Cultures of Representation: Disability in World Cinema Contexts

Revisiting Ousmane Sembène’s Xala (1975) and Camp de Thiaroye (1988)

Ken Junior Lipenga

Film scholar Manthia Diawara observes that one of the main trends in African filmmaking has been the recovery of various chapters of the continent’s history. In this fashion, African filmmakers have set on a journey of reclamation, re-presenting parts of the continent’s history with fresh perspectives. For most parts of the continent, this past is of the colonial encounter, and is therefore a source of bitterness, particularly due to the fact that this is a period whose records mostly exist in the form of archives created by the former colonisers. African filmmaking therefore has the potential to provide a counter-narrative to these often skewed versions of history. Diawara observes that many inhabitants of the continent view these films ‘with a sense of pride and satisfaction with a history finally written from an African point of view’ (1992: 152). Through the film medium, African filmmakers are able to revisit parts of their continent’s history that had previously been misrepresented or otherwise ignored.

Ousmane Sembène is one of the filmmakers whose output over the years has mainly been geared towards portraying various parts of African life that may not get the attention of Hollywood productions. In one interview, he expresses his hope that ‘young filmmakers assume their social responsibilities, that they become the voices of their peoples, of their time’ (in Niang et al. 1995: 177). I read this advice as being inclusive of the filmmaker’s responsibility for articulating the voice of those who are often unheard in their societies, including the oppressed or marginalised, the poor and the disabled. Sembène has done it with Pays in Camp de Thiaroye (The Camp at Thiaroye, 1988). Djibril Diop Mambéty has also done the same with the young Sili Laam in La petite vendeuse de soileil (The Little Girl Who Sold the Sun, 1999).

This chapter examines Sembène’s Xala (1975) and Camp de Thiaroye, focusing on the disabled figure in these films. Xala was first released as a film, followed by the novel in 1976. The plot of the two forms is similar to a large extent, with a few minor differences in that the novel features much more detailed characterisation – and a greater range of extra characters – than the film. As a result, although the main focus of this chapter is the film, I also include from the novel a few passages that emphasise points omitted in the film version. In Xala, the filmmaker employs the trope of disability as a tool for critiquing the neo-colonialist African leadership, whereas in Camp de Thiaroye, the disabled character presented is the sole individual whose perception of reality is clearer than that of his colleagues. A comparative study of the two films reveals Sembène’s portrayal of disability as at once a complex human experience, marked (and at times defined) by intersections with various historical and cultural phenomena – but also as a human experience that affords a novel reading of humanity on the continent.

The Disabled Body in African Film

From Martin F. Norden’s The Cinema of Isolation: A History of Disability in the Movies (1994) to the most recent edition of the Disability Studies Reader (2013), one would observe that scholars in the field hardly acknowledge that there is a huge output of African films that also serves as a platform for the representation of disability. The focus has been almost entirely on Hollywood as the source of filmmaking that deserves scholarly attention. This unfortunate neglect of non-Hollywood productions coincidentally mirrors the observation made by Chris Bell, who in his Swiftian satirical piece, points out that disability studies tends to focus on a limited field of works, which, through the attention by scholars in the field, are quickly forming into what might very well become a disability studies canon; the field ‘by and large focuses on the work of white individuals and is itself largely produced by a corps of white scholars and activists’ (2006: 275). These are the texts that to be found in various syllabi, programmes and readers of disability studies.

I would argue for the necessity of shifting the lens of disability studies towards African film because as a literary medium, cinema has the potential to do two things. Firstly, the filmic medium presents an opportunity to appreciate attitudes towards disability in various African communities, as they are reflected through the filmmaker’s vision. Patrick Devlieger argues that the ways in which various disabilities are understood in Africa is often surprising to scholars in the west, who often mistakenly assume a similarity in experiences of disability at a global level. He argues that in most African societies, disability is more of an ‘embedded concept’, to be understood not as being an individual experience, but rather one associated with the natural order, the social order and the cosmological order (2006: 695). In this regard, the causes of disability are often traced to relationships with ‘cosmologies and social worlds’ (Devlieger 1995: 104). This is a helpful way of thinking about the diversity of conceptions of disablement, and I will therefore return to it in the course of the discussion.

