SAY MY NAME
Say My Name, is
a documentary film set in the multicultural inner-city
communities of London, New York City and Atlanta. It
tells the stories of female MC's and R n B singers, and
the women that they inspire. The story is built around
narratives from these entrepreneurs- mothers-artists
who are fighting to be themselves in a society that
creates few chances for women. The film is now in its
final stages of post-production, and will premiere in
the next festival season.
SAY MY NAME AFRICA
Say My Name
Africa is a
feature length documentary currently being filmed.
Mamamess is focusing the lens on the lives of young women in urban Africa, centering on female vocalists and MC's. We will be filming their daily experiences across the lower-income landscapes of Africa, including Luanda, Abidjan and Johannesburg.
We will portray the issues these young women face, from economic concerns to HIV, equal rights, education and identity. We will honor the linguistic diversity of Africa by celebrating the feminine lyrical expression of the young artists we meet. By shedding light on THEIR perspective, we will portray the strength of these women in the face of adversity.
Our ultimate goal is to create a film that will provide a stage from which to inspire other young women. To promote the final project, we will create an awareness campaign (posters and a book) as we go.
Mamamess is focusing the lens on the lives of young women in urban Africa, centering on female vocalists and MC's. We will be filming their daily experiences across the lower-income landscapes of Africa, including Luanda, Abidjan and Johannesburg.
We will portray the issues these young women face, from economic concerns to HIV, equal rights, education and identity. We will honor the linguistic diversity of Africa by celebrating the feminine lyrical expression of the young artists we meet. By shedding light on THEIR perspective, we will portray the strength of these women in the face of adversity.
Our ultimate goal is to create a film that will provide a stage from which to inspire other young women. To promote the final project, we will create an awareness campaign (posters and a book) as we go.
ABOUT THIS BLOG
Angola
Kuduru girls
CATEGORIESKUDURU
Kuduru
music rises up from the streets of Luanda. It’s an
intense mix of hard beats and LOUD Portuguese vocals
accompanied by a fast and sensual hip-swinging dance.
In Rangel we meet a group of pioneering female Kuduro artists known as “Kudurista” (Kuduristas): Nayo Crazy, Gata Agressiva, Foffando, Noite e Dia, Propia Alicia, Damaida and Jani.
They’re tough girls, outspoken and scantily dressed. They might not have education or money but they’re armed with plenty of attitude and style. In the male-dominated world of Kuduru, these women hold their own ground. I experienced a fascinating and challenging relationship with all of them.
On the day we saw Noio Crazy recording in a small studio she delivered a free flow of tough shouting over a rough beat: the volume that this little women creates is astounding. There is no money in Kuduru, you are only as big as your last track. When a Kuduru artist performs, you see how their energetic form of expression demands - and gets - attention and respect.
In Rangel we meet a group of pioneering female Kuduro artists known as “Kudurista” (Kuduristas): Nayo Crazy, Gata Agressiva, Foffando, Noite e Dia, Propia Alicia, Damaida and Jani.
They’re tough girls, outspoken and scantily dressed. They might not have education or money but they’re armed with plenty of attitude and style. In the male-dominated world of Kuduru, these women hold their own ground. I experienced a fascinating and challenging relationship with all of them.
On the day we saw Noio Crazy recording in a small studio she delivered a free flow of tough shouting over a rough beat: the volume that this little women creates is astounding. There is no money in Kuduru, you are only as big as your last track. When a Kuduru artist performs, you see how their energetic form of expression demands - and gets - attention and respect.
gata agressiva
CATEGORIESKUDURU
When I first met Gata it seemed like she had nothing going on in her life but her next Kuduru gig. After spending a little time with her, she grew into a fully-fledged woman: a 28-year-old mother to a beautiful girl, she is back in evening school and determined to win a diploma so she can be “somebody”.
For now, Kuduru is her income and way out. She’s trying to get paid gigs, get recorded and land herself a hit song. I see her putting up a big front: she drinks a lot, shouts and adopts an attitude as she struggles to be taken seriously in order to make a buck. She hustles everyone, including me, for whatever she thinks she can get. She’s trying not be used again, trying to make it.
