Rosine Mbakam’s debut feature, Mambar Pierrette (2023) is a tender depiction of harsh living in Douala, the commercial hub of Cameroon. It is a tale of adversity, interspersed with convivial scenes. Precarity disfigures the lives of Cameroonians portrayed in this film. Many struggle to make ends meet: a woman sells her car and shop before heading to Guinea in search of greener pastures, but she is confronted with the sole option of doing sex work which she rejects; a professional dancer, played by Calvin Zognou, is forced to work as a clown in his neighbourhood, receiving only yellow coins for his comedic performances. Yet, despite the crises of daily life, the residents of Douala leave room for joy and warmth.
A source of warmth in this film is Mambar Pierrette, the eponymous protagonist played by Mbakam’s cousin, Pierrette Aboheu Njeuthat. Mbakam’s drama pivots around Mambar, a talented seamstress, a single mother to three children, and the sole carer of her ailing mother. Mambar’s attempts to live fully and peacefully in Cameroon are constantly thwarted by a series of actors and events: election campaigners desperate to buy her presence at the president’s rallies; robbers in the form of motorcycle taxi drivers who steal her savings; heavy rains and floods that soak her clients’ clothes and children's school books; and an uncaring landlord who orchestrates a power cut in Mambar’s workshop following her late payment of an electricity bill.
Much of Mambar Pierrette is about political disappointment, but there are tinctures of romantic discontent. Mambar’s partner, Dike Emmanuel, has fled, leaving her alone to care for their children. Dike’s cowardly departure is rooted in his aversion to Mambar’s decision to buy a plot of land and build a house with earnings from her sewing business. Mambar’s mother and aunt, women of a forgiving generation, condemn her plan to report her husband’s neglect of his children to social services. But Mambar resists their lobbying for the exoneration of men’s misbehaviour. Sapped and weary, Mambar aches for an urgent release from poverty. Her dreams are not grand—she simply hopes her husband will fulfil his responsibilities as a parent; this desire manifests in how Mambar prompts her friend and client, Magni, to consider herself lucky to have a husband who contributes money, though little, towards the buying of school supplies for Magni’s children.
In a parallel story of romantic despair, Karelle, a client of Mambar’s, is left distraught by news that her boyfriend, residing in Canada, has broken his promise to travel and spend the weekend with her. Once filled with projects she prepared for what would have been a romantic weekend, Karelle is left feeling empty and unsure of what next to do with her time and the new colourful dresses she had Mambar make for the special occasion. She had poured all hope in an imagined future with her Canada boyfriend.
In a moving scene, Mambar consoles Karelle in a late-night bar. She reminds Karelle there is more to life than romance. They proceed to dance with vigour, causing their bodies to glisten with sweat. It is significant that this scene is protracted and visually unspectacular. Mbakam’s technique is tactical; she wishes to hold us here. This moment, in which two women work to bury the memory of neglectful male lovers, represents a mundane yet profound practice of abjuration. Mbakam paints a picture of feminist refusal, a refusal of anguish and dejection. In this crowded and dimly lit bar, Mambar and Karelle transcend their worries. What we witness here is a life affirming moment, one Mbakam underlines as telling of how women dare to feel joy even in the bleakest circumstances.
In an interview with Elissa Suh for BOMB Magazine, Rosine Mbakam articulates a theory of social change. “We think that lives are transformed in some big moment,” Mbakam says, “like something political or something you see on television. We don’t usually think it’s in our kitchen that our lives will change, but in Africa, it really is that way.”
Rosine Mbakam’s Mambar Pierette absorbs her theory of social transformation. It is in a roadside bar and a dressmaking shop that the lives of Douala’s residents are altered with felt consequences. These are the quotidian sites in which people, wounded by heterosexual romance, state neglect and precarious markets, deepen their resolve to cling to life and witness another rising sun.
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