The second reason for this proposed shift in focus is that the work of some of these filmmakers challenges predominant misconceptions and stereotypes about disability. The close of the last decade saw the publication of two special issue journals that hint towards this shift. In 2007, there was a special issue of Wagadu, devoted to ‘Intersecting Gender and Disability Perspectives in Rethinking Postcolonial identities’. The other publication is the special issue of the Journal of Literary and Cultural Disability Studies (2010), which carried a number of articles and reviews devoted to exploring, among other things, the representation of disability in postcolonial spaces. These two journals mark a shift from a fixation on Western-produced texts, an indication of the realisation that the representation of disability is not limited to the Global North alone. This is a worthwhile endeavour, although there still remains a relative dearth on the analysis of filmic representation. Through theme, characterisation and style, African filmmakers have challenged the perpetuation of negative stereotypes that is often to be found in traditional forms, and have instead propagated a more contemporary vision that recognises the worth of the disabled individual as a person. The more recent the films, the more obvious this observation is, as is seen in films such as Raman Suleman’s Zulu Love Letter (2004) and Mahamat-Saleh Haroun’s GriGris (2013).

There are a number of African films that have employed disabled characters as a way of advancing the social mission of the directors. In her study, Jori de Coster makes this observation – focusing on semiotics – with respect to five films, including Xala, Wend Kuuni (God’s Gift, 1982), Gombele (1994), Keita (1995), La Petite Vendeuse de Soleil (1998) and Khorma (la betise) (Khorma: Stupidity, 2002). These five films merely represent the tip of the iceberg. There are yet many more which continue to highlight the links of disablement to the cosmic realm.¹

Xala: Impotence and the Disabled Body

Sembène’s Xala traces the plight of El Hadji Abdou Kader Beye, who is struck by the xala moments after marrying his third wife. It traces his downfall as he seeks a cure for the affliction of sexual impotence. For most critics, this downfall mirrors the failure of African leadership, which has been characterised by corruption, nepotism and greed. The world of Xala’s Dakar is therefore a microcosmic representation of the plight of many African countries at the dawn of independence.

Xala has gained its place in the canon of African literature and film not only due to its style and language, but also importantly for its treatment of a theme that had currency at the time of its release, when many countries had gained independence, and a few were just beginning to experience the disillusionment from their dreams of a better world. This issue has often been highlighted and has become so commonplace in the continent that it can hardly be commented on anymore. Fortunately a revisitation of the film in the light of emerging concerns such as the representation of disability brings to light new reasons for retaining it in the canon. The film is among the earliest representations of disability on the African continent, and this alone, in my opinion, merits a re-examination of the narrative.

My reading of Xala focuses on two levels of disablement. The first is El Hadji’s impotence, for which he becomes reviled by his family and colleagues. The second level of disablement is one which only has presence later in the film. This is the disablement that is shown in a group of beggars who hang around the city, and who are later presented as El Hadji’s direct antagonists and potential saviours. These are othered figures that are nevertheless empowered by the filmmaker.

Impotence is not a condition that is normally associated with disability. In most cases, it is regarded as a condition that can be remedied with various over-the-counter drugs and exercise regimens. In Xala, however, we can read it as a disability due to the way it affects El Hadji’s existence in the social environment. The social model of disability lays emphasis on the life of the individual within their society. Its very definition of disability has to do with the quality of life of the individual within this social environment. Due to his bodily condition, El Hadji finds himself othered in various ways in his community.

Various scholars have already identified the symbolic function of disability in Sembène’s works, including Xala. El Hadji’s impotence is often said to represent the impotence of the bourgeoisie who take over power from the colonials (see Gugler and Diop 1998: 147; Harrow 2004: 129; Mushengyezi 2004: 51). However, through an overlapping of disability with other concerns, bodily difference takes on additional significance that enables the reader/ viewer to appreciate how commonly held attitudes about disability give birth to other beliefs that affect our appreciation of the humanity of others. This chapter considers the supernatural dimensions implied in the film, in connection with disability. Within Africa, the evidence of disability as an embedded concept comes from its connection to the social order through ‘links between social behaviour and misfortune, e.g. through sorcery and witchcraft systems of belief, and marriage regulations’ (Devlieger 2006: 695). In the film, impotence is seen as a disability that is passed on in the form of a curse. This immediately links it to the supernatural order.

The film begins with the celebration of El Hadji’s third marriage. He is a successful businessman, a husband of two (soon to become three) wives, a father of a brood of children and an African who had played a key role in the ousting of the colonisers. These multiple roles serve to emphasise his position as an able-bodied individual in both the personal and social sense, which are important in this particular community. His children attest to his physical and sexual well-being. His generosity towards his wives and friends emphasises his role as a social benefactor. And although it appears to be at face value, his taking on of a third wife illustrates his position as a devout Muslim.

