By Princess Eugene Majuru
Princess of Harare
A Wake-Up Call for Zimbabwe
Zimbabwe must not watch The Woman King as spectators.
We must watch it as heirs of Chimurenga.
This film is not foreign history. It is a mirror held up to our own unfinished story of land, leadership, betrayal, resistance, and restoration. From the battlefields of Dahomey to the sacred hills where Mbuya Nehanda declared that her bones would rise, the message is the same: sovereignty is never given—it is defended, protected, and restored.
If we celebrate Nanisca but forget Nehanda, we have missed the lesson. If we applaud female warriors on screen but silence women in our own governance systems, we have misunderstood the message.
The success and engagement surrounding The Woman King prove that the world is hungry for stories that restore dignity to African history and to African women. Yet beyond the applause, costumes, and battle scenes, the film offers powerful learning curves that deserve deeper reflection—especially for African kingdoms, women, and the next generation.
1. Leadership Is Earned, Not Granted
One of the clearest lessons from the film is that leadership is not about gender—it is about capacity, courage, and integrity. General Nanisca does not rise because she demands power; she rises because she proves worthy of it. She is disciplined. Strategic. Principled. She builds an army rooted in loyalty and moral conviction.
This challenges both colonial narratives and modern assumptions that leadership must look a certain way. True authority is recognised through action and sacrifice.
2. The Power of Self-Respect
Another lesson, often overlooked, is the importance of self-respect—particularly for women and young girls.
Nanisca’s life story reveals the trauma of being violated and used by men in a system that treated women as property. Yet she refuses to allow that violation to define her destiny. She transforms pain into strength.
The message is clear: women must never allow themselves to be reduced to commodities—emotionally, physically, or socially. Self-respect is power. A woman who knows her worth cannot be manipulated, bought, silenced, or controlled.
For young girls, Nawi represents this lesson boldly. She refuses to accept a forced marriage. She questions authority. She speaks her mind. She chooses a path of purpose over submission. The film teaches that obedience without dignity is not virtue. Courage, wisdom, and self-awareness are.
3. Internal Betrayal: A Lesson Rarely Discussed
Much media coverage focuses on the external enemy—the slave traders and foreign exploiters. But one of the deeper themes of the film is internal betrayal. The reality that some Africans participated in the slave trade is uncomfortable but necessary to confront.
This remains relevant today. Exploitation does not always come from outside. Corruption, greed, and collaboration can weaken nations from within. The film quietly asks: who are today’s collaborators? Who benefits while the people suffer?
This is a lesson African societies must not ignore.
4. Trauma and Healing in Leadership
Nanisca is not portrayed as flawless. She carries trauma. She carries regret. Yet she continues to lead. The film subtly teaches that healing and leadership can coexist. A wounded leader is not a weak leader—if that leader confronts the wound honestly.
This nuance is rarely highlighted in media commentary.
5. Discipline Over Emotion
The Agojie are not chaotic warriors driven by rage. They are disciplined, strategic, and united by code. Modern audiences often miss this point. Strength is not noise. Strength is structure. Their training, loyalty rituals, and collective identity offer a model of unity that many contemporary institutions lack.
6. Women as Strategic Thinkers, Not Just Fighters
Another overlooked element is that Nanisca’s greatest strength is not physical combat—it is vision. She understands the economic danger of dependency on the slave trade. She advocates for long-term sovereignty. She thinks beyond the battlefield.
This reframes African women not merely as symbols of resistance, but as architects of policy and future security.
7. A Blueprint for African Kingdoms After Colonisation
For traditional African leadership structures today, the film is a reminder that women historically held influence at the highest levels. Colonial systems often erased or minimised these roles. Re-examining governance through a pre-colonial lens may reveal forgotten balances of power.
Restoration does not mean imitation of the past—it means learning from it.
What Has Not Been Widely Reported
Many media outlets debate historical accuracy. Few discuss the film’s spiritual dimension—the theme of destiny, bloodline, and reunion. The mother-daughter revelation between Nanisca and Nawi symbolises more than family; it symbolises Africa’s delayed reunion with its true identity.
The film also highlights female mentorship as nation-building. The Agojie are not simply soldiers; they are guardians shaping future leaders.
These subtleties deserve attention.
Why a Part 2 Would Matter
A continuation of The Woman King could explore:
- The political evolution of Dahomey after rejecting deeper involvement in the slave trade
- The long-term consequences of resistance versus compromise
- Nawi’s rise into mature leadership
- The tensions between tradition and change
- The eventual confrontation with expanding European imperial forces
A sequel could move from battle to governance—showing how women rulers navigate diplomacy, economic restructuring, and survival under colonial pressure.
