Category: MIL-OSI

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Jessica O’Leary, Senior Lecturer, Monash University

Standing before the Inquisition in Lisbon, Portugal in 1556, Mónica Fernandes, a woman from the coast of modern-day Ghana, was accused of casting malevolent spells and making pacts with demons. Her crime? Seeking a traditional Akan remedy for a simple cat bite.

The Portuguese Inquisition was a powerful institution tasked with identifying, investigating and punishing any belief or practice that deviated from official Catholic doctrine. The Inquisition was established in 1536 during the expansion of the Portuguese empire, one of the world’s first global maritime powers.

Fernandes’ trial, recorded in meticulous detail by the Inquisitor, Jerónimo de Azambuja, offers a rare and powerful window into a 16th-century clash of cultures. It reveals how a colonial power systematically misunderstood and criminalised local customs, rebranding Indigenous knowledge as dangerous sorcery.

As a historian, I spend my time searching for connections between people across the early modern world, especially the lives of women and children within the vast Portuguese empire. While I was researching the trials of Indigenous women in colonial Brazil, a question began to form: were women in other parts of the empire, like west Africa, also being targeted for their traditional knowledge? This question led me to the archives of the Portuguese Inquisition and to a remarkable case file from 1556.

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Read more: Colonial powers tried to stifle traditional healing in Zimbabwe. They failed and today it’s a powerful force for treating mental illness

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The file detailed the trial of Mónica Fernandes, an Akan woman from what’s now Ghana. Her story opens a rare window onto the personal, human impact of colonisation. It shows how a vast imperial power operated on the ground: by misunderstanding, criminalising, and attempting to erase Indigenous ways of knowing.

Recovering stories like this helps us understand a legacy of cultural suppression that continues to resonate today.

A life between two worlds

Mónica was born to Akan parents. The Akan are a collection of related peoples, primarily living in modern-day Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire. Organised into matrilineal states, they had established sophisticated societies with rich cultural, religious and social knowledge systems long before the arrival of Europeans.

The Portuguese first arrived on the west African coast in the late 15th century, driven by a desire for gold. They established their authority by constructing fortified trading posts like São Jorge da Mina (now Elmina Castle) that imposed their laws and religion on the surrounding communities.

Mónica lived and worked in and around São Jorge da Mina, a place of intense cultural collision. Baptised into the Catholic faith, she existed between two worlds: the rigid, hierarchical society of the European fortress and the vibrant Akan village of Edina that surrounded it.

Like others, she moved between these spaces to socialise, shop and, crucially, seek medical care. It was this last activity that brought her to the attention of the Inquisition. Instead of visiting the Portuguese apothecary at the fortress, Mónica consulted a local Akan healer, an ɔkɔmfoɔ or odunsinni, to treat a cat bite. She procured an ointment, a common practice she saw as rudimentary healthcare.

To the Inquisitor, however, this was proof of heterodoxy, or a belief, opinion, or practice that went against the officially established doctrines of Catholicism. Mónica’s choice to trust her community’s medical expertise over that of the Portuguese was seen not just as a rejection of European authority, but as evidence of a pact with the devil.

Custom vs. crime

The accusations against Mónica were dramatic and personal. The initial charge stemmed from a quarrel with another African woman, Ana Fernandes, who was visiting São Jorge da Mina from Lisbon. Witnesses claimed that after an argument, Mónica cast a spell on Ana. Weeks later, after returning to Portugal, Ana succumbed to a mysterious illness that allegedly caused the skin to peel from her face. This rumour, spread by a single witness, became the centrepiece of the case.

The rumour of Mónica’s curse spread, prompting a formal inquiry by the Portuguese captain at São Jorge da Mina. It was only after this local investigation, which took months, that Mónica was officially detained and transported as a prisoner to face the main tribunal in Lisbon.

The Inquisitor’s interest went beyond this single event, expanding to include other, more everyday practices. Witnesses interviewed at São Jorge da Mina also claimed Mónica conducted spells using chickens and yams. While these details were recorded as evidence of sinister rituals, they were in fact staple elements of Akan cultural life. Yams, a starchy, edible tuber, similar to a potato, were a vital food source and central to ceremonies honouring ancestors, while animal sacrifice was a common preparation for deities.

