MIL Africa Engine

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Christophe Premat, Professor, Canadian and Cultural Studies, Stockholm University

Sophie Oluwole (1935-2018) was a Nigerian scholar and the first woman to earn a PhD in philosophy in her country. She not only placed Nigeria’s rich Yoruba philosophical tradition on the intellectual map, she also helped redefine African philosophy, a field dominated by men.

As a scholar of cultural studies with a focus on francophone and west Africa, I recently co-authored, in French, a book called African Intellectual Sensitivities: From Western Discourse to African Voices (1988-2022). One of its chapters is devoted to Oluwole and African women intellectuals.

She did much more than break gender barriers. By placing Nigeria’s Yoruba thought in dialogue with the famed western philosophers like Socrates, she challenged the assumption that African philosophy was merely folklore. To her it was a rigorous intellectual tradition.

Who gets to think?

For centuries, western philosophy presented itself as the universal measure of reason. Beginning with German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831), influential strands of western philosophy described Africa as “outside history”.

The continent was said to lack philosophy because it lacked a written tradition comparable to ancient Greece’s. Rational thought, many argued, needed text.

It was against this assumption that Oluwole built her work. She did not simply ask for African thinkers to be added to reading lists. She questioned the criteria used to define philosophy. In the process, she challenged a long-standing intellectual hierarchy.

A philosopher between worlds

Born in 1935 in what is today Ondo State, Sophie Bosede Olayemi Oluwole came of age during the final decades of British rule and the intense debates that would culminate in independence in 1960.

Like many girls of her generation, she initially trained as a teacher. But her intellectual curiosity pushed her further. She enrolled to study philosophy at the University of Ibadan, then the country’s premier university. It was an unusual choice for a Nigerian woman in the 1960s. She earned her PhD there in 1984.

Pursuing a doctoral degree took persistence in an academic culture overwhelmingly dominated by men. Her path reflects both the new educational opportunities after independence and the structural barriers women still faced in higher education.

Her intellectual career unfolded from the 1970s through the early 2000s, while Nigerian universities were wrestling with their post-independence identity. After 1960, several institutions sought to Africanise curricula and leadership. Yet philosophy departments often remained anchored in European traditions.

Oluwole herself was Yoruba, one of the largest ethnic and language groups in west Africa. The Yoruba were concentrated mainly in south-western Nigeria but also present in Benin and Togo.

Yoruba thinking is structured around a cosmology linking the visible and invisible worlds, ancestors and descendants, individual destiny and communal responsibility. Knowledge is not separated from ethics or spirituality; wisdom is understood as practical guidance for living well within a web of relationships.

She focused on the corpus of Ifá, a vast body of oral literature linked to ethics, cosmology and reflection on human destiny. At its centre stands Òrúnmìlà, a figure associated with wisdom and knowledge.

For Oluwole, Òrúnmìlà was not just a religious figure. He functioned as a philosopher – a teacher of critical inquiry and moral reasoning whose insights were preserved through disciplined oral storytelling.

She drew comparisons between him and the Greek philosopher Socrates. Socrates left no written work of his own. His ideas were transmitted through dialogue and memory. Why, then, should the spoken word disqualify an African thinker from being recognised as philosophical?

The problem, she insisted, was not Africa’s lack of philosophy. It was the narrow definition of philosophy inherited from Europe – one that privileged written texts and dismissed oral traditions as pre-philosophical. By questioning that definition, Oluwole was not only defending Yoruba thought. She was expanding philosophy itself.

The politics of the spoken

At the centre of Oluwole’s work was a simple but disruptive question: must philosophy be written to exist? In her book Philosophy and Oral Tradition (1997), she argued that African oral texts – including myths, proverbs and Ifá verses – contain structured reasoning and critical reflection, and therefore meet the criteria of philosophical thought. Texts are preserved, cited and institutionalised.

She exposed the colonial logic behind this hierarchy. During the 1800s and early 1900s, European scholars often portrayed Africa as a continent of myth rather than reason.

The absence of classical written texts was interpreted as intellectual absence. But storytelling does not prevent intellectual reasoning. Writing does not automatically produce critical thought. By analysing Ifá verses, Oluwole showed that they contain ethical reasoning, reflection on causality (cause and effect) and debate about human responsibility.

