Mamadou Niang: Was Thomas Sankara your first film?

Balufu Bakupa-Kanyinda: No, in fact, I did two films prior to Sankara: the second, Ten Thousand Years of Cinema with Djibril Diop Mambety, is my favorite. Here, I worked with my theoretical approach to cinema. Djibril is my grounding. Le tableau noir [The Blackboard], my first film, was an African reading of the bicentennial celebrations of the French Revolution. But there was no financing to finish it. It is still waiting in the studio in France to be completed. I may finish it someday, to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of Africa’s independence.

MN: Why the title The Blackboard?

BBK: Because it shows what has been taught in Africa about the French Revolution. It was a documentary made in 1989. The idea came from the story of the lion. As long as the lion does not have its “griot,” the story will always sing the glory of the hunter. And I am the son of the lion. Now that I have learned the language of the hunter, I will tell the story of my people. It is much like what Aimé Césaire said about “our omniscient and naïve conquerors.”

MN: You said that in making this film, tapping into your native language, Kasala, was important.

BBK: In this film, I sought to find a narrative structure which would be closer to my culture. This narrative structure is the thread in all of my films. “Kasala” means feather, a small feather. It is a symbol for everything that flies, for the bird which travels far away. But it is also a symbol of knowledge, as the feather is used for writing. Kasala is about knowing, and my work is about memory.

The problem is the misuse of the word “griot” by the French. The French have misrepresented the griot as a court glorifier, praising, singing, and glorifying our presidents and leaders of the colonial age. In my culture, a griot is not a sycophant. He or she is a storyteller, a guardian of our memory.

MN: With a relative success, the word “djali” is replacing the word “griot,” which is a French “Africanism.” But wouldn’t you say that the misnomer “griot” traditionally designates a keeper of history?

BBK: I am more comfortable with the word “djali” because it has a connotation of rebellion. The word “djali” may be referring to a court, but it is also the voice of the people and of the past. But I think there is a difference between, on the one hand, the griot who glorifies the court, the heads of states in Africa, or the “governors of colonies,” and on the other hand, “Muimbi Wa Kasala,” the singer interested in history and memory. Today you can pay a griot to sing your praise; you can make him say whatever you want. But one cannot pay the djali. For instance, to say that Jean Rouch is a Gallic “griot,” is insulting.

MN: You widely use metaphors in your work. In Article 15bis for instance, you deliver your message but choose irony to present it. We laugh, we cry, but something stays with us.

BBK: When you look at the films I like, Oliver Stone’s JFK, which I like, or Yol from Yilmaz Guney or Haile Gerima’s Sankofa, they are part of a world view. Even Hollywood movies are the reflection of a certain world. Watching these movies is not harmless. I must tell the real story of Africa, I did not have a contemplative life in Africa. My family has gone through a lot of political drama. I know what drama is. So, conflict is what interests me, and what also interests me is to tell about the conflicts of my people.

My film Article 15bis tells about a situation widely known in Africa: how people are exploited, robbed, made vulnerable. It is very important to try telling people’s own stories. As Sembene puts it, “We are the mirror of our own people.” Today our people look at strange foreign images which come from everywhere. The heroes of our young people today are not Lumumba, Nkrumah, Sankara, Mandela, Biko. Their heroes are Stallone. Their heroes are from Hollywood. They are white, they have blond hair. What will we do with our youngsters? What are we doing with Africa?

Every day, I log on to my computer. My computer, for me, is Africa; I live in Paris but I log on to Africa. And I tell about Africa. I know about conflicts —  in a way, I am on the losing side. But if my life were to end tomorrow, my son, my daughter could say that I have worked; I have left a legacy. I refuse to be confined to the African filmmaker’s quandary, working just so you can eat. If I were to go hungry someday, I would not be ashamed of it. I know where I come from. I know those who helped me get to the best universities. I know what they expect of me; they expect that I do my job well. That is all I have been asked to do.

Excerpt from the interview, Do not sleep with bitterness, Balufu Bakupa-Kanyinda with Mamadou Niang. In Through African Eyes: Dialogues with the Directors. Bonetti, M., & Reddy, P. (2003) by African Film Festival, Inc.