What the Portuguese Inquisitor labelled feitiços (witchcraft or charms) was, for Mónica and her community, simply aduro (medicine) and amammerɛ (custom). The trial documents painstakingly list her heterodoxical activities, but in doing so, they inadvertently preserve a record of the very cultural knowledge the Inquisition sought to destroy. Mónica’s case becomes a catalogue of everyday Akan practices, seen through a distorted colonial lens.

A defiant accused

Throughout months of imprisonment and interrogation, Mónica was pressed to confess to witchcraft. She consistently refused. In Akan culture, the concept of bayie is sometimes translated as “witchcraft”, but it specifically refers to acts of acute spiritual wickedness or illness. Mónica’s actions did not fit this category. She was treating a physical ailment, a cat bite.

Mónica’s refusal to accept the label of “witch” was therefore not simple denial. Her defence was based on a clear cultural distinction, one she clung to despite her limited Portuguese. When she insisted that she had committed no crime because “all the black men and women of Mina did it too”, she was not admitting to collective guilt. She was trying to explain that her actions were customary medicine, not malevolent spiritual work.

She understood the difference between her own system of knowledge and the crime of which she was accused, and she refused to conflate them.

The verdict and legacy

Ultimately, Mónica was found guilty of witchcraft, but the Inquisitors deemed her actions “minor”. She was given the light sentence of a period of religious re-education in Lisbon to study Christian doctrine. Mónica secured her release by demonstrating good Christian behaviour, but was forbidden from returning to her homeland.

Mónica’s light sentence was relatively uncommon but unlikely to have been the first instance of re-education. It is possible that women from other Portuguese colonial territories also suffered similar fates, but many records have been lost due to the Lisbon Earthquake (1755) and the deliberate destruction of the Goa Inquisition cases which also took in east Africa.

We don’t know what happened to her after her release. But her story, buried in the archives for over 450 years, remains deeply relevant. It is a powerful, personal account of how colonialism operated not just through military force, but through displacement and the deliberate suppression of local knowledge. Mónica’s trial is a stark reminder that the branding of Indigenous practices as “magic” or “superstition” was a tool used to assert dominance and erase entire ways of knowing the world.

– Mónica’s story: the woman shipped from Ghana to Portugal in 1556 to stand trial for using traditional medicine
– https://theconversation.com/monicas-story-the-woman-shipped-from-ghana-to-portugal-in-1556-to-stand-trial-for-using-traditional-medicine-263929

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Albert Sharra, Postdoctoral Research Fellow, University of the Witwatersrand

The British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) established its first radio transmitter sites in Africa in the 1930s, to reach the British colonies and beyond. It became a model for radio in Africa and later a model for TV news.

But, almost a century on, what is the BBC’s colonial legacy and how does the public broadcaster serve a post-colonial media space? We asked the editors of a new book, called The BBC’s Legacy in Africa: Continuities and Change, about their study.

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What was the BBC’s colonial operation all about?

The BBC was established in 1922. Within a few years, it became a colonial platform. This began with the British Colonial Office’s decision to set up radio broadcasting in its colonies. The goal was to enhance communication between the governors and the governed. The BBC was engaged to help with the project.

Between the late 1920s and 1930, the BBC tried broadcasting in most parts of the empire, including Africa. At the 1930 Imperial Conference, it was agreed to set up the Empire Service, a broadcast network to advance administration of the colonies. By 1932, the Empire Service was in full operation and many countries were getting connected to the broadcasting grid. Kenya was connected in 1928 and Ghana in 1935. In central Africa, Zambia was connected in 1945 to cover Zambia, Malawi and Zimbabwe.

At the time, private radio stations were thriving in other parts of the continent, particularly in South Africa, Angola and Mozambique. The unique approach of the BBC was to establish public service radio.

By 1971, there were 43 national radio services in sub-Saharan Africa. This is attributed mainly to the BBC’s expertise in developing broadcasting services and programming models, and training African broadcasters.

This was more than just communication; it was a form of cultural imperialism and soft power. It embedded British values through English-language dominance and news formats that reflected British norms.

This remains the BBC broadcasting model today, as well as that of former British colonies. At independence, newly established African states adopted these norms to establish national broadcasters.

Our book argues that the end of colonisation did not dismantle the BBC’s colonial legacy. That’s because the style was already embedded in the broadcasting system. We used evidence from different countries, including Malawi, Zimbabwe, Uganda and Nigeria, to demonstrate this.

How did this shape African media?

Post-independence broadcasters inherited BBC-style structures, formats and journalistic ethics. Over time, these elements were blended with local languages, music and storytelling traditions.

