Ụmụada: Our Sisterhood In Action
Nneka comes from a long line of proud Igbo women. She often speaks about how her da
d would say that she and her sisters are “daughters of the Original Eve”, who passed down her mitochondrial DNA from one female generation to the next over 200,000 years ago. She, like Nneka, was Black. They are both African, and that unbroken bond has been a source of grounding and courage that Nneka relies on every day in her work. She frames it as her connections to the Ụmụada of her people, the children (Ụmụ) of the first daughter (ada) – the women and her kindred.
Uzoamaka and Onyeagba: Our Grandmothers
Nneka recalls having a recurring dream throughout her last pregnancy with her daughter, Christiana. Each dream had an intergenerational group of women who gathered together, always in deep conversation, and always led by one central figure. Each one of them felt familiar, but not all were recognizable. When her dad came to support her after giving birth, he told her that the matriarch she described was his grandmother and signified the importance of being surrounded by the love and support of Black women. “I feel fortunate to have known both of my grandmothers, Uzoamaka (Martha) and Onyeagba, both incredibly beautiful, strong, resilient, and wise women whose entrepreneurial spirit, hard work, open-heartedness and good humour had been passed down through generations, and is seen in so many other Igbo women, regardless of where we are.”
They taught Nneka to be proud of her ancestry by embracing the traditions and customs of the Onitsha people who are indigenous to the lands on the east bank of the River Niger in Igboland. Her grandmothers instilled a sense of belonging, of being part of something greater than herself. “I never had to question my place in the world because I knew I belonged … I know who I am because of them,” she says with pride. “They are part of my melanin.”
Our grandmothers are symbols of Black womanhood and their legacy lives on in us and in our children. For Nneka, that strong sense of identity and connection to her culture has already passed down to the next generation. She recently celebrated the long-awaited birth of her first grandchild, who she gave the name, Azike, meaning that his ancestors, those who are behind him, shall be his strength. Only a few months old, she has been speaking Igbo to him and plans to impart on him the importance of identity and connection to their people.
Okwuegbunam: Our Mothers
Nneka was only 12 years old when her mother died. Her mother, Okwuegbunam, taught her that naming was an important part of our cultural identity that helps to preserve and transmit cultural traditions, values, and beliefs from one generation to the next. Looking back, one of Nneka’s most memorable recollections of her mother was over an important act of resistance. A staunch Catholic, and equally staunch Afro-centrist, Okwuegbunam refused to bend to the colonial will of forgoing one’s cultural names in favour of Christian/European ones when enrolling her children in schools in the UK, simply because it was easier for others to pronounce.
“My mom used to say, if they can pronounce “Tchaikovsky” [chy-KAWF-skee] then they can pronounce “Nneka” [NEH-ka]. I gave you this name. It has meaning.” In the Igbo language, Nneka explains that “Nne” means “mother” and “ka” means “the greatest”. The direct translation is “my mother is supreme” and honors the role of motherhood in the Igbo lineage. Nneka says, “My mother used to say that she is the greatest gift to us. And now I say the same to my children. I am the greatest gift to you.” To honor her mum, Nneka always corrects people who struggle to pronounce her name. “I absolutely love it when people mispronounce my name, but insist they say it properly. I have a vested interest in correcting them because it’s important that people understand what the name means to me and the significance of my name as an Igbo woman.”
To know who you are and where you come from is an act of resistance that Nneka learned from her mother at an early age. In the face of adversity, remembering her name, Nneka, empowers her and helps her overcome challenges.
Ekwi and Ogua: Our Sisters
After the death of their mother, Nneka was raised in the arms of her two older sisters, Ekwi and Ogua. The twins were only five years older than Nneka, but they took on the role of mother and the responsibility of caring, supporting, nurturing and uplifting her. As a child, Nneka looked up to them as role models. Although Ekwi and Ogua were twins, they had very different personalities which balanced and complimented each other. Nneka describes her sisters as “just the right people to have your back in battle or at brunch’, recalling particularly how they kept her spirits up during her acrimonious divorce. Ogua was the ‘spicy’ one who taught her to wear bright red lipstick, and to never run from a ‘good’ fight – i.e. a fight for justice and to protect others from bullies. Her motto still is “Take no prisoners because you’ll have to feed them!” In contrast, Ekwi, now deceased, was not into ‘fisticuffs’ and preferred to wear purple shades of lipstick. Despite their youth, Ekwi and Ogua were both wise beyond their years, offering sage advice and always a soft place for Nneka to land.