Such a Part 2 would not simply be cinematic—it would be educational.
Zimbabwean Parallels: Lessons Closer to Home
For Zimbabwe, the themes in The Woman King are not distant history—they are familiar echoes carried through the soil of our own liberation struggle.
Before colonial occupation, our systems of governance recognised layered authority, spiritual legitimacy, and community-based leadership. The First Chimurenga was not simply a military uprising; it was a spiritual and sovereign resistance. Spirit mediums such as Mbuya Nehanda Charwe Nyakasikana and Sekuru Kaguvi were not symbolic figures—they were strategic anchors of the resistance. Mbuya Nehanda’s final words, “Mapfupa angu achamuka” (My bones shall rise again), were not poetic defiance. They were prophecy.
When we watch Nanisca refuse to submit to foreign exploitation, we are reminded of Nehanda refusing to bow before colonial authority. When we see the Agojie stand disciplined against invading forces, we are reminded of the Chimurenga fighters who resisted dispossession of land and dignity.
Like Dahomey, Zimbabwe experienced the distortion of traditional leadership under colonial rule. The colonial administration reconfigured chieftainships, elevated compliant figures, and undermined authentic custodians of land and lineage. This deliberate restructuring weakened indigenous systems of accountability and fractured spiritual-political unity.
The film’s exposure of collaboration also resonates deeply within Zimbabwean history. Colonial systems relied on intermediaries—local actors who enabled control in exchange for favour, protection, or recognition. This reality complicates our national story. It reminds us that sovereignty can be eroded not only by invasion, but by internal compromise.
The lesson is not condemnation—it is vigilance.
Nawi’s refusal to accept a forced marriage mirrors Zimbabwe’s ongoing struggle against child marriage and gender-based violence. Her defiance speaks directly to rural and urban realities where girls still fight to protect their education, their bodies, and their futures.
Nanisca’s insistence on moving away from dependency on the slave trade parallels Zimbabwe’s continued debate about economic sovereignty. The Chimurenga was fought over land. Today, the question is broader: Who controls our resources? Who benefits from our minerals? Who shapes our economic direction?
These are not cinematic questions. They are national ones.
As Zimbabwean media reflects on this film, we must ask:
Are we honouring the spirit of Nehanda in our leadership structures today?
Have we fully restored the dignity of women within traditional and political systems?
Are we vigilant against modern forms of collaboration that undermine sovereignty?
If Nehanda’s bones rose during the Second Chimurenga, what must rise now?
For Zimbabwean audiences, The Woman King should not be viewed as foreign history. It is a mirror. It is a reminder that women have always stood at the centre of resistance and governance.
The past is not asking to be romanticised. It is asking to be understood, completed, and defended.
Zimbabwe knows the language of uprising. The question is whether we still understand the language of restoration.
From Chimurenga to Continental Liberation
The struggle portrayed in The Woman King is not isolated to Dahomey. It echoes across the continent.
In Ghana, Yaa Asantewaa led resistance against British forces. In Angola and Mozambique, women fought in liberation armies. In South Africa, women marched against pass laws. In Algeria, women carried intelligence and weapons under colonial occupation.
Africa’s liberation movements were never male-only revolutions. Women were strategists, couriers, spiritual anchors, and commanders.
Chimurenga was Zimbabwe’s chapter in a broader continental resistance to domination. The Agojie were Dahomey’s chapter. These stories form a single narrative: Africa resisting erasure.
Yet political independence did not complete liberation. Economic dependency remains. Cultural distortion persists. Gender imbalance in leadership continues.
The next phase of liberation must therefore be intellectual, economic, and structural.
It must restore women to rightful spaces of authority. It must protect girls from systems that reduce them. It must guard sovereignty against modern forms of exploitation.
If the First Chimurenga reclaimed dignity, if the Second Chimurenga reclaimed land, then the present generation must reclaim balance.
From Dahomey to Harare. From Nehanda to Nanisca. From uprising to restoration.
Africa’s story is not over.
It is still rising.
For Zimbabwean audiences, The Woman King should inspire reflection on restoring balance within traditional leadership, strengthening women’s representation in governance, and protecting the integrity of our heritage institutions.
The past is not asking to be romanticised. It is asking to be understood—and corrected where necessary.
Final Reflection
The Woman King is more than representation. It is instruction.
It teaches women self-respect. It teaches leaders accountability. It teaches nations vigilance. It teaches Africa remembrance.
As Princess of Harare, descended from the Mbari clan and the House of King Mbari, I see in this film not fantasy—but reflection.
Africa’s story is layered. Painful. Powerful. Unfinished.
And like Nanisca and Nawi, reunion with truth may be delayed.
But destiny—
always returns.
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