Her work entered into dialogue with broader debates in African philosophy. Thinkers like Benin’s Paulin Hountondji criticised the idea that African philosophy was only a collective worldview. They argued for critical and argumentative traditions. Oluwole demonstrated that such critical reasoning could also be embedded in oral forms.

A trailblazing woman

Oluwole’s work cannot be separated from her position as a woman. Philosophy remains one of the most male-dominated disciplines worldwide.

But Oluwole faced a double challenge. She was a woman in philosophy. She was also an African philosopher confronting Eurocentric standards.

She would become an increasingly public figure, making many TV appearances and speaking engagements, always spurring debate.

Why she matters today

The questions Sophie Oluwole raised remain pressing.

As calls to decolonise knowledge grow, universities around the world are rethinking what they teach. Yet change often focuses on adding authors to the syllabus. The deeper issue concerns the criteria used to define knowledge.

Oluwole’s work invites a more structural reflection. If philosophy is defined too narrowly, inclusion will remain limited. The definition of philosophy itself must be examined.

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Read more: Achille Mbembe on how to restore the humanity stolen by racism

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Her argument also speaks beyond Africa. Many indigenous knowledge systems continue to be marginalised because they are transmitted orally or embedded in ritual and narrative. They are treated as cultural heritage rather than intellectual production.

By defending the philosophical depth of Yoruba thought, Oluwole challenged this hierarchy. She showed that philosophy is not the property of one civilisation. It is a human practice shaped by different media and histories.

– Sophie Oluwole, the trailblazing Nigerian woman who redefined philosophy
– https://theconversation.com/sophie-oluwole-the-trailblazing-nigerian-woman-who-redefined-philosophy-277382

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Ellen Fungisai Chipango, Senior Research Associate, University of Johannesburg

Zimbabwe’s 2019 renewable energy policy envisions a transition to green energy in which women and men participate equally and benefit equitably.

But the real test of this promise lies in whether women and men have equal access to renewable energy and are able to use it for the tasks they most need to accomplish in their everyday lives.

As an energy justice researcher, I wanted to find out how residents, government officials and energy non-governmental organisations view gender (in)equality in the move to green energy.

I chose to interview people from Zingondi (a rural area in the Manicaland province of Zimbabwe) because this area offers a clear case of how renewable energy policy plays out in low-income, rural areas that are not connected to the national grid.

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I asked the people I interviewed what a truly equal and equitable energy policy would look like in practice. By equal, I mean giving women and men the same opportunities and access to energy. By equitable, I mean recognising that they often start from unequal social and economic positions, and that women may therefore need additional support (funds, training, or extra decision-making powers) to reach the same level of energy access and benefit as men.

There are about 39 households living in Zingondi. They are not connected to the national electricity grid. To cook, they use fuelwood and what’s left after crops are harvested (biomass). Many families live in thatched mud houses. When I visited, I saw that all families used solar lanterns. Some also had solar panels to charge phones and radios.

My research found that having such limited access to electricity did nothing to change traditional gender roles where women do a lot more unpaid work around the house than men. For example, women remained primarily responsible for cooking on fire. They also had very little control over new forms of solar energy (what to buy and how to fix it if it broke) as these decisions and actions were controlled by the men in the families.

Overall, women saw little change in their economic or decision-making power even though clean forms of energy had come into their lives.

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Read more: How socio-economic conditions shape renewable energy uptake in Zimbabwe

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My findings show that even new renewable energy is never neutral. It is shaped by power: who controls resources, who captures the benefits, and who remains excluded. Achieving gender equality in energy transitions needs more than introducing small solar devices or promising future grid access.

Zimbabwe’s energy policies must move beyond promises of gender equality in energy access and deliver real transformation on the ground. The country’s renewable energy policy commits to gender equality and women’s participation, but pays less attention to whether this is taking place.

If this change does not happen, new energy initiatives will simply prop up existing gender hierarchies which leave women at the bottom, rather than transforming women’s lives.

Solar power in rural Zingondi

Zingondi is a resettlement area (where land was redistributed under the fast-track land reform programme to small-scale farmers) whose households have three hectares of land each.

Most families there depend on small-scale farming to grow food. But they face problems of insecure land rights (they only have temporary licences to occupy the land), political disputes, and limited access to resources to develop their farms.

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Read more: Green energy for all: Zimbabwe will need a new social contract to roll out projects like solar power

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At first glance, the solar lanterns in every home, purchased by the residents, indicate that universal access to affordable, reliable and modern energy is being achieved. But when I asked women how solar energy had improved their lives, their responses were cautious.