Most people here think that Kuduru is directly connected to crime. Gata tells me that, like hip-hop, Kuduru is a genre of music with a specific scene: although some crews are gang affiliated, some aren’t.
I salute this young woman for having the ambition, talent and power to do what she does. What confuses me is that many of the Kuduru artists I meet seem to be unaware of the sheer power of their music. Gata is the perfect example of this – given the choice, she would love to sing Zouk (tropical rhythmic music from the French Caribbean islands. “Zouk” means “party” in French Creole).
kinguilas
CATEGORIESTRADE
When you come to Luanda, you need to change money to the local coin, kuansas (KZ). This money is only valid in Angola where, thanks to crazy growth and unstable inflation, the rates change daily.
Anna, Marsha, Bell and Cat sit on the street-side everyday chatting amongst themselves, and waving money as they call out their exchange service to everyone who passes by.
These women are known as “Kingilas”, which comes from the verb ‘to wait’. They sit with their wads of cash on street corners and under buildings, ready and waiting to exchange money. Being a Kingila is a tradition - everybody uses their services.
These women tell us that they do it because they have no choice – that there is no work for women. It’s a story we’ve heard before.
These days, the KZ is stronger than the USD and Luanda is as expensive for us as Amsterdam is - in every way. The Kingilas are the authority on the rate: they know, and everybody takes their word. They make around 100 KZ on every transaction.
And I keep thinking: here we are in the dangerous streets of Luanda, and women are moving around with large amounts of cash, dealing in money, making money and they know how to protect themselves. Sounds empowering to me.
Peixeiras // Fisher Girls
CATEGORIESTRADE
At sunrise each day, these women make their way to the harbor to buy the fresh fish. They gather around the boats, negotiating with the fishermen and then clean and arrange their fish on the beach. They have to pay a local guy to use his plastic groundcover, and so that he’ll help them put their load on their heads when it’s ready.
When we showed up to film, not everyone liked it. There was a general feeling that we would show the world a helpless or ugly picture of Luanda. It’s a familiar story in this city and I respect it, but sometimes it borders on the fact that people don’t want to show reality.
They’re Independent entrepreneurs, working long days and supporting their families. Many of them carry their babies with them - occasionally breast-feeding as they work. Just like wonder woman.
Maria is 28-years-old. When I ask why she does this she tells me that she had to give up her education because there was no money. She has 4 kids to feed and this is the only thing she can do.
She talks to us while arranging the fish in a big bucket. When she’s done, she pays the guy and he helps her put the heavy bucket of fish on her head. Then she walks back to the road where the fisher girls are all busy trying to grab a cab back to one of Luanda’s many markets.
Zungueiras
CATEGORIESTRADE
Every day we wake to the sound of roaring traffic, the rumble of construction, the babble of people talking, and women’s voices singing out long names. Their calls lend a sweet melody to the morning din, and we soon learn that these are the “Zungueiras” announcing their wares. The word "Zungueiras" derives from the verb to walk and these women walk all day, selling whatever it is that they have to sell.
Karina
Karina is one of the only Angolan models to have had success outside of Angola. Spending time away gave her a fresh perspective on things, and she founded her own model agency when she returned home.
Although she doesn't complain, she is clearly struggling to be taken seriously and make the money she should. A woman that makes her money from her looks is not seen as a strong business model in Angola yet. She runs her agency from her two-bedroom apartment in Mianga, the trendy and upcoming soho-like hood of Luanda. Her place is full of tall, skinny and almost naked girls, gay guys and maids - it's a happy band of people.
Many women look up to Karina, who's seen as something of a controversial character. It's her birthday today, and she lets us in on the fact that she's 22. Not a girl anymore, a woman. She is busy baking small cakes from a simple recipe of water, flower, sugar, eggs and baking powder
As she measures out the amounts with her hands, she tells us how she used to bake these same cakes to make money. Everyday, she'd divide them into little bags of ten cakes and hawk them for 50 KZ, which is a little less than one USD.
