to her mother, which is also against tradition as a man can’t write to his wife unless another man reads it first. Thus, the relationship of her parents blossoms into one of intimacy and affection that surpasses the superfluous boundaries. Assia Djebar also reminisces about her female childhood friends who also used French as a tool of deviation from traditions tells the story of others who try to break and deviate from tradition. These girls tried to overcome their boredom by writing love letters to their male love interests as a means of escaping the drudgery of confinement at home. They could live the fantasy love affair they craved but were denied. Reading and writing in French allowed the girls free expression and the ability to break from their monotonous routines. Even at such an early age, they are developing the courage to resist silently and gradually grow from that child-like rebellion. One of the girls even proclaims, “I’ll never let them marry me off to a stranger, who in one night will have the right to touch me,” (Djebar, 13). Writing those letters let them dream of falling in love and marrying a partner of their own choosing. They give them the hope of a life more enriching than the likes of their mothers and grandmothers, who are doomed to stay indoors and veiled. As a child the author watches in awe and amazement as the older women go about with their ritualistic ceremonies, chants, and stories “to go free and let their sorrows of being confined be expressed,” (Djebar, 47). In the Algerian society, women are the backdrops in a patriarchal system that inhibit them from going out as they please, dress as they please, or even behave as they see fit. When females are in public, they must always remain veiled and maintain a solemn prose. The only women who seem to have a tinge of freedom are the elderly, who have been granted that right after an entire lifetime of entrapment; they don’t have much of a life to live anymore so being given that right doesn’t make a significant difference, which seems to be the exact motive of the limitations forced on these women. Djebar notes the rare matriarchy present inside the homes by describing her childhood where she witnesses “matrons take their place… age takes precedence over fortune… while younger women…are seated ill at ease (and barely talking) …while the loud voices of the oldest women—a merry laugh, a chuckle, then a suggestion of an obscene joke ring out,” (Djebar, 63). These gatherings provide room to bond and offer each other solace as they are all in the same predicament as being “trapped in a web of impossible revolt,” (Djebar, 65). They must always live their lives as shadows, never to be fully seen or heard. These feelings of repression need an outlet and it is at home where these deprived women have that audience. This is where someone will listen and watch. As a young child, the author and her cousin are “tense with anticipation as they watch her grandmother, the matriarch [who] normally never complained; but this extravagant or derisory ceremonial, which she regularly organized, was her way of protesting. Against whom? But when she danced, she became queen of the city. She drew her daily strength before our very eyes,” (Djebar, 67). That small community gives them the freedom to momentarily abandon the stoic façade and speak without restriction. Witnessing these events as a child helped Assia Djebar realize just how lucky she is. She had the chance to learn French and take advantage of the many doors it opened for her. This freedom that accompanies French has her feeling uneasy simply because it is unfamiliar to what she saw growing up. Djebar is stuck in a limbo where she feels a certain resonance with the old traditions but learning French had put her in a spot that won’t allow her to reverse. She feels a sense of guilt as to “why it is her and her alone out of all [her] tribe that she has this opportunity,” (Djebar, 138). Djebar wants to share this freedom with her female counterparts but the trenches of taboo are still too thick make it nearly impossible. She realizes that if it were not for her father’s liberated mindset, she would have been raised very differently. She tells of fellow student, a baker’s daughter, who used to go to French school with her but was “withdrawn overnight from school… [Because] of the emergence of her women’s personality transformed her into an incarcerated body,” (Djebar, 150). Because Djebar lived a different life from the vast majority of the females in her society, she is bound to meet people who make remarks about her relaxed nature. The first instance of this is when she encounters a female patron who asks haughtily why a girl her age is not covered up. It is her mother who defends her, “she goes to the French school,” (Djebar, 162). Interestingly, this is all the justification necessary because Djebar being associated with the French language immediately sets her as unique from everyone else. Even though she is not required to adhere to these traditions, she is not entirely comfortable with having so much freedom; she doesn’t have anyone to vent to because almost no other woman can relate to her so it takes away from her sense of belonging. Her mind is that of the French person’s but her heart is with the Muslim customs. Learning the French language has permanently eliminated the bridge that led her back to the customs she had been exempt from. She knows she will never participate in those rituals and this leaves a somewhat somber goodbye to her childhood. However, she does not realize that by choosing to be a writer, she is leaving a trail of those traditions in her work. Djebar also touches upon different historical narratives. One of them is that of Cherifa, a child who had participated in the Revolution to fight and defeat the French colonialism. Her mannerisms were identical to those of a man as she didn’t succumb to all the ways of tradition. As a fighter, Cherifa was fearless, strong, and loyal to her cause and her nationalistic efforts were as brave as a man’s, if not more. Cherifa could lead a lifestyle of her own liking without any intervention from the social norm men had inflicted onto her and other women. These rights, however, were only allowed under war conditions, and once the war was over, they were taken away just as quickly. Men no longer needed to recruit women for aid in the battle so whatever rights were given to them for persuasion were revoked. Whatever progress they had made was now going in reverse. Cherifa is also subject to the direct consequences of the restrictions being set in place once again, as she becomes housebound. Assia Djebar intricately described the early stages of feminism with Algeria, starting with the French colonization, and how the Algerian society began to backtrack their footsteps after the war ended.
Through these two novels, we’re able to see the quandaries that women must face when modernity and old customs come head to head. Ramatoulaye’s journey to her self-discovery and Assia Djebar’s reflection on her life and role as a female writer in a patriarchal society are like two sides of a coin; both Senegal and Algeria are Muslim-majority countries who uphold traditions mostly meant to oppress women. What sets them apart is that the former revolves around a widowed mother who must cope with her deceased husband’s infidelity while the latter centers around a young woman who retells her experiences as a female growing up in French Algeria and how the colonization ironically served as a refuge for women. Both of these women remained brave and to tried to sustain their newfound freedoms, despite any difficult encounters. Their stories combined to give a refreshing introduction to a form of feminism that may be unfamiliar to many, especially those residing in the west. These women with their fierce ideals made them pioneers for all women liberation movements.
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