The
opening shot of Faat Kiné shows us a single-file line of women in Senegalese dress walking
through the city of Dakar, carrying plastic containers of different colors on their heads. Then, the camera pulls away from
them until we can see can see a whole city block. We can see not only the women
but also cars and other pedestrians, all moving in different directions. Some of
the other people walking about are dressed like the women are, and some are dressed
in a more western style. The women move as a unit, a small but distinct group of connected people within the larger city.
It sets the stage for what the film is about: the small social networks of individuals that transact and overlap with others, the existence of communities-in-miniature within modern cities. Kiné N’diaye Diop manages a gas station in Dakar, and every day, several people come before her desk. Some of them she knows, some of them she doesn't. They all come for different reasons, some professional and some personal. At her home, she lives with her mother, her two college-age children, and a housekeeper.
The film starts on a celebratory note: both of Kiné's children, Aby and Djibril, have received their baccalaureate degrees, and intend to study at universities in Europe. When she returns home from work, Kiné has a conversation with her mother about the life they used to live with Kiné's abusive, misogynistic father. When Kiné became pregnant out of wedlock, he attacked her with a flaming stick. Her mother protected her and ended up with permanent scars over her whole back. The film shows us this outcome by cutting straight from the attack to a close-up of the mother's back, the scars only half-healed. The camera then pulls back and reveals she is rocking the cradle of Kiné's baby. The film returns to the present and reveals the mother is rocking Kiné in a rocking chair. But then, taking note of how Kiné has made and kept their home, her mother says: "I am your daughter now. I praise you."
Kiné is the leader, of the group of people this film focuses on. Many depend on her, and her employees are loyal to the point of stepping in unprompted when someone starts to yell at her. The film reminds us that her circle is only a small portion of the whole city of Dakar. In
one scene, the camera pans over the vast city skyline while two sounds spread over
the city: one is the Muslim call to prayer, and the other is the ringing of
Christian church bells. Muslims and Christians share the city, and while the
tension between them never becomes a major problem for the characters, the
film periodically reminds us of its existence.
Kiné and most of the people she knows are Muslim, but she employs a Christian and her family entertains the idea of her marrying a Christian man. Also, the very first person to visit Kiné's office in the film is Pathé, a disabled man for whom the members of Kiné's social circle chipped in to buy a wheelchair. Kiné speaks French and Wolof, and has no problem speaking frankly about sex. She changes her clothes several times throughout the film, and is always fashionable. Her children address her by her first name. Her flexibility and maintenance of good relationships are the foundation of this film.
On the other hand, Kiné can be aggressive. She pepper sprays a woman who insults and threatens her. At several points, people are shocked by the extremely vulgar insults she hurls at them. Kiné may have found good people to surround herself with, but there are others in the city who dislike her, want her money, or have severely wronged her in the past. The worst among them are the fathers of her two children. The first, Professor Gaye, cut her off and did nothing to prevent her expulsion from school when she became pregnant. The second, Payane, used her money and promised to pay her back, then disappeared. Kiné not only shuts them out completely, but becomes incensed at the prospect that she should ever marry again, even when Djibril explains that he and Aby just want her to have someone to go to the movies with after they go to Europe.
Ousmane Sembene was a communist and political activist, and many of his novels and films reflect his politics. Faat Kiné, however, features no radicals and no depictions of activism, though Kiné does briefly speak of women's liberation with her friends. She benefits from doing business under capitalism. On the other hand, she has to be savvy enough to avoid scams, and her wealth by itself is not enough to secure the freedom and bodily sanctity of women. As she says, "if it only took work to liberate women, women farmers would be liberated." She needs her verbal and, maybe, physical weapons as well.
Her children's plans for the future recall Ibrahim Bakayoko, a character from Sembene's novel God's Bits of Wood. He receives an education in Europe, then returns to Senegal to support a railroad strike. A similarly-named character from Sembene's Moolaadé, Ibrahima, plays a less significant role, but follows the same pattern and comes home with a social conscience. Djibril expresses this when he confronts Bop about his plans for the future. Djibril says he wants to be "president", and Payane asks, "CEO of an import-export company?" Djibril says "I mean President of the Republic!" He accuses the men of the previous generation of disservicing Africa.
When she speaks with her mother about their first-hand experiences of misogynistic violence, they speak Wolof. She also speaks Wolof with the woman she pepper-sprays. She speaks French with anyone else, including her children who we know speak Wolof. She doesn't want her children to ever have to go through what she and her mother did, but still wants them to understand it. She wants to give her children, and by extension the future, a second-hand understanding her experiences with male violence and the weapons she has picked up against it. It's as if this effort is a translation from one language to another.
The
relationship between women’s words and their
freedom and bodily sanctity is a theme that also occurs in Sembene's first
feature, the 1966 film Black Girl, which derives remarkable
tension from the dissonance between its main character’s aggrieved narration
and the silent routine of her labor. You can also see it in Moolaadé, in which a woman's words become the sole line of defense for women's bodies.

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