Likikiri Collective Uses Storytelling to Safeguard South Sudanese Women’s Wisdoms

“Likikiri” means “stories” in Bari, a language spoken across several communities in South Sudan, and names the foundation of the collective’s work which focuses on research and knowledge production, multimedia storytelling, training and education.

“Storytelling as Safeguarding” is a continuation of the work the collective has been doing for many years, drawing from a culture of didactic storytelling in South Sudan, and combining it with Story Circles. Women are invited to share, archive and discuss 400 traditional songs which offer comprehensive guidelines for a woman’s life — from adolescence, to marriage, child rearing, work and mourning.

These Story Circles are containers of discussion and demonstration, inspired by an eclectic mix of literary theory and qualitative research methods; decolonial and indigenous practices; peacebuilding and transformative justice approaches and participatory media-making.

“We see ourselves as part of a broader movement across the continent, in the diaspora and around the world to move to more locally driven approaches to conflict resolution and community-driven research,” Rebecca Lorins, co-founder of Likikiri and professor at the University of Juba tells OkayAfrica.

South Sudan’s wars in 2013 and 2016 divided the country economically, politically and socially, and it has become rare for people to carve out spaces for talking. “People’s free time is filled with a lot of anxiety and maybe depression,” says Lorins. “But you'll hear a lot of people say: ‘the elders used to tell us stories at night.’”

Lorins’ co-founder, South Sudanese cultural activist Elfatih Atem, adds that Story Circles give the community ownership of their own narratives and problems, in their own language. At the same time, he raises concerns about young people getting their knowledge from the internet, with Story Circles becoming international and local knowledge losing value.

This is important in the context of South Sudan, where research is often driven by external actors who come to the country with preconceived assumptions and motives, resulting in generalized solutions that exclude the voices of South Sudanese people.

Why songs?

“Why songs? Song is used by women to articulate their positions on difficult or sensitive topics,” says Lorins. “It allows us to step out of ordinary discourses and the rules regulating those ways of speaking, and becomes a legitimate avenue for voicing critique or expressing [ourselves]. In this project, we have seen the ways women use lullabies and work songs to lament, express grievances or speak up on other sensitive issues.”

While the languages and rhythms of the songs differ from community to community, the themes are similar. “The work and marriage ceremony songs are my favorites,” says Achol Ng'or, project manager at SheLeads Kakuma in Kakuma refugee camp. “They are usually sung with a lot of excitement. In traditional Dinka society, work was part of human livelihood and it gave people joy. So those songs were usually composed from deep inside their hearts. And for the wedding songs, it's every girl's dream to be beautifully married someday.”

Jacinta Poni, who works at the Community Development Center in Rhino Camp, explains how these songs intend to bestow values and structures onto society, sometimes in relationship to the natural environment. “Traditionally, polygamy is accepted in the African setup. There is a song that translates, ‘I am the first who got married, and the first to conceive, and he asked me out first, so you can't come and want to subdue me.’ It's trying to give an insight that as the first wife in an African setup, you have the respect, responsibility and authority in that family.”

In South Sudan and across the diaspora, the enthusiasm to discover and discuss culture is part of a wider movement of nation building. “Since independence in 2011, a lot of people want to figure out what the nation consists of and what its foundations are,” says Lorins.

While these explorations are driven by curiosity and urgency, age can be a barrier to younger people enquiring from elders, because they might not feel that asking certain questions is acceptable. To elders, in turn, it might look like the youth is not interested in traditions and customs.

Bridging a generational gap

“When we’re recording, we realize that the young people want to push closer,” says Poni. In both camps, young women continue learning from their elders beyond the songs, seeking each other out to discuss all matters of life. “They are driving this initiative, they want to revive a culture that is being taken over by technology and modernity.”

These exchanges — which are guided by the respect younger women pay their elders — are not without contestation. Dialogue and critique are guiding principles of Likikiri’s vision for the project, and they play out over the messages embedded in the songs elders pass on that younger women sometimes are not willing to implement.

“When we disagree with their thoughts and experiences, the elders are shocked,” says Ng'or. “For example, most of us [in Kakuma] are against polygamy. Who wants to be in constant competition with other women over a man?”

Ng’or continues, “Most of the young women disagree with the culture of burdening the woman with all of the house chores. These bad aspects of the culture should be done away with. We are in a modern world, we both have careers and dreams to chase. All our opinions are supposed to be heard. There should be equality.” Remembering a particular song about submissiveness she says, “Submission is dehumanizing.”

Poni has a different opinion. “For you to retain your respect as a married woman, you need to know which responsibilities go directly into your hands,” she says. “It doesn’t mean you’re supposed to allow your husband to be dominant over you.”

Lucia Etaku, a young project participant in Rhino Camp adds, “Yes, things are changing, but we are ready to maintain our culture. We don’t expect our husbands to grind things or fetch water. These days, these things are happening in other communities, but we continue doing our work as before so that we are considered a serious woman and wife.”

Both Poni and Ng’or agree that the project, which is only beginning phase two, has had a positive impact on their respective communities, enabling them to learn about South Sudanese cultures while in displacement.

“The project has given me an insight of how tradition, heritage and the life of a woman was carried during ancestral times,” says Poni. “For example, growing up, when there is a child naming ceremony, as a young person you wouldn't get fully involved. You are either sent to the kitchen or you are asked to do something, but then you don't get to know what exactly is happening or how things are done. But in this project, I witnessed and learned.”

“It has also brought unity,” adds Ng'or. “The Dinka and Nuer communities have been constantly in disagreements for the past few years. Once this project was brought about, we were able to get enough time to interact and unite as South Sudanese, and that has been extremely helpful in bringing us together as a nation.”

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This project is funded by the British Council's Cultural Protection Fund in partnership with the U.K. Government's Department for Culture, Media and Sport. Likikiri is running the project in partnership with the British Library Sound Archives, the School of Oriental and African Studies at University of London’s Department of Music, the British Institute in Eastern Africa, the Community Development Centre in Arua, Uganda and SheLeads Kakuma in Kenya.