The first indication of the connection of the xala to the supernatural world appears in attempts to avoid it. On the wedding night, El Hadji is advised to undergo the traditional ritual of sitting on a mortar, with a pestle between his legs, a process which is meant to ensure his virility. This ritual must be understood as one of many that are usually meant to ward off malignant forces that might bring about undesirable bodily conditions. In this case, El Hadji is being encouraged to undergo a ritual that would ensure that he is not ‘disabled’ in the one part of his body that is deemed most crucial on his wedding night. Disability in this case then, is something that is partially defined by drawing on a Butlerian performative function. He must act in a particular way in order to prove his able-bodied stature. Incidentally, El Hadji is a man who regards himself as being civilised. As a result, he refuses to take part in the ritual, spurning it as a ‘ridiculous belief’. Describing this moment in the novel, Sembène writes that El Hadji ‘was sufficiently Westernized not to have any faith in all this superstition’ (1976: 20). The fact that he fails to achieve an erection soon afterward links – in the mind of the viewer – the two events. His failure to abide by traditional practice, which is linked to a long respected and observed social etiquette, is thus linked to the ‘malfunctioning’ of his body.

This association of the disability with supernatural powers gains more credence as various characters muse on the possible causes of the xala. The new wife’s aunt is the first to suggest that El Hadji could have been cursed by one of his older wives, jealous at his latest marriage. In a society that believes in witchcraft, such a possibility is not farfetched.

With these suspicions that the cause of the disablement is rooted in the supernatural, the next logical step is to seek countermeasures within the same realm. Modern disability studies does not promote the idea of ‘curing’ disabilities. Instead, the dominant rhetoric encourages addressing societies to take into account bodily differences and ensure access to various spaces that are available to other citizens. In many African communities, on the other hand, the rhetoric of cure is common. And the authorities in this field are the n’gangas, marabouts, sangomas and various other healers, most of whom profess a connection to a world beyond the earthly one. It is from this world that they derive powers with which they can reverse various human ailments and conditions. In the film, El Hadji consults a number of such healers, the first being one who divines with the help of cowrie shells.² This healer prescribes ‘holy water’ with which to bathe, a beadstring to wear around the waist, and an enchanted band to wear on the wrist. This prescription does not work, unsurprisingly, mostly because El Hadji’s new wife reacts in horror at the sight of her husband crawling towards her thus accoutred, an amulet firmly held between his teeth. The second marabout visited in the film is Serigne Mada. Again this description of the marabout as a holy person indicates the connection of disablement to the supernatural world. The possibility that the xala may be a psychological phenomenon is not entertained. Instead, the belief is that it is a condition which requires some form of divine intervention.

In considering the portrayal of disability in Xala, we must also turn to the beggars, most of whom have physical disabilities. These are a group of characters who are referred to as ‘human rubbish’ by El Hadji and as ‘undesirables’ by the police at the end of the film. The President of the Chamber of Commerce regards them as being ‘bad for tourism’. Sembène’s portrayal of these characters serves two functions. On the one hand, through them, he criticises the polarisation of modern society based on class and bodily appearance. In this regard, the beggars are closest in ideology and practice to Sembène himself, playing the role of ‘choric commentators or…surrogates for the filmmaker’ (Landy 1984: 42). They are means by which he conveys a critique not only of the postcolonial state, but also of ableist attitudes. On the other hand, Sembène unwittingly entrenches an association of disablement with villainy, since all suggestions point to the fact that the disabled person cursed El Hadji with the xala. This is where the portrayal of disability in the film coincidentally mirrors that of some earlier Hollywood films, in presenting the disabled character as having a link to dark, supernatural forces.

In Enforcing Normalcy, Lennard J. Davis observes that in most societies, the ‘able body is the body of a citizen’ whereas ‘deformed, deafened, amputated, obese, female, perverse, crippled, maimed, blinded bodies do not make up the body politic’ (1995: 71). Regarding the ways in which anomalous bodies are removed from the public space in Xala, sometimes violently, Davis’s argument indeed rings true. In this society, citizenship is marked by ability, and the police are there to guard against incursion into these ableist spaces. The image of the beggars in procession towards El Hadji’s home at the end of the film is therefore a powerfully projected challenge to this idea of citizenship. Within the public space, the disabled are deemed as not belonging, as misfits, confirming Rosemarie Garland-Thomson’s argument that ‘to misfit in the public sphere is to be denied full citizenship’ (2011: 601).