First, many women were still cooking with firewood, because small solar devices can’t power electric stoves. One female participant observed:

When I am cooking using semi-dried wood, no one can even enter the kitchen because of the smoke. It is like a prison cell!

Second, they had little decision-making power over energy:

Solar gives men more power to control us in the home … if it’s not the money to buy the gadgets, such as solar lanterns, it’s how to use them, or it’s about when and where to buy a replacement.

Third, the quality of solar lanterns varied. Families that received remittances from relatives working in South Africa were able to afford higher-quality appliances. But poorer households could not. Cheap solar lanterns often overheated and “blew” after a short time. Paying for replacements placed financial strain on many women.

Fourth, having light at night made the working day for these rural women even longer:

Having a light bulb (solar lantern) means more work to cover, not to relax. The reason is: I am a woman!

Women also reported that their husbands did not allow them to travel to renewable energy meetings where they could learn more about solar power.

Some women hid small amounts of money from their husbands to avoid conflict or to retain some financial autonomy for buying electricity later – known in ChiShona as kusungirira mari muchiuno (“to tie money around the waist”). But because these savings were hidden, the women couldn’t spend them on larger or more reliable solar energy systems.

What needs to happen next

Zimbabwe’s energy transition must make sure that women are not just passive recipients of energy infrastructure but active participants in shaping how energy is accessed, used and managed.

Women begin from unequal positions. So energy policies must tackle the question of the power relations that shape who controls resources within households and communities.

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Read more: Zambia’s forest communities need finance for solar power – so they don’t have to cut down trees to pay for it

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Zimbabwe’s energy policy emphasises women’s inclusion and solar entrepreneurship. However, its largely market-driven approach means that only women who can afford solar systems benefit, leaving off-grid and marginalised communities like Zingondi excluded.

To make the policy truly transformative, the government could take these steps:

• introduce targeted subsidies, micro grants or low-interest loans for rural women

• support community-shared solar schemes

• set quotas for women in resettlement areas to participate in renewable energy schemes

• convene training in local areas where childcare is provided, so that women can participate

• set up mentorship programmes to strengthen women’s leadership and decision-making

• implement regular monitoring to ensure that women not only participate but also gain meaningful control over energy resources.

This is happening in other countries. In rural Bangladesh, women have been trained as solar technicians, and in Nepal, women have taken on leading roles in managing tiny, micro hydro plants.

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Read more: Why renewable energy won’t end energy poverty in Zimbabwe

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In India, government‑linked schemes such as the Ministry of New and Renewable Energy’s Women in Renewable Energy initiative provide training and business support that expand women’s participation in the energy sector.

Unless these changes are made, solar energy infrastructure will expand in rural Zimbabwe without expanding equality.

– Solar power in rural Zimbabwe hasn’t reduced women’s unpaid work: can policy do better?
– https://theconversation.com/solar-power-in-rural-zimbabwe-hasnt-reduced-womens-unpaid-work-can-policy-do-better-276287

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Meg A. Warren, Professor of Management, Western Washington University

Can pastors, imams and rabbis be allies to women and children and help stop gender-based violence?

Many wars have been fought in the name of religion. Much pain and dehumanisation has been inflicted on women and girls in the name of religious culture. So, it wouldn’t be surprising for there to be cynicism about the question.

But, in fact, a growing body of research shows that faith leaders can be powerful allies against social ills like gender-based violence.

As a social-organisational psychologist, I research how people use their strengths and the strengths of their culture to assist those who are suffering in their society.

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Read more: Sexual violence: a weapon of war in eastern Congo for more than 20 years

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My colleagues, Karen Torjesen and Grace Ngare, and I set out to study the impacts of a year-long intervention by religious leaders in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). The religious leaders had initiated a programme that they hoped would contribute to social change when it came to gender-based violence within marriage, gender roles in the family, and male allyship in the community.

Our study found that faith leaders could indeed be activated as champions of positive social change. They can activate entire communities – men and women – to come together to address gender-based violence. We found that the ripple effect can endure and extend well beyond initial efforts.

A history of violence

The Second Congo War (1998–2003) was one of Africa’s deadliest civil wars, claiming as many as 3 million lives.

