On Becoming a Guinea Fowl Review: Sorrows and Solace Amongst Zambian Kin

Within the fertile imagination of Rungano Nyoni lies a vision all her own. Born in Zambia and raised largely in Wales, her perspectives blend afresh. Nyoni first steered attention with I Am Not a Witch, playfully exposing misguided thinking through a young protagonist’s eyes.

Now she shares another insight into culture and change through Shula. Like her last character, Shula finds herself in unfamiliar waters. But this time, the tide brings her back to her family in Lusaka rather than casting her out. We meet Shula driving at night, when a discovery stops her short—her Uncle Fred lies lifeless on the road.

With Fred’s death come difficult days. Shula must weather the storm of tradition’s mourning rituals. For her, they stir memories better left covered. Like the Guinea fowl raising an alarm, upsetting quiet demands are being heard. What echoes will Shula and her truth unleash? Nyoni once again works genre in new ways to give voice where it struggles to escape. With Shula at the center, we journey to where understanding meets its limits and the past refuses to remain buried.

The Mystery of Uncle Fred

Shula pulls up along a quiet road late one night, returning home from a costume party. Dressed in a metallic helmet and inflated black jumpsuit, she looks more alien to a to a visitor than a local resident as she steps casually from her car. Something on the road ahead gives her pause—a still, dark mass lying motionless across the lanes.

Drawing closer, Shula sees that it is neither an animal nor an inanimate object but a man. She recognizes those features even in the darkness: it is her Uncle Fred. Lifeless eyes stare unseeingly at the starry sky, a glassy expression frozen on his face. Yet Shula shows no shock or grief; only an inspecting gaze and a cold reserve mark her features. She calls her father matter-of-factly to report the finding, requesting no help or hurry in response.

When her cousin Nsansa stumbles scenes later upon the pair, still keeping watch, any sadness is notably absent from her slurred speech and wandering motions too. “The big man has died a happy man,” she laughs uncannily of their uncle near the brothel gates. An atmosphere of mystery shrouds this opening, fueled by the strange disinterest both cousins show in their dead relative, a man who clearly meant something ominous in their lives.

Their silence and guardedness leave the viewer as curious about the relationship between Shula, Nsansa, and Uncle Fred as Shula seems about the enigma lying at her feet. In these opening moments, Rungano Nyoni masters the art of intrigue, presenting just enough context to hook viewers while denying satisfying answers, leaving one question to linger paramount above the rest: what darkened dealings passed between this man and these girls in the past?

Uncle Fred’s legacy

The death of Uncle Fred sets in motion the traditional Bemba funeral rituals. For the community, it is a time for the family to grieve as a collective and remember the deceased’s goodness. Yet underneath the solemn proceedings, tensions quietly simmer.

When the women of the family arrive at Shula’s home, they adhere to the old custom of ‘crawling’ over the threshold on hands and knees, as if death itself has visited them. In the home, the rites continue with mourning cries and prayers for Fred’s soul. Food is cooked, and robes are sewn for burial. Though expected to take part, Shula watches with detachment. Her subtle stare and dry eyes are noticed, sparking gossip among the aunties.

Unlike the others, Shula seems less concerned with following the form of grief than its essence. Having known Fred in a way the rest did not, she struggles to make peace with honoring a man responsible for deep hurt. When the focus turns to Fred’s widow, the truth of his misdeeds edges closer to exposure.

The aunties are quick to condemn the young woman, Chichi, claiming she failed in her duties as wife by not keeping Fred well fed. Their words drip with insinuation, hinting at her character being somehow to blame for his demise. As accusations mount, cracks emerge in the veneer of Fred’s reputation. Quiet rumors surface of transgressions against younger female relatives, fueling divisions within the family.

Between the cracks, an unsettling picture takes shape of a man whose sins were an open secret, quietly endured for the sake of solidarity. With his death, that shroud of silence now threatens to tear. For Shula and others scarred by Fred’s actions, the chance for acknowledgment is at hand, whether the family will give it or not. Under the rituals, a reckoning seems ready to unfold.

The Guinea Fowl’s Cry

Shula forges an unlikely bond with her cousin Nsansa amid the upheaval of their uncle’s funeral. Where Shula is reserved, Nsansa meets each situation with unrestrained emotion. She erupts into drunken cackles at the discovery of Fred’s body, launching into rambling stories at his wake. Nsansa seems to wear her heart on her sleeve, embracing pain as well as joy with equal fervor.