The BBC has remained in these countries through the BBC World Service and programmes like Focus on Africa. It recruits African correspondents who influence local journalists to write news in the same ways.

We argue that the failure of African media to decolonise has something to do with the BBC’s efforts to keep influencing broadcasting worldwide.

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Many national broadcasters in Africa still operate under public service broadcasting principles inspired by the BBC. In some countries – like Malawi, Zambia and Zimbabwe – these are public broadcasters on paper, but in practice they are state media, operating in the interest of the state. They are abused and used for state propaganda. So, the influence of the BBC, in some instances, is not successful in practice.

At first, the BBC was promoting English only. Later on, it started to invest in African languages. The BBC’s World Service programming has incorporated Hausa, Igbo, Somali, Swahili, Afaan Oromo, Amharic and Tigrinya.

As the book discusses, BBC programmes like Focus on Africa and political interview styles like HARDtalk have influenced talk shows and political debate programmes in African media. These hybrids often continue to reproduce western-centric norms and biases.

What can we learn from some of the countries discussed?

In Uganda, radio continues to reflect the influence of the BBC in programming content, ownership patterns and journalist training.

The BBC’s reliance on Ugandan correspondents reinforces its authority and shapes professional norms, making BBC-trained journalists aspirational figures. The BBC sustains many local outlets by providing international and sports content.

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Read more: Western media outlets are trying to fix their racist, stereotypical coverage of Africa. Is it time African media did the same?

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Its enduring presence has also been facilitated by government goodwill, including the allocation of scarce frequencies, as part of maintaining diplomatic ties.

The Zimbabwe Broadcasting Corporation initially embraced the BBC’s public service broadcasting ideals. But later it became a propaganda arm for the ruling party.

What are some of the problems with the BBC in Africa today?

Its perceived neutrality as a public service broadcaster is questioned in the book because the BBC’s editorial choices often mirror British foreign policy priorities. The discussions in the book mirror some of the public backlash the BBC has faced in cases like its coverage of the Israel-Palestine conflict.

The dominance of BBC-trained journalists and formats has the potential to marginalise other storytelling traditions. Most African cultures are rich in storytelling but BBC correspondents tend to control the storytelling through an insistence on quick questions and answers and limited time.

Although African languages are included, news framing often perpetuates Eurocentric narratives.

What needs to change?

BBC should be commended for setting up what became a model of broadcasting not only in Africa but also beyond. This model has fostered quality broadcasting and the watchdog role of the press.

Moving forward, in its African programming and operations, the BBC needs to go beyond tokenism. Representation should encompass more than language. It should include agenda-setting, framing and adopting African storytelling techniques.

African broadcasters should uphold and embrace local knowledge and approaches by incorporating local cultural logic into their programming. They should strive to be creative and innovative.

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Read more: African media are threatened by governments and big tech – book tracks the latest trends

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Partnerships that empower African broadcasters instead of relying on BBC resources can promote genuine media sovereignty.

The future depends on hybridisation on African terms, upholding high production and ethical standards while anchoring media systems in African socio-political realities, rather than copying and reproducing colonial frameworks.

The book argues that decolonisation in African broadcasting is an ongoing process and requires creating more spaces for open conversations.

– BBC has a long history in Africa. New book offers a critical take on the broadcaster
– https://theconversation.com/bbc-has-a-long-history-in-africa-new-book-offers-a-critical-take-on-the-broadcaster-264052

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Robin Steedman, Lecturer of Creative Industries, School of Culture and Creative Arts, University of Glasgow

African filmmakers have long faced challenges in securing wide-scale distribution for their films. In this context, digital platforms such as Netflix and YouTube have been hailed as bringing huge new opportunities.

This optimism in filmmaking resonates with the hype digital technologies more generally have had in Africa. They have been seen to offer almost unlimited opportunities for African entrepreneurs to transform and grow their businesses. Ghana’s communication minister, for example, declared in 2017 “it’s Digitime in Ghana”.

We are researchers in film studies, theatre studies, sociology and geography, and in this study, we set out to understand how platforms were being used and thought about in the Ghanaian film industry. We wanted to look beyond the techno-optimistic hype – the idea that technological progress can solve every problem known to humans.

We held interviews and focus groups with 50 filmmakers in Ghana to understand the experience of platform entrepreneurship in filmmaking across the country. We found that while filmmakers were very optimistic about technology, they were also deeply sceptical of what existing platforms could do for them in Ghana. Creating local platforms was an important alternative.

