Cinema against silence
A new Malian film takes on the tradition of forced marriage with humor, intimacy, and defiance—reimagining African cinema as both tribute and rupture.
Still from Furu. All images © Fatou Cissé.
- Interview by
- Sasha Artamanova
On November 7, 2024, elegantly dressed guests filled Magic Cinéma (formerly Babemba) in Bamako, Mali, for the highly anticipated premiere of Furu, the debut narrative feature by Fatou Cissé. Cissé, a rising star of Malian cinema, first captured international attention with her 2022 documentary Hommage d’une fille à son père, a moving tribute to her late father, the legendary filmmaker Souleymane Cissé. It was met with acclaim at the Cannes Film Festival, where it premiered in the classics section.
In Furu, a bold tragicomedy, Cissé tackles the pervasive issue of forced marriage in Mali. Through the intertwined stories of two women, the director explores the tensions between tradition and modernity. Since the mid-twentieth century, marriage customs in African societies have undergone gradual and far-reaching transformations; however, furu ye wajibi ye (“marriage is an obligation”) remains a deeply rooted belief. Furu reveals how this enduring sense of duty takes a heavy toll on young men and women across both rural and urban Mali.
Drawing on real stories experienced by women she knows, Cissé weaves a fictional narrative that shines a light on the lived struggles of Malian women. With Furu, she not only fights for their rights but also extends her father’s legacy by engaging with his seminal works—in particular, Den Muso, the elder Cissé’s 1975 film which exposed social injustices faced by women in Malian society. Both films follow young girls caught in the grip of a patriarchal society who, instead of receiving support, are punished by their communities—in the name of tradition and in service to maintaining the social order.
During the evening screening of Furu, the audience—especially young women—responded with enthusiasm. They laughed, applauded, and audibly supported the film’s protagonists, Tou and Ami, as they navigated moments of tension, irony, and defiance. Cissé weaves humor into key scenes, particularly in the dynamic between Ami and her mother and grandmother, all involved in the generational craft of producing traditional Malian bogolan fabrics. Their spirited exchanges highlight generational divides with warmth and wit. Similarly, the interactions between Tou and her much older husband—whom she was forced to marry by her father to protect the family’s honor after Tou became pregnant out of wedlock—are portrayed with a touch of irony. These lighter moments offer brief respite from the film’s heavy themes and allow viewers to connect more deeply with the young women at its center. At the end of the film, as the credits rolled, a 27-year-old male friend who had recently been forced into marriage by his family confided to me that he was deeply moved. He spoke of the injustice faced by young people like himself, deprived of opportunities—such as education and career development—because of family decisions to arrange marriages for economic gain.
Two weeks after the premiere, I met Cissé at the office of her production company, Sisé Filmu, in Bamako to discuss Furu, her inspirations, the challenges of making her first narrative feature film, and what it means to carry forward the legacy of her father—who would pass away just four months later. Like Cissé’s debut, Furu is headed to the Croisette: The feature will be screened at the Pavillon Afriques after it premieres tonight in New York at the African Film Festival.
How did you come up with the idea to make a film about forced marriage? Why did you think it was relevant?
Mariage forcé [forced marriage] is a subject that concerns nearly all young girls in Bamako. Marriage is an obligation. If you’re not married, it’s seen as blasphemy—even I went through it when I was young. It’s unfortunate to say, but that’s the reality. Women are still treated like slaves who must always be submissive, especially by their mothers and the older women who went through the same problems and internalized them. They can’t break free. They believe it’s good for the rest of us.
They insist on arranging marriages?
They insist, so it continues. They believe by virtue of that your children will be blessed, will be protected or become rich. That’s the mentality people have here, and it’s tragic. So, Furu was really made to trigger that red button. Elders—especially grandmothers and mothers—should be protecting us from the fathers. But if they themselves side with the fathers, then the young girl—she’s lost. She no longer knows what to do.
I heard a story about a woman who no longer wanted to stay with her husband, because he kept beating her. She went to seek refuge with her parents. Her parents told her, “No, you’re married now, so you don’t belong here anymore. It’s over. Your place is with your husband. Go back to him.” The woman chose death. She threw herself into the water with her baby strapped to her back. She chose to die with her child rather than return to her husband—all because her parents, even though they knew what she was going through, insisted she go back to the marriage.
There are lines in my film that are taken directly from real life. There are gestures, actions that truly happened. Everything in my film is rooted in reality and shaped through fiction. Because for me, above all, my goal is to convey a message through real events.
This is your first narrative feature film. What was the process of making it like?
The writing was very difficult because I had never written a feature film before. I didn’t know how I was going to go about it. I would write, and I would tell myself, “My God, how am I going to manage this?” I had the ideas, but I didn’t know how to structure them. So I wrote and wrote… I went to show it to Souleymane, and he said to me, “You’re bringing me something I don’t understand at all.” That really threw me off. I said, “But what did you read? What did you understand?” He said, “Well, yes, I read the content, but I couldn’t follow it. Because it’s two stories.”
