Shula (Susan Chardy) makes an early impression in Rungano Nyoni’s newest film, On Becoming a Guinea Fowl. Driving home from a fancy dinner party, adorned in a rhinestone headpiece and Missy Elliot-esque jumpsuit a la “The Rain,” she stops her Mercedes with a sigh. Her Uncle Fred (Roy Chisha) is lying dead on the side of the road. Rather than being upset, she’s composed, almost annoyed. She makes a few calls, but never cries. What brought her to this place?
True to her costuming in the very first scene, Shula is the antithesis of her Zambian surroundings. Unlike the rest of the aunties and cousins who are prepping for Uncle Fred’s days-long funeral, Shula wants out. She books a hotel room almost immediately after her mother’s home is turned inside out, looking for some peace. But, of course, the aunties in their chitenges find her. They interrupt a Zoom call where Shula’s British accent is fully on display, crowding her hotel door with deadpan, judgemental gazes. Snooping around the hotel like a group of detectives, one of them sniffs the shampoo, only to ask, “Did you bathe?” During some funerals in Zambia, you’re not supposed to bathe until the procession is over. This sign of disrespect establishes a specific dance that Shula is avoiding. Knowing Shula is not hitting her marks, the aunties check her, and they have a very clear sense of the choreography of where and what she should be doing.
The generational divide continues throughout On Becoming a Guinea Fowl. Shula’s duty is simple. She must take care of her Mother (Doris Naulapwa) and provide for her entire family. Shula accepts begrudgingly, but despite almost exclusively being surrounded by women, Shula does not connect with most of them, except for her riotous cousin Nsansa (Elizabeth Chisela), who she initially shuns for her theatrical behavior. But soon these two begin to slip away into the pantry to drink beer and talk shit. Much younger than the aunties, they share a sense of disillusionment with their family that unspools overtime. Wanting to multiply their numbers, both Shula and Nsansa go to pick up their younger cousin Bupe (Esther Singini) from school. When they arrive, Bupe is nonverbal and sick. They take her to the hospital rather than home, where she reveals the truth about Uncle Fred via a pre-recorded video. While watching, Bupe’s voiceover is adopted by Shula, suggesting their shared experience. We never get to fully hear Bupe’s confession, but like Shula, we already know what she has to say.
Bupe’s illness, or suicide attempt, which happens almost halfway through the film, works as a reality check. Until this moment, On Becoming a Guinea Fowl has contained dream-like sequences that land as surreal, sometimes even funny when Nsansa is involved. They reflect Shula’s headspace, which is never 100% on the ground — going through the motions of Uncle Fred’s funeral has left Shula in a dissociative state. She doesn’t react to much, even when she sees younger versions of herself floating around from time to time. But Bupe’s hospitalization changes the tone of the film. The ironic thing, then, is that everybody already knows about Uncle Fred, either through experience or whispers. Shula shows the video to her Mother, who shuts it off midway, stating, “we just keep quiet.” Everyone compartmentalizes their pain before moving on. This is how Uncle Fred’s sexual abuse has always been treated and allowed to endure.
Now, Shula’s trauma is twofold. There is the abuse itself, but also of the silence of her family, the aunties primarily, who choose to prioritize in memory the good facets of Uncle Fred rather than the ill. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Shula’s dissociation and composure now make sense. Speaking up is very much not on the agenda — just look what happened to Bupe. Even Shula’s father, who wasn’t related by blood to Uncle Fred, defends the man, asking Shula if she wants him “to dig up the corpse and ask it what happened?”
Still, despite these uncompassionate circumstances, we also find ourselves witnessing a transformation in Shula, Bupe, and Nsansa, who also admits to suffering from Uncle Fred’s abuse, one that begins with acknowledgement. During one of their pantry hideaways, the aunties circle Shula and Nsansa. Unsure of what’s about to go down, one of the aunties speaks up. “If it was in my power, I would stop anything bad from happening to you.” This expression perhaps comes a little too late, the abuse having already been inflicted, but it does point toward the future. Shula and the gang will be the next group of mothers and aunties, and they will most certainly speak up.
Published as part of NYFF 2024 — Dispatch 3.
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