Despite their differences, Nsansa seems to understand Shula in a way others cannot. She senses her cousin’s inner turmoil, keeping Shula company through the chaos. Their relationship transforms from one of passive duty to a source of comfort as the cousins find solace in each other’s presence. Where others demand tears or turn a blind eye, Nsansa meets Shula with empathy and humor. She needles Shula with spirited joking, drawing the briefest hints of smiles from her usual stoicism.

Though their shared past casts a long shadow, together, Nsansa and Shula find the strength to face it. Bonded by tragedy, their bond offers hope of healing. Through laughter and tears, they stand as each other’s rock—a steady presence in an unsteady time.

With Nsansa’s brash spirit and Shula’s quiet wisdom, their partnership forms a formidable ally against the secrecy forcing them into isolation. Even in darkness, their caring for one another brings light, reminding everyone that no one needs to confront their demon alone. Facing the future, the cousins embrace not what divides but what unites them—an unbreakable bond of sisterhood.

Finding Courage in Memory

Shula drives away from a lively costume party, out of step with the somber task ahead. Upon discovering her Uncle Fred dead by the roadside, solemn obligations begin. As her family flocks to her mother’s home, ancient funeral rites take hold. Women crawl inside, wailing their mourning song.

But Shula struggles, disconnected from the rituals. Having lived abroad, she observes with curious eyes rather than joining the chorus of grief. Her ambivalence toward Fred hints at private wounds, secret to all but a select few.

When accusations fly at Fred’s young widow, dismissing her as an unworthy spouse, flickers of rage ignite within Shula. Memories resurface of her uncle’s damaging acts, which the elders conveniently forgot. A rift grows between Shula and the older generation, steamrolling tradition.

Traditions shape communities, offering structure in times of transition. But unquestioning devotion risks shielding more than honoring the dead. Through Nsansa’s brash humor and Shula’s thoughtful defiance, the film gives voice to those silenced.

By the film’s end, Shula discovers her own power in reclaiming the past on her own terms. Facing painful truths plunges her into unknown waters, yet finding the courage of her experience offers a freedom no customs could impart. Some traditions bend to social change; others break entirely to release what’s been held captive for too long.

Returning Home

Shula returns to her family in Zambia differently than when she left. Living abroad has exposed her to new influences and ways of thinking. But back in her hometown, tradition still rules.

This becomes clear when Shula discovers her uncle Fred, deceased, on the road. While shocked, she remains composed, maybe expecting the worst from this uncle. Her family, though, plunges into ritual grieving, as their culture prescribes.

Women crawl on hands and knees to the home. Loud wailing fills the house for days. Shula watches it all from a distance, checking into a hotel to avoid the spectacle. She seems removed from these ancestral traditions.

Her aunts confront her there, accusing her of shirking her duties. They insist she fulfills her role of supporting her bereaved mother. We sense Shula’s frustration with being forced into practices now foreign to her modern sensibilities.

Tensions grow as secrets of Uncle Fred’s dark past emerge. While known to all, the family aimed to bury these truths with him. But for Shula and her cousins, violated by this man, his death offers a chance to face denied wrongs.

As secrets unfold, Shula becomes fed up with the blind devotion shown to a man who is undeserving of it. She rebels against pretenses that would allow abuse to continue anonymously. In doing so, she also defies expectations placed on her by the older generation.

By the film’s end, Shula stands for progress, confronting the traditions that enabled pain. The clash we witness is one we’ve seen across cultures: between a society moving forward and ideals some wish remained frozen in time.

Family Silence, Shula’s Cry for Change

Rungano Nyoni’s powerful film delivers a nuanced examination of addressing abuse amid cultural expectations. Through Shula, we witness the struggle to speak the truth amid a web of silence and denial concerning her uncle’s crimes.

Nyoni blends genres seamlessly. Death’s discovery sparks surreal imagery as Shula attends the funeral in a bizarre costume. Yet grief rituals unfold with naturalism, exposing conflicts between Shula’s forward thinking and elders clinging to tradition. Scenes alternate between mournful wailing and cousin Nsansa’s jokes, revealing how victims cope.

Uncle Fred’s passing presents opportunity but also resistance. Pressure mounts on Shula to comply with demands for quiet suffering and memory erasure. Nsansa and her youngest cousin Bupe’s confessions find solidarity in Shula, yet she sees their pain as a call to action where others seek inaction.

In the story’s climax, Shula defiantly raises her voice with others, transforming mourning into a chorus of accusations. Her cry calls others to silence, reflecting Nyoni’s hope that cultural change begins when victims find solidarity over isolation. Through vivid yet sensitive storytelling, Nyoni elevates important dialogue on addressing abuse amid societal pressures. Ultimately, her distinct blend of genres and tones brings greater understanding to those willing to hear Shula’s call.