Enthusiastic but short on know-how

Ghana’s film industry dates back to its colonial roots when the Gold Coast Film Unit was established by the British in the 1940s. Although it has achieved remarkable successes, they haven’t been consistent. In the sub-region the industry is dwarfed by Nigeria’s Nollywood.

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Read more: How Nollywood films help Kenyan housemaids make sense of their lives

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Film distribution in Ghana is in a transitional moment, driven in large part by technological change. For a long time, Ghanaian movies reached their audiences on CDs and DVDs. With the rise of digital television and internet streaming, this once lucrative model collapsed. Ghanaian filmmakers are now experimenting with platforms in their businesses.

We found that they used and thought about platforms in three principal ways.

First, many filmmakers enthusiastically embraced platforms and believed they had the power to create global reach and dramatic business growth. Many felt, like prominent Accra filmmaker Isaac, that “opportunities are endless in the industry” because of new technologies.

Some Ghanaian filmmakers distribute their films on major global platforms such as Netflix, but it was only a very small minority. They did not feel that working with platforms had revolutionised their businesses, but rather that being on Netflix enhanced their status, and they hoped this would help them attract financing for future projects.

Second, filmmakers were also well aware of the limits of platform distribution. Those with films on Netflix were the most affluent and well connected. Others struggled to access some global platforms. They also found it very difficult to make money on easy-to-access platforms such as YouTube. They struggle to make the large volume of content needed to get high viewing numbers and thus monetise their content. It was almost impossible to make enough to justify the cost of production.

Some filmmakers felt that they did not know enough about how to use platforms. Emerging filmmaker Esther expressed a common view when she said:

We need more education in filmmaking. Those of us here, we have the talent, we want to do movies, we are doing our best, but most of us have not been to film school to learn.

Some felt they were not benefiting from the potential of platforms yet, but could in the future. Thus, they were motivated to continually experiment and develop new strategies for making and distributing their movies online and offline.

Third, some filmmakers experimented with creating Ghanaian platforms.

John, a leading figure in a national association, said:

In five years, the industry will be better, far, far better than ten years ago. … if we are able to move with time, build a platform like Netflix.

He wanted to create something that would focus on Ghanaian film and support the local industry.

John was not alone. Selwyn, a film and TV entrepreneur, for example, had created an app specifically for local language film.

Ghanaian filmmakers could see that the business models of global tech giants did not favour them, and that Netflix and other American platforms would not transform film distribution in Ghana or fulfil their dreams of global audiences and business growth.

Local solutions

Film makers did not give up in the face of these challenges. Rather they worked hard to devise their own solutions to the challenge of film distribution – solutions that were tailored to their circumstances and put Ghanaian filmmakers at centre stage. Local Ghanaian platforms were one such solution.

The idea that technology can change the world emanates powerfully from Silicon Valley in the US and has been exported globally. Yet Ghana is starkly different from Silicon Valley and thus the experience of technological entrepreneurship is likely to be different too.

– Ghana’s films don’t often make it to Netflix – local solutions may be the answer
– https://theconversation.com/ghanas-films-dont-often-make-it-to-netflix-local-solutions-may-be-the-answer-261087

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Elizabeth Olayiwola, Senior Lecturer in Broadcast, Film, and Multimedia, University of Abuja

In Nigeria today, one doesn’t have to attend a church service to hear a sermon. The pulpit has moved – onto screens, into living rooms, and across YouTube.

Along with this shift, a fascinating genre has emerged: Nigerian evangelical cinema. These films blend entertainment with Pentecostal spirituality, turning prayers into special effects and spiritual battles into dramatic storylines.

This transformation is not accidental. It reflects a wider trend in which religion and media intersect to shape how Nigerians – and increasingly, Africans in the diaspora – understand the spiritual world.

As a media scholar I have been researching the Nigerian evangelical screen world for over a decade. As I show in my latest study in the book Contemporary African Screen Worlds, the rise of evangelical cinema is tied to Nigeria’s Pentecostal boom and the explosion of Nollywood, the country’s vast film industry, in the 1990s.

In the early days of Nollywood, films were distributed on video cassettes and shown in communal venues, including church halls. They spread to TV, where audiences embraced early Nollywood productions like Agbara Nla (The Ultimate Power) produced in 1993 by Mount Zion Faith Ministries International. Broadcast as a series, it dramatised spiritual warfare between Christians and demonic agents and became a national phenomenon.

