I wish this were written in Rutooro or Swahili, alas! I am constrained to make do with that which was ‘loaned’. However, I must state the deliberate infusion of colloquial contraptions into this essay, for that is the way of post-colonies. It is how we can fully own ‘loaned goods’. When this year began, I had no clue that I would end up writing an essay in honour of a living icon, who has doubled as my role model ever since my father handed me her autobiography titled African Princess at age 11.
For context, I am now 41. Suffice to say that my father had bought the book in anticipation of giving birth to a girl who would be just like Elizabeth Bagaaya. As such, I was born on a tide of high hopes, with my father as the prophet, Bagaaya as the heroine and time as the talebearer.
When I ran into Edwin Mugisa Bitamazire aboard a flight from Singapore to Addis Ababa in October, it was by sheer happenstance or shall I call it fate. To start with, I was on an emergency trip for unforeseen contingencies, when I mistakenly sat on seat 34H instead of 39H. I was having a tête-à-tête with a friend, Ronit Golan, an environmentalist. Apparently, Edwin, had overheard our climate conversation, and the fact that I am a lawyer. At some point we got talking and once he introduced himself as Ugandan, I wanted to know if he was Mutooro. Had I sat on my allocated space, I probably would never have met Edwin and this article would never have surfaced. This was born out of that fortuitous meeting on the way to Addis Ababa, the open-mindedness and industry of Edwin as well as the fact that time had decided to finally tell its tale.
Dream born at a tender age
As a precocious 11-year-old, I had only come in contact with Nigerian writers such as Wole Soyinka, Chukwuemeka Ike, Chinua Achebe, J.F Odunjo. I had also read Geoffrey Chaucer, Shakespeare, Rider Higgins and Agatha Christie. Bagaaya’s book was my first taste of non-Nigerian African books. I was fascinated by the side view of the photo of a particularly beautiful African woman.
To me, she was the most beautiful African woman I had ever seen. Even prettier than my really pretty mother. However, it was her words which drew me in. Little did I know that I had embodied those words and they had become lenses through which I interpreted the world as an educated African woman. In that book, there were photos of her attending UN conferences with her magnificently threaded hair and dignified composure. What I continuously glean from the book is that confidence does not have to be pompous or aggressive. It can be kind yet firm, professional yet sit ever so pretty.
In 2022, when I started out at Leiden University, the Netherlands, Bagaaya’s book once again became a constant companion because suddenly being African was a big deal. I was one of the two black women in our Master’s programme of more than 120 students. And, I felt a lot of pressure, similar to what she describes in her book. I am on all fours with her idea about Africa owning its own civilisational process without having to duplicate western models.
I, also totally agree with her views on femininity which frown upon the idea of subjecting women to unnecessary rigour with the hope of making them as strong as men. A woman is already strong in her own way and is able to create lasting impact while being herself as Bagaaya so beautifully embodied in her working years. From the tales of what it meant to grow up as a princess in the Tooro Kingdom, to the pressure of being a good example as the only black female law student at Cambridge, to her modelling career, to her ordeals in the hands of Idi Amin, to her romance with her husband and her ambassadorial duties
Impression
There is a thread that runs through all – her witty sense of humour. One of my favourite paragraphs in the book is one in which she talks about her husband, who while taking his marriage vows, mentioned all his worldly possessions, which she said comprised just a few boxes and an old car. That part cracks me up every time. It is rare in today’s world to find highly influential women with the ability to retain any simplicity, much less a sense of humour.
As a lawyer, I have had to walk in similar shoes, and I can boldly say that because of her example, I have had the tools not just to survive, but to thrive through different challenges in my personal life and career.
In appreciation of so much guidance and mentoring through her book, the coming year will be dedicated to a project which I have christened ‘Bridging the Gap’. I envision it as a two-pronged project; first, to bridge the 50-year generational gap between Bagaaya’s generation and mine. My generation of women have the advantage of increased opportunities but require the necessary virtues to drive real impact with those opportunities, all of which Bagaaya embodies.
Secondly, I intend to bridge the East African-West African gap. As I discussed with Edwin, I find it weird that East Africans do not seem to promote their own culture as much as we do ours in West Africa. For one, I cannot mention any Ugandan or East African cuisine or native name top of mind! What East Africans need to understand is that the regional differences in perspectives are the necessary ingredients that drive massive change across continents.
Where the East downplays its own difference, there will be nothing for the rest of us to cross-fertilise and the continent will remain perpetually handicapped. Every single block, zone and country in Africa fits into one big puzzle. If the energy from any African country is missing, irrespective of how small its size might be, the impact will be felt by the whole. We are on the cusp of an African Renaissance and the only way to ensure that it is organic and therefore authentically African is to be intentional about intra-continental interactions.
Legacy
I dare say, Bagaaya’s life in its totality is a template for the quintessential African woman. Given the proliferation of several philosophies of femininity, African women appear to be in desperate need of direction. We should not have to seek that from without when we have treasures such as Bagaaya within. She has shown us that an African woman does not require an anti-men stance to make any impact, rather needs to be grounded in her unique identity, hold herself in dignity and collaborate with fellow (wo)men for the good of the community. Although the African woman is an individual, she is not excessively individualistic, but more focused on the collective good of her people.
Today, we celebrate a strong Ugandan presence in international law, in the persons of my Lords Julia Sebutinde and Solomy Balungi Bossa. I say ‘we’ because a win for Uganda is a win for Africa. In Africa, the emphasis will always be ‘we’ and never ‘I’. However, I doubt that their lordships would exist without Bagaaya having thrown the gates open for East African women. The work of a pioneer is tough, brutal, and often thankless.
They bear the scars of clearing out the stones so that those coming behind can glide. Therefore, we must never forget pioneers; they must not only be immortalised but also appreciated while they are alive. If she were Nigerian, elaborate ‘Owanbe’ plans for her 90th birthday by the Federal Government and Women Organisations would have commenced in earnest. Well, if it takes a three-time princess from Nigeria to say Yoroshikuonegaishimasu in Japanese, then so be it. I write in hope that this tribute will be read by Bagaaya herself.