Sembène’s empowering of the disabled beggars occurs in tandem with their acquiring of greater and more forceful narrative presence. After they are deported from the city (at El Hadji’s behest), they make the long trek back to Dakar. This is one of the most moving scenes in the film, especially since it shows socio-economic differences by being in contrast with the opulence displayed in both the motorcade of the members of the Chamber of Commerce and the one that is part of El Hadji’s wedding procession (see Lindfors 1997: 69). The scene is additionally significant because it is one of those moments when the camera does not focus on El Hadji or anyone directly connected to him. It is also a scene only present in the film version of the narrative (see Gugler and Diop 1998: 150). Their return to the city is a long, drawn out series of shots where Sembène again permits the viewer to stare unreservedly at the disabled figures as they crest sand dunes, assisting each other, until they once again return to the city. This is one moment when an advantage of the film mode over the textual mode becomes evident – as Vartan Messier observes: ‘the visceral aesthetics of the film utilises the affective power of images to produce a lasting impression that transcends the immediacy of the represented historical context’ (2011: 2). Their return to the public spheres of the city mirrors their insertion into the visual field by Sembène, and significantly, their attaining of a vital level of primacy in the narrative. Just as the population of Dakar has to acknowledge the humanity of these characters, the viewer too is made to realise their presence and see their lives and social presence as significant.

Finally, we have to look to the figure of the beggar as one who confirms the supernatural nature of disablement in the film. At the end of the film, the leader of the beggars, Gorgui, reveals himself as the cause of the xala. He claims to have inflicted it on El Hadji, and consequently has the power to reverse it. This is a claim he makes after he leads his colleagues in a rather memorably dramatic entry into El Hadji’s home:

Leading the way, [Gorgui] pushed open the door, followed by his retinue […]. A legless cripple, his palms and knees covered with black soil from the garden, printed a black trail on the floor like a giant snail. Another with a maggoty face and a hole where his nose had been, his deformed, scarred body visible through his rags, grabbed a white shirt and putting it on admired himself in a mirror, roaring with laughter at the reflection of his antics. A woman with twins, emboldened by the others, tore open a cushion on the settee and wrapped one of her babies in the material. On the other cushion she rested a foot with a cloven heel and stunted toes. (1976: 108)

This claim, and the consequent belief, by most of the cast, confirms the supernatural element. According to Thomas Lynn, ‘if the beggar does impose the xala on El Hadji, he possesses a trait typically associated with folkloric and mythic tricksters, a trait that some other contemporary literary tricksters possess: magical power’ (2003: 186). The manifestation of such power takes place in the equally memorable scene where the disabled beggars spit on El Hadji as a way of curing him of the xala. This moment is identified as one of ‘ritual cleansing’ (see Pfaff 1982; Gugler and Diop 1998: 151). More significantly, it indicates a Bakhtinian inversion of authority, an unsettling of socially constructed difference, when ‘Sembène reminds the viewer of the fact that the modern and traditional, power and vulnerability, rich and poor, are intricately intertwined’ (Devlieger and de Coster 2009: 160). As a gesture with ‘spiritual, moral and physical regenerative function – a rite of passage from one state of being to another’ (Pfaff 1982: n.p.), the saliva ‘bathing’ can be interpreted as a type of christening or initiation, establishing an inescapable link between him and them.

There is an obvious problem with the characterisation of the beggars as the source of the disablement here. Sembène is in a way promoting the association of physical disability with villainy and/or supernatural power. In Camp de Thiaroye, on the other hand, his portrayal of disability takes on a different level of significance, mostly due to the intertwining of disability and racism.

Camp de Thiaroye: Disability as Special Insight

Ato Quayson’s book, Aesthetic Nervousness (2007), always brings to mind Vladimir Propp’s attempt to establish a classification which would reflect the rules on which Russian fairy tales were constructed. Similarly, Quayson devises a ‘thematic typology of the numerous representations of disability, both physical and otherwise, that obtain in literature’ (2007: 36). He observes that one of the most common images of disabled characters is of them ‘as bearers of superior insight…disability as inarticulable and enigmatic tragic insight’ (2007: 49). The association of disability with special insight or vision is to be found in various other societies. What is fresh in Quayson’s analysis is the recognition of the failure to articulate such insight. This is an observation that rings true with the portrayal of Pays in Sembène’s Camp de Thiaroye.