The ministry, founded in 1985, houses Mount Zion Film Productions, the most prolific Christian film company in Nigeria.

Evangelical films blur the line between devotion and drama, prayer and performance. My study shows that they are not just niche productions aimed at church audiences. Their impact is far greater. The films reveal how millions of Nigerians imagine the spiritual world, how they navigate everyday crises, and how religion adapts to new technologies.

The Nigerian evangelical film culture also shows how a range of networks can build and push a cinematic culture forward, offering lessons to industries around the world about the power of leveraged networks.

How it all started

At the centre of this story is Mike Bamiloye, co-founder of Mount Zion Faith Ministries. Established by a small group of college graduates, it began with church stage plays before moving into video and TV.

Like the Yoruba theatre tradition from which it drew some of its inspiration, Mount Zion toured churches and neighbouring countries, staging plays and building audiences.

With fewer entertainment options available back then, TV audiences embraced Agbara Nla. The film tells the story of a village that is constantly punished by the forces of darkness because of a malevolent herbalist. God sends a young Christian missionary couple to battle him and deliver the community from evil.

What made Agbara Nla and similar films resonate was their familiarity. Nigerians had long been exposed to supernatural storylines. In the 1960s through to the 1980s, they occurred in Yoruba travelling theatre productions, a popular form of entertainment.

Later, the supernatural was kept alive in Nollywood’s many occult-themed films. Often involving witchcraft and magic, these films tend to tap into a blend of Christian and traditional Nigerian cosmologies. They revolve around the idea of spiritual warfare, of good versus evil and God versus the Devil.

Evangelical filmmakers simply retooled the formula, swapping out witchdoctors for pastors, charms for prayer, and gods for Christ.

In many evangelical films, prayer is not just words muttered in the quiet of the heart. It is dramatised, given visual form, and staged as a battle with unseen forces. A woman kneeling in prayer might suddenly find herself in a parallel “spirit realm” where angels and demons clash. Her whispered incantations are translated into fireballs, lightning bolts, or shields of protection.

The effect is powerful. For Christian audiences, these films make visible what is usually invisible: the spiritual consequences of prayer. They confirm a belief that prayer works, not metaphorically but literally, in the everyday struggles of life.

Social messages

These films are more than just entertainment. They carry social messages too. One striking feature I’ve discussed in my earlier research is their focus on women.

Women are often depicted as especially vulnerable to spiritual attack – but also as powerful prayer warriors. In many films, a woman’s reproductive life – her fertility, sexuality, or motherhood – is given spiritual significance.

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Read more: How Nollywood films help Kenyan housemaids make sense of their lives

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This framing reflects Pentecostal theology, where sex itself is sometimes cast as an act with spiritual consequences. So these kinds of Nollywood stories both challenge and reinforce gender norms.

On one hand, women are shown exercising spiritual authority. On the other, their bodies are often treated as sites of moral or spiritual conflict.

Entrepreneurship of faith

Behind the scenes, evangelical Nollywood also illustrates a different kind of creativity: entrepreneurship. Many film makers juggle ministry with business innovation, building networks of production, distribution and audience engagement. Evangelical film maker Opeyemi Akintunde, for example, started with short web stories, moved into publishing, and went on to adapt her work into films circulated on YouTube and in cinemas.

This entrepreneurial spirit is part of a broader pattern across Africa. Studies have shown how Pentecostal media – from films to radio to social media – are reshaping both religious practice and cultural economies.

In Nigeria, the church itself provides infrastructure, from funding and publicity to venues and technical equipment, making film ministry possible.

Beyond Nigeria

Studies have also shown how Nollywood is spreading, embraced by a global audience. The influence of Nigerian evangelical cinema is not limited to Nigeria.

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Read more: The rise of African prophets: the unchecked power of the leaders of Pentecostal churches

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Riding on Nigeria’s transnational churches, these films and their film-making style today reach audiences across Africa, Europe and the US. Diaspora churches screen them during services; people watch them on their phones for inspiration or moral guidance.

This global circulation highlights the adaptability of both African Pentecostalism and Nollywood – and their capacity to shape imaginations (and souls) far beyond their local roots.

– God and Nollywood: how Pentecostal churches have shaped Nigerian film
– https://theconversation.com/god-and-nollywood-how-pentecostal-churches-have-shaped-nigerian-film-264279