In the moving Nigerian drama “The Milkmaid”, Aisha and
Zainab are Fulani sisters taken hostage by Boko Haram militants, the extremist
group that in 2014 kidnapped more than 250 schoolgirls from the town of Chibok.
With sweeping landscapes shot in the state of Taraba, in the northeastern part
of the country, the film, written and directed by Desmond Ovbiagele, deftly
tells a story both hopeful in the possibility of reconciliation and harrowing
in the journey to get there.
اضافة اعلان
The film is the latest entry in a growing body of African cinema
focused on the grim toll exacted by the terrorists of Boko Haram..
When Nigeria’s film regulatory board recommended that 25
minutes of footage be cut from “The Milkmaid” and then curtailed showings in
theaters there in the fall, the producers and director sought to cultivate
audiences in Zimbabwe and Cameroon. The drama eventually earned the prize for
best film in an African language (the story is told entirely in Hausa, Fulani,
and Arabic) at the 2020 African Movie Academy Awards. It was also Nigeria’s
selection for the international feature Oscar, though the movie did not make
the final cut.
Despite the censorship and truncated distribution, however,
“The Milkmaid” and other movies in this emerging genre have found a diasporic
audience abroad.
“‘The Milkmaid’ is anchored to a certain social discourse
we’re seeing unfold currently,” said Mahen Bonetti, founder of the New York
African Film Festival, which chose the drama as the opening selection last
month for its 2021 edition. “We’re seeing a rise of extremism and religious
fanaticism, particularly amongst youth, and witnessing the disintegration of
families and bonds that once held communities together. And young filmmakers
are being brave and telling these stories.”
The amplification of these stories, namely those of Boko
Haram’s female victims, was especially important to Ovbiagele, who also
produced “The Milkmaid” over the course of three years.“I felt we didn’t hear
enough from the victims of insurgency and who they really were,” Ovbiagele said
in an interview by phone from Lagos. “They’re not always educated” like the
Chibok schoolgirls, he added, and “most don’t get international attention. But
despite that, their stories deserved to be heard, too.”
And so, Ovbiagele sought to recreate the struggles and
plight of Boko Haram victims the best way he knew how. After a community of
survivors from northern Borno state relocated near his home in Lagos, he spent
months gathering first-person accounts from survivors — women and girls who
were piecing their lives together, he said. He also asked local nongovernmental
organizations who were working with Boko Haram victims to properly assess the
challenges faced by the survivors.
The Nigerian movie
business has its origins in local markets, where storytellers on limited
budgets readily met the sensibilities of local viewers. Eager to generate
profits and offset rampant piracy, filmmakers would quickly churn out shoddy
productions.
Ultimately, Ovbiagele wants to continue making films he
feels passionately about and hopes the film will impart a lasting impression on
viewers —both in Nigeria and abroad. “I hope audiences will leave with a deeper
insight into experiences and motivations of both the victims and the
perpetrators of terrorist organizations and specifically the resilience and
resourcefulness of the survivors.”
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