Systematic rape was wielded as a weapon of war. The DRC earned the unfortunate label of “rape capital of the world”. Internally displaced women and girls were viewed by armed militia as soft targets.

From the 2000s, boys in the DRC who had been recruited as child soldiers were returning home as young adults. They had been taught that women were no more than “spoils of the war”.

Without the support of therapy, they had to reintegrate into their families and live among their mothers, aunts and sisters, and start their own families. Predictably, gender-based violence was rampant.

Ending it was a clear goal for the health and stability of civil society.

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Read more: I was a child soldier – here’s what it’ll take to protect young lives in conflict zones

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At the same time, women were reluctant to report the men who raped them. In addition to cultural norms of silence and shame around sexual violence, they did not want to have their brothers, sons and husbands locked up in prison. The community had to find another means to restore women’s safety and well-being while also protecting the fabric of their society.

In a context of crumbling infrastructure, the people who truly understood the extent of the rape and violence against women were not the police or other authorities. Rather, it was the quiet presence of the church pastors and the wives of the imams that the women confided in.

The pastors and imams decided to use their influence to teach congregants about healthy interpersonal relationships – where respect, gender equity, nonviolence and empowerment were key.

The Tamar Campaign

In 2013, their three-year initiative, the Tamar Campaign, was delivered directly and through spin-off efforts to more than 30,000 people across multiple cities and villages in the DRC. Participants each attended the programme for about a year.

Created by the Fellowship of Christian Councils and Churches in the Great Lakes and the Horn of Africa, this was an interfaith, inter-organisational effort to combat gender-based violence through the use of scriptures and the engagement of communities. It was named after the story of the rape of Tamar in the Old Testament – a common thread across Christianity, Islam and Judaism – in which a daughter of King David was raped by her brother.

Because of toxic gender norms around what it meant to be a man, the men returning from war had not learned how to identify their own emotions, how to speak about their emotions, or how to see the emotions of others and work with them.

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Read more: The war after the war: How violence is passed down through generations

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The goal was to use stories from scripture as the entry point to teach men how to be better allies to women and girls. In the story of Tamar, for example, rape combines elements of incest, domestic violence and the conspiracy of men. When Tamar sought help after being raped, she was told to be quiet. This displays the culture of silence around such acts.

In each monthly session run by the faith leaders, scriptural stories were introduced as an entry point to openly discuss gender-based violence within a mixed-gender setting. They lifted the shroud of silence in a sacred and safe space, often a house of worship. Next, participants discussed gender-based violence in their own families and the community. They talked about how they could become agents of change.

In the process, in monthly group sessions of 25 or so people, the programme sought to teach socio-emotional skills, detoxify notions of masculinity, deepen understanding between men and women, strengthen their relationships, and develop action plans for healing, repair and allyship.

The study

My research team evaluated the effectiveness of this intervention four years later. In a field study, a survey was given to Tamar participants, and matching control groups in North and South Kivu.

We found that those in the programme had a 50%-85% lower incidence of violence, with larger drops in violence in North Kivu compared to South Kivu. It was a dramatic success story.

This tremendous drop in violence happened after many earlier interventions to address the problem had failed. Typical advocacy-based interventions failed because women worried that even if they became better at advocating for themselves, the fabric of society would disintegrate – the women would be beaten, ousted from their community, and lose their children. Their only choice seemed to be silence – unless the intervention wasn’t about the women at all, but about turning the men into their allies.

My team studied the results, including the effects on the participants’ marital relationships. We found, amazingly, that their relationships were better than when women had remained silent. There were accounts of women and men communicating and dealing with emotional issues with respect, rather than derision.

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Read more: Women activists in the DRC show how effective alliances can be forged

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Long after the funding had ended, other groups and communities who had heard about the programme borrowed the Tamar curriculum, with positive results. The allyship was still spreading and still having an impact. Community members were intervening when they saw violence occur among their neighbours or their extended family. They were being allies out in the world, not just for their own partner or immediate families.

This offers one example of how cultural phenomena like religion can be a resource to combat large, complex and entrenched societal problems. Congolese participants were drawing on their strength, building relationships, prioritising healing, and thinking in the long term to shift a toxic culture from the inside out.

– Faith leaders joined the fight against woman abuse in the DRC. Did it help?
– https://theconversation.com/faith-leaders-joined-the-fight-against-woman-abuse-in-the-drc-did-it-help-277270