The white-painted walls are prison bars in Ousmane Sembène’s 1966 film La noire de… (Black Girl). They are adorned with African face mask ornaments—wooden trophies of post-colonialism. The promises of freedom will never be found here, and identity will be only lost. This is Diouana’s shared story.
In 1966 Dakar, Senegal, Diouana (played by M’Bissine Thérèse Diop) looks for work within her illusion of choice. She loiters by the curb among other local women waiting for destiny. She will be a maid, a domestic slave, and strung along to Antibes by the white family who have hired her, Madame and Monsieur.
The figments of the Riviera, Juan-les-Pins, Nice, and Cannes are stripped with what can only be seen from the apartment windows she cleans. France is the kitchen where she cooks, the living room she tidies, and the bathroom she hides in.
Her rage only grows louder but her voice is empty. She is quieted by her employers who claim the art, culture, and land that they do not humanize. Diouana’s silent resistance plays out in bursts and frees her momentarily under the guise of autonomy, but here she is trapped.
In the 60-minute runtime, Diouana is once a hopeful and realized young woman and, subsequently, a stolen soul, fallen into isolation. We hear the thoughts reserved within her inner monologue as she cries out her private resentment. They speak in rhythm over Sub-Saharan instrumental music like a harrowing ballad. Few moments are unscored in La noire de…, and it fits as a reminder of her spirit and identity. Hauntingly, the xalam, a Senegalese string instrument, is operated with commandment over her tragic ending.
Director and novelist Sembène’s feature debut acts as a statement even more so than it does a film. It strives to deliver the modern marginalized pain of fetishism and dehumanization communicated in everyday gestures—especially those against women in oppression. There is no post-colonialism, it suggests, only concealed colonial restructure. It’s as relevant now as it was in 1966, a painful reflection of white supremacy and migrant exhaustion. Its success as the first internationally recognized African film proves its potency of poetry and significance.
“La noire de…” better translates to “The Black Woman of…,” which holds symbolism in its last word. Of what does she belong to, if not herself? Or, does she no longer belong to that? Her possession is now lost in transit of power and forever removed. She is a familiar story. Diouana is of martyrdom.
3.2/5