Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s critique of everyday chivalry during a 2018 interview reignited a long-simmering debate about the shape and soul of feminism in Africa. Her remarks targeting gestures like door opening for women as symbols of patriarchal condescension offended some, emboldened others, and exposed a wider ideological friction between imported gender norms and indigenous African values.
As African societies evolve under the push-pull of globalisation, a deeper question emerges: Can a feminist ideology shaped mainly in the West be seamlessly transplanted onto African soil? Or does it risk becoming a form of cultural overreach, undermining the very women it claims to uplift? At stake is not just gender justice but cultural sovereignty, historical continuity, and Africa’s geopolitical agency in defining its path to equality.
When Values Clash Across Continents
When Adichie rejected the idea of prioritising “women and children” during emergencies as a symbol of perceived female fragility, she was not merely calling out outdated chivalry; she was challenging a broader worldview. But to many Africans, these actions are less about patriarchal oppression than about Ubuntu: the shared ethic of mutual care that affirms dignity across all genders.
To label such customs as oppressive, critics argue, is to mistake cultural codes of respect for tools of subjugation. As Professor Thandi Ndlovu of the University of Cape Town observes,
“Adichie’s fire is useful, but so is the village that tempers it.”
She adds,
“Not every tradition is a shackle. Some are simply shoes worn too long still useful, just in need of resizing, not disposal.”
This distinction matters. Feminism that does not understand cultural nuance risks alienating the very women it seeks to uplift. “Respect isn’t weakness,” many African voices insist, it’s a living language passed through generations.
Long before feminism became a Western export, African women led their movements of resistance and reform. The 1929 Aba Women’s Revolt in Nigeria, for instance, was not sparked by any foreign ideology, but by indigenous women challenging colonial imposition and taxation. These women wielded collective power rooted in ancestral structures, market queens, matrilineal councils, and elderwomen.
Similarly, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela’s legacy was not defined by any external feminist framework but by her defiant and maternal presence in the heart of a political storm. These women and many like them carved paths without needing to be told what liberation looked like.
As Comfort Ero, President & CEO of the International Crisis Group, puts it:
“Feminism should not be a Western export. It must be an African conversation, rooted in our realities.”
This rootedness makes all the difference. It means asking: What do liberation and dignity mean in an African context? Who defines that standard, and who benefits when that definition is imposed from outside?
Adichie’s ideological stance aligned with gender revolution feminism, which leans heavily toward dismantling cultural frameworks seen as incompatible with full equality. But such purist positions can miss the complex social scaffolding that many African women negotiate daily.
Her rejection of symbolic acts like door-opening may ring true in abstract terms. Yet, as Dr. Nimi Wariboko, Professor of Social Ethics at Boston University, remarks:
“Tradition is not the enemy. The enemy is inequality dressed in the costume of culture.”
For many African women, tradition provides not just structure but recognition. These frameworks can simultaneously nurture and restrict, making it essential to distinguish between patriarchal imposition and communal identity. “The river that forgets its source will one day run dry,” as the proverb goes, and so too does a feminism that forgets its cultural soil.
Geopolitics Of Gender: From Brics To Bantustans
External actors increasingly influence Africa’s feminist debate. International aid packages, development loans, and policy benchmarks often come bundled with gender provisions rooted in Euro-American frameworks. This raises questions about ideological sovereignty.
In contrast, BRICS nations have shown varying models of gender progress. Brazil’s legal shifts, India’s women-led rural cooperatives, and South Africa’s constitutional commitments reveal diverse routes to inclusion. However, much of Francophone Africa still wrestles with colonial civil codes, echoes of Napoleonic patriarchy that legalise male dominance in households.
According to Moky Makura, Executive Director at Africa No Filter,
“You can’t empower women by ignoring the ecosystem they live in.”
Makura’s warning is poignant: Africa’s feminist future can’t be downloaded like software. It must be built line by line, code by code, with an understanding of the cultural OS it runs on.
This infographic captures the ideological friction between African and Western feminism, two frameworks shaped by distinct histories and worldviews. African feminism, rooted in Ubuntu, emphasises community, cultural continuity, and social harmony, often advocating change without severing ties to tradition. In contrast, Western feminism foregrounds individual autonomy, rights-based liberation, and resistance to patriarchal norms, often through confrontational activism. As Africa navigates gender justice, these paradigms collide and converge, raising questions about authenticity, universality, and cultural sovereignty. The infographic serves as a visual prompt for deeper reflection on how feminism is framed, practised, and politicised across Africa and the global stage.
The Path Ahead: Reform, Not Rejection
African feminism is undergoing a generational shift. No longer content to mimic external blueprints, it’s beginning to reimagine feminism as something deeply interwoven with heritage and social texture. It is a quiet revolution not just in what feminism fights against, but in what it chooses to honour.
Legal scholar Sylvia Tamale has long argued for “cultural intelligence” in feminist discourse, an approach that respects plural identities and the communal realities in which African women operate. Such a framework does not soften the call for justice; it simply tunes it to a frequency local ears can hear.
As Comfort Ero reminds us again:
“Feminism must reflect our lives, not rewrite them.”
That reflection is what gives African feminism its power. Not because it is deferential, but because it is deliberately contextual, deliberately collective, and intentionally complex.
What emerges from this ideological tug of war is a map that charts a path not between East and West, but between memory and momentum. The challenge for African feminism is not to choose one over the other, but to stitch them together with wisdom and care.
This matters for governments seeking gender equity legislation, for NGOs structuring aid, and for corporations navigating workplace policies. It matters for village councils and cabinet rooms alike. At its best, feminism can help unlock potential; at its worst, it can fracture communities when divorced from cultural dialogue.
As Chimamanda Adichie’s words continue to resonate in salons, Twitter threads, and academic journals, they remind us that feminism in Africa is not a monologue. It is a roundtable where history, culture, economy, and identity all have a seat.
The loudest voice may stir the dust, but it is the shared voice, the communal chorus that tills the soil for real change.