Usually, people go with one story, but my film includes the stories of two single women that intertwine. So honestly, the writing took me a long time. Once that was done, the next step was to work with the director of photography I had contacted in France, but he dropped out at the last minute because of the situation here in Mali. He suggested we film in a village in Dakar, and I said, “No — Dakar isn’t Bamako. It’s not Mali. I can’t do that. I also don’t have the means to take my team over there or to recruit new people on-site.” I was doing this out of my own pocket and with help from my family. It’s not like I had a big producer behind me to fund everything.
I asked another colleague, Hachim Mohamed, to be my director of photography, and he said yes, although he had never done it before. So he was new. I was new. And the second camera operator—it was also his first time working on a feature film
Then came the casting, which was complicated. I did a first round of casting—it didn’t work. I had to do a second casting. And, luckily for me, during that first casting, there was the lead actress I had selected. For her, too, it was the first time in front of a camera. She had no experience at all. As for the male characters—Dra, Palme, and Chaka—they were played by professional actors. But all the other members of the cast were amateurs—even the villagers. What surprised me most in the village was that they were more connected to the subject than people in Bamako. That’s what really struck me. Because these are realities they experience firsthand,when I gave them a line, they delivered it naturally. I couldn’t believe it. I said, “This is perfect. Are you used to doing this or what?” But no—it’s just a subject they know. They are living it, that’s all. It was beautiful.
Choosing the village itself was difficult too. I went to Koulikoro and to different villages in Kolokani. I didn’t find what I was looking for. Then someone told me about Siby, and I visited five villages there before arriving at the one where we did the filming—Mankandjiana. When I got to Mankandjiana, it was love at first sight. I said to myself, this is where I’m going to film. It’s very peaceful and beautiful.
So how did Souleymane react to Furu? Was it different from how he had perceived the script?
In the end, when he saw the footage, he was surprised. He said, “I knew you could express yourself better through images than through writing.” So when it comes to writing, I’m zero. But the images—he liked them. He did not expect to see those kinds of images in my work. I think he was impressed when he saw the film. That already meant something, because he is so demanding when it comes to images. He is Mr. Perfectionist. Unfortunately, we can’t all be like him. So we do what we can and move forward—that’s all.
He was pleased, and that already means a lot to me. It makes me happy to see him pleased, because he deserves it. He really suffered in this country. He went through a lot, and I hope his work won’t end up being lost. I just hope there will be good people who can help us with the archiving of his works, because we’ve been fighting for them to be properly preserved. It’s something that truly belongs to the nation.
It’s clear that growing up with Souleymane must have been a major source of inspiration for you. Are there any other sources of inspiration for you?
Of course. There’s my uncle, Gaston Kaboré. I really like his films, and Sembène Ousmane too. I discovered some of Sembène’s films at FESPACO [Pan-African Film and Television Festival of Ouagadougou in Burkina Faso], and I was amazed to see how he managed to create his films despite having practically nothing. Nowadays, we have the means; with digital technology, it’s so much easier. Even with a phone, you can easily make a film. You just need a good script to make an excellent film. But back then, they were struggling with their equipment. It’s incredible.
Then there’s Salif Traoré, a great Malian director—a very talented one—and my aunt, Fatoumata Coulibaly, who is both an actress and a director. She also fights hard for women’s rights. So yes, there are many people who inspire me—especially their determination and their struggle. I tell myself, sure, we still haven’t fully grasped cinema in Mali, but that’s no reason not to do it. It’s not a reason not to try. People even tend to say that filmmakers are crazy—that they have nothing—but that’s normal. You have to be a little crazy to move forward. I believe that images can do a lot—and they do a lot. That’s a reality. It’s a powerful weapon, and we’ll try to follow in the footsteps of our father. Even if we don’t quite make it, we’ll try. It’s better to try than not to try at all. At least they’ll be able to say, “Ah, she tried.” That already means something.
During the screening I noticed that the audience, especially young women, reacted very enthusiastically to what was going on the screen. What did you think about this reaction?
I don’t really know how to put this. As they say, once you make a film, it no longer belongs to you. The way you watched the film and the way I would present it to you—it will never be the same. The audience watched it and interpreted it based on their own perspective, their own understanding. It’s true that many were impressed, that many really appreciated it, and that many laughed a lot. And it’s true that there was a lightness in the film. I just hope they understood the message.
Do you already have the next project in mind?
Not yet. I’m thinking it over. But there will be something—that’s for sure. I believe there’s nothing more powerful than the image to convey a message. You don’t even need words. With the image alone, you can get the message across. Maybe, next time, I might try that.