Soon after the birth of her second child, Nnamdi (Alexander), Nneka and the father of her children moved from England to Canada, leaving the rest of her family behind. She remembers that “everybody was worried that I was here by myself with three children and this man. They were afraid he would harm me.” When Nneka’s husband forcibly removed her from the company they had built together, Nneka remembers calling Ogua for advice. “She told me to pack up key documents that showed that I have ownership in the company. Put on your red lipstick, smile, and don’t let them see you crying.” Later at her ex-husband’s trial, Nneka remembers feeling at her lowest and would wear her red lipstick as an act of courage and resistance. “I showed up with my red lipstick… I’ve always worn red lipstick from the time I was 18 because of my sister, Ogua. It is war paint. Now I wear it as an act of defiance. Every time I speak, I always wear red lipstick and lead with “I am a survivor”.
Alero & Christiana (Uzoamaka): Our Daughters
Looking back, Nneka says, “I remember the moment when I thought that my life was going to end, and making a promise that if I survived, I am going to use every day of my life to bring about change. So that is what I did. My children saved my life – literally and figuratively, especially my ada, first-born daughter, Alero. I owe everything to them, so I do everything I can to make the world better and safer for them.” In 2008, Nneka founded Women’s Centre for Social Justice, a non-profit created by, for and about survivors of gender-based violence. Today, it is better known as WomenatthecentrE and remains the only advocacy centre of its kind in Canada. As the Executive Director, Nneka continues to pursue one goal – to amplify the voices and lived experiences of survivors to eradicate gender-based violence and heal communities.
“When I ended my relationship in 2003, I had three children and tried to navigate the various systems that were supposedly there to help us. But I found it was difficult to access justice using the systems in place. If it was difficult for me, I could only imagine how much worse it was for survivors who didn’t have access to resources that I had. … I became outraged about how the system was failing to support women and their children.”
As a survivor, Nneka is often invited to share her lived experiences to help others but has grown tired of being in spaces where people don’t look like her. Often the only Black woman in the room, Nneka’s conviction stems from the current and ongoing failure of the social justice movements to make room for survivors, particularly Black survivors.
“I realized that as survivors, we are the experts because we survived, and yet we were not included in the spaces where policies were being made and programs were being developed. Survivors were seen as broken, but I knew that we were powerful women. I realized that I was there because I had privilege. So, I had a responsibility to use that privilege, because my sisters are not there. So, if I don’t speak up, nobody is going to. There is important work that needs to be done, and you can’t sit on the sidelines, especially when it concerns people with your skin.”
Ụmụada & Amourgynoir: Our Sisterhood In Action
Today, Nneka proudly identifies as a Black intersectional, anti-carceral abolitionist feminist and is more committed than ever to centring Black survivors of gender-based violence. WomenatthecentrE’s latest initiative, Advancing Gender Equity for Black Women, Girls, and Gender Diverse People in Canada, is a five-year strategy to build an equity framework. Nneka simply calls it The Amourgynoir Code, a social justice movement to disrupt anti-Black gender-based violence. Her vision is to create safe spaces for truth-telling where Black women, girls, gender diverse and trans survivors can use our voices to counter the silence and erasure of our lived experiences. Nneka and her team are launching a national landmark study that centres Black women, girls, gender diverse and trans survivors.
“This work feels like the transformation of those recurring dreams I had when I was pregnant. I’m seeing this brilliant inter-generational community of Black survivors, coming together to plan for a new world where current and future generations of Black children are born and are seen and valued and cherished, because they are beautiful and amazing. This is for us. While we are often at the forefront of social justice movements, the anti-violence movement centres white women, while the anti-Black racism movement centres Black men, leading to the silence of our voices and erasure of our lived experiences. We are changing that and doing it all with love and kindness and compassion.”
For Nneka, it is important that the research disrupt Eurocentric construction of knowledge and value African Indigenous ways of knowing and being. “I know what powerful Black women looked like. They bore me. They nurtured me. They raised me, and I never doubted that I too would grow into a powerful Black woman, because this is the stock that I come from.”
With a tender heart she explains, “I do this work not from a place of fear or anxiety, but from a place of love and gratitude – for all the beautiful, brilliant and bold Black women who came before me, and for all the ones here now and who will follow.”