As she reminisces about her days selling cakes, I can't help but think about how people call women by what they sell and wonder, what did they call her, “Cookie”? No matter, now everybody knows her name.
Vanuza
Vanuza is a pedicurist at a local beauty center. It's a big place, with a bar and a hair salon as well. She talks with a soft voice, her high cheekbones and charming smile popping out from behind a big foot as she washes, scrubs and scrapes.
People know that HIV can be passed on though badly sanitized pedicure tools, and the owner of the big foot talks about it patiently. To my question about prevention and the use of condoms she answers: "I just pray you don't catch it, you never know where you might catch it..."
Vanuza thinks there are enough awareness campaigns about HIV around - that the TV shouts about it all day long. Nevertheless, she still thinks it's almost impossible for an Angolan woman to ask her man to wear a condom. She tells us that if a woman does ask, the man is likely to think that something is wrong or just ignore the request. She looks smart and empowered and all the while she is telling us that women essentially don't have any say in the matter. She has one son, who she swears she will teach to use condoms. All the time.
Rose
CATEGORIESHAIR
Rose runs a hair salon in a small room on a rundown street in Rangel - one of Luanda’s ghettos. She began her tiny shop together with her sister and sister-in-law a couple of years ago. In the face of a severe lack of jobs, especially for women, they decided to go for it.
We came to Rose's hair saloon with Kuduro artist Gata Agressiva, and ended up shooting a vivid and vibrant girl talk about womanhood. Why do 50% of women in Angola drop out of school? Why doesn’t anyone use contraception? Why does everyone get pregnant but no one get married? What about HIV?
Gata told us that most women share their man, and most men have children from lots of different women. “That’s just the way it is”, said one girl.
During the conversation, Rose had been hanging in the background doing her own thing. She has a wise face and calm energy: although she said nothing, you could see she was thinking something. Once we focused the lens on her, she stole the show. Unlike most people, she didn’t even blink when I directed questions at her: "Its not the way it is, it’s the way we’ve become….” She feels the girls, but finds them loud and clueless. "Something needs to change for young women in this neighborhood, we need to talk to them; we need to talk, talk, talk. Even here when I do their hair and I hear them talk about these situations I try to interfere in their conversations and ask them why - try make them aware."
Marcela Costa
Marcela is a local artist, who runs a gallery and workshop on the ‘ilia’ (by the seaside) of Luanda. Contemporary art is hard to find in Angola: it doesn’t score nearly as high on the list of desirables as American cars, fancy restaurants or big shopping malls. Art isn’t valued as a leisure activity, a financial investment, or as a means of expression.
She is older than most of the women I’ve met so far and has vivid memories of the war. She shares her pain and opinions more openly than most Angolan people I’ve encountered and tells me something of the bloodshed and brutality she encountered: a mother with no arms or legs trying to breastfeed a baby… I had to ask her to stop as I found it hard to listen and my translator was stuttering.
Marcela believes art is a way to deal with the brutal effects of the war, and she teaches it to Luandan street youth. In one of her workshops a traditional percussionist trained 9 girls between the ages of 9 and 18 to play. She tells us that what these girls have been through is so terrifying that even she doesn’t ask too much about it.
Olivia Banana
CATEGORIESTRADE
I don't know much about this woman, except for her name and her sweet bananas. She sold them to me with a sweet smile. There are lots of women like her running about Luanda: they carry kilos of fruit, vegetables or other stuff that they have to sell on their heads. People call them by whatever they sell. So they call this woman“banana”. But her name is Olivia.
Helia
The first woman we meet in Luanda is 18-year-old Helia. She’s a very smart and eloquent young lady. As we were introduced she proudly declared that her birthday on the 8th of March is ‘International Women's Day’…
She is from a fairly privileged part of Luanda. She’s had a great education in South Africa, and is very ambitious. A fluent English speaker, she will be our translator for the next 20 days. Her energy is completely girly, completely loveable - gorgeous.
With her apparently privileged background, I find myself wondering how sheltered she is. If she is, how will she deal with the kind of risky ghetto situations we could encounter on our shoots…we’ll just have to wait and see.