Pays is not necessarily the central character in the film. However, his presence and experiences make him a focaliser for various threads of discrimination witnessed in the film, including the implied violence that the soldiers have experienced in the war, and the racist violence that they endure. In spite of being labelled the mad man, ‘his derangement, however agonizing to him, has locked onto the truth in a way that not one of the other African protagonists [in the film] has succeeded in doing’ (Downing 1996: 210). This is why Quayson’s notion of disability as tragic insight is extremely relevant. Pays is privy to a truth that he only shares with the viewer, thus deepening the emotional tie constructed with this particular character.

What makes the portrayal of this character even more tragic are the ableist attitudes expressed by Pays’ colleagues. In their presence, Pays finds filial acceptance, reflecting the argument that in colonial societies, ‘the need to objectify and distance the “Other” in the form of the madman or the leper, was less urgent in a situation in which every colonial person was in some sense, already “Other”’ (Vaughan 1991: 10). In spite of their acceptance of him as one of their own, the other soldiers nevertheless speak of Pays as a ‘cracked’ individual, referring to his mental instability. This shows that their acceptance of him is tainted by an ableist mentality, and this attitude disables him more than anything else. All these soldiers have experienced violence on the battlefield. Pays, however, has suffered even more, having lost his faculty of speech, and according to most of his colleagues, his mind. Violence is therefore central to his disablement, and possibly also contributes to his mistrust of the white man. As the end of the film indicates, this mistrust is well-founded.

The special position accorded to the disabled character in this film can be further appreciated through a close look at his name. Sembène’s choice for this character’s name is deliberate, and further illustrates his centrality to the narrative. The word pays means ‘country’ or ‘land’ in French. Sembène explains in an interview that it is actually meant to refer to the entire continent:

Pays is Africa. He has been abused and traumatized. He can’t talk. He is alive, he can look and see, he can touch, and he can see the future. He is the beholder of the drama of the past, on the concentration camps of colonization, very disciplined, very alone, very solitary, but he can’t express it. (in Owoo 2008: 29)

The name therefore has connotations of homeland. It indicates how Pays strengthens the theme of belonging that is evoked by the soldiers’ presence in Dakar. The greatest irony is reflected in the fact that the one person whose name is associated with home is the one who is the most restless at the camp, the one who feels least at home. In one memorable scene, Corporal Diarra attempts to allay Pays’ fears by pouring soil into his hand and telling him: ‘Here we are on African soil, you are no longer a prisoner.’ Seen in this light, Pays’ name is ironic, since the camp strongly evokes memories of imprisonment in him. Another dimension of this irony emerges from the realisation that Pays is the only black soldier with a French name. The French policy of assimilation ideally extended citizenship to its colonial subjects. The name ‘Pays’ evokes this idea of citizenship, with France as the mother country. Having a French name would naturally suggest that Pays is the most likely to identify France as the mother country, yet he is the one bearing the deepest mistrust of the French – a point that is also reflected in his defiant donning of the German SS helmet, a visual motif with which he ‘effectively “dons” the mantle of opposition to French rule in Africa’ (Murphy 2000: 164). The disabled Pays embodies the trauma of the African people caused by colonialism; the continent that has been ‘abused and traumatised’. Representing all of them, he nevertheless remains the most isolated.

Pays’ disablement has occurred as a result of horrors witnessed at Buchenwald, a fact that is made evident to the viewer on Pays’ first appearance. In this scene, he seems shocked by the similarity of the camp at Thiaroye to the concentration camp at Buchenwald. Fear is clearly indicated on his face, even as he traces his fingers along the wire fence, as if to confirm this unwelcome reality. The comparison is cemented later by flashbacks of people shot and killed whilst attempting escape from German concentration camps. With regard to the material nature of his disability (as opposed to its symbolic significance), Pays is among those that Cindy LaCom calls ‘doubly colonized’ (2002: 138). She decries postcolonial scholarship’s disregard for ‘that colonized subject who is Other in terms of body and voice…made doubly Other by means of her disability’ (ibid.). LaCom’s focus is on characters like Pays, and it is significant that she notes the two spheres of oppression that affect such characters. Pays’ body, therefore, is a site upon which various kinds of disablement are constructed.

