43 f Women’s Work

Les Amazones D’Afrique are using their music to fight for women in Mali. Andy Morgan listens to them explaining their difficult task.

tion of independence. The title gives notice of what’s to come. In Mali, women don’t play the kora. Or at least, they haven’t until now. The venerable instrument, sym- bol of Mali’s cultural wealth and singulari- ty, diadem in the Manding crown, has been the exclusive preserve of hereditary male griots for at least two-and-a-half centuries. Female griots, or griottes, have existed for almost as long, but their mode of expres- sion has been limited to their voice. So when a very diverse group of Malian women, young, old, traditional, modern stand up and say “I Play Kora”, it’s a revo- lution, some might even say a provocation.

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Not only that, it’s now literally true. The young Mandina Ndiaye plays the kora, not like Dr Johnson’s proverbial two-legged dog but fluidly and brilliantly. [Dr Johnson, mari- naded in the prejudices of his time despite his immense intellect and wisdom, once famously said “Sir, a woman’s preaching is

Rokia Koné

he lyrics to the song I Play Kora, the first and so far only release by Les Amazones d’Afrique, read like a manifesto, a wish list, a charge sheet, a declara-

like a dog’s walking on his hind legs. It is not done well; but you are surprised to find it done at all.”] Her teachers were no lesser men than Toumani Diabaté and Djelimady Cissoko and she’s played with Oumou San- garé and the French band Lo’Jo, as well as releasing her own solo album. Now she’s one of the founder members of Les Amazones. “I had two men telling me that African women weren’t allowed to play the kora,” she says in one of the band’s promo videos. “They even said I lost my sight because of that. It’s all said to discourage us.”

But the title of the song is merely the first salvo. The rest of I Play Kora keeps the defiance building, and burning. Each mem- ber of the group, or rather supergroup if you consider the musical pedigree of the women involved, takes their turn on the mic to voice an injustice, a hurt, a demand or a hope.

“Men, listen to us / The song we’re singing is for you. Our pain and suffering are our weapons / We want to share them with you… / Rise up and fight injustice, because we’re all equal / Insults, beating, humiliations, torture / Women suffer every day / We women want that to stop.”

Mariam Doumbia

And so on. It takes imagination for a man to feel a true empathy with those lyrics. That’s because even the most enlight- ened, empathetic and ‘modern’ man hasn’t lived what women have lived, hasn’t felt the thousand tiny cuts that most women suffer day to day, the undermining of confidence, the weight of accumulated chores and responsibilities, the patronising turn of phrase so subtle as to hardly register in the male psyche. I Play Kora tries to enlist the support of men in “building a better world” and it doesn’t balk at declaring that “we woman have need of you [men]” because “we’re tired of fighting alone.” But, boiled down to basics, their fight will always been a lonely one, because men will never truly understand. It will always be women who must engage their own battles and pursue them to victory.

Little surprise then that it was a woman, the remarkable Valerie Malot, boss of the Paris-based touring agency 3D Family, who first proposed the idea of an all-female band of African musicians to Oumou San- garé (undoubtedly the most famous female Malian musician in the world) and Mamani

Kandia Kouyaté

Photos: Zack Dangnogo