In the colonised and disabled person, one finds a character potentially facing different types of marginalised experience. Such is the position of Pays. On the one hand, Pays is ‘different’ on the basis of his mental disability, and on the other, he is the quintessential African othered by people like Captain Labrousse and the other white French officers. LaCom offers one unique way of reading the colonised disabled body. Drawing on Homi Bhabha’s The Location of Culture, LaCom interprets such bodies as crucially informing what Bhabha calls ‘the third dimension’, which is the in-between region that emerges once the Self/Other binary opposite is disrupted. She argues that ‘the disabled body multiplies the possible terms of disavowal for both the colonizer and the colonized; because disability can be a more evident signifier even than the color of one’s skin, it becomes a visual means by which to define normalcy and, by extension, nation’ (2002: 140). This is a compelling argument, emphasising the point that disability is sometimes used to define normalcy. But in this case, it is not only the disability that is the visual marker of difference – the man’s skin colour is also visible. This perspective therefore highlights the ‘doubly colonised’ position that the disabled character occupies in the colonial state.

LaCom’s perspective can still be applied to a reading of Pays’ position in Camp de Thiaroye. As one of the tirailleurs, he is among those ‘ambiguous figures…viewed both as agents of French colonialism…and also as its victims, especially in relation to World War I and II, in which the tirailleurs gave their lives for the metropolitan “homeland”, only to discover their status as mere colonial subjects once the war was over’ (Murphy 2007: 57–8). Existing in this already ambiguous role, Pays’ position is further rendered ambivalent by his relationship with his colleagues, which is simultaneously one of acceptance and denigration. For this reason, Pays experiences a unique form of disablement from his fellow soldiers. Although he is not fully one of them, his presence as a ‘cracked’ person enables his colleagues to affirm their normalcy (their ‘wholeness’), and by extension, their humanity and dignity against their oppressors. Pays’ ambivalent position therefore reflects the complexity of the character’s role, while also problematising any attempt to categorise him in the neat slot of ‘colonial subject’, since – as Ania Loomba observes – madness is ‘a transgression of supposed group identities’ (1998: 139).

This discussion of Camp de Thiaroye is an attempt to locate the film among other texts that can be seen as depicting ‘the transgressive potential of different bodies’ (LaCom 2002: 138). Interestingly, it is not Pays who changes in the film, but rather the viewer’s assessment of him. As opposed to other film protagonists who develop in the course of the narrative, Pays’ steadfast position, even as he is ridiculed by both his colleagues and the white French officers, remains in the mind of the viewer even after the credits have rolled past. His body is thus positioned as a site where different spaces of marginalisation are played out and challenged. This is because, due to his vigilance and ambivalent position, Sembène portrays him as perhaps the most ‘able’ character in the film, forcing the viewer to re-examine assumptions associated with disability. Just like he does with Xala, Sembène presents a memorable climax to Camp de Thiaroye. In the latter film, this moment occurs when the soldiers are massacred in a spectacular example of overkill at the end, when tanks and artillery are used to suppress the tirailleurs’ uprising. It is a scene that reveals an uncanny similarity to Xala in the depiction of an attempt to erase the marginalised body from ‘legitimate’ spaces.

Focusing on Pays in the discussion of this film, and unveiling the way in which his character draws attention to several variant themes of the narrative, affords a more intimate look at the tragic events of 1 December 1944. He is the first character the viewer empathises with, as the realisation sinks in that he is not as ‘cracked’ as his colleagues assume, but is instead the only one in their midst to recognise the camp for what it really is – the place of their death. And it is this character’s death that is the most tragic, since he had tried to warn his colleagues of the danger they were in. In the treatment of Pays we find a fusion of racist discrimination, colonial violence as well as ableism. The unexpected twist is that Sembène uses the disabled, voiceless character to counter racist and ableist assumptions. In the end it is this character’s presence (and death) that endures in the mind.

NOTES

1 As the fastest growing film industry in Africa, Nollywood has played a huge role in the portrayal of disability in connection with the supernatural world. Witchcraft is a dominant theme in Nollywood productions. There are a lot of cases where such witchcraft is connected to disabled persons. This appears to echo a trend which has occurred for a long time in Hollywood films, where villainy has often been connected to bodily or mental difference.

2 The novel indicates that El Hadji visited numerous marabouts. The film only features two.

FILMOGRAPHY

Sembène, Ousmane (dir) (1975) Xala. 123 minutes. Films Domireew. Senegal.

____ (dir) (1988) Camp de Thiaroye. 157 minutes. Enaproc/Films Domireew. Senegal/ Algeria/Tunisia.

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