Les Aunties: “We can’t get up and tell our husbands to stop mistreating us, but if it’s in the song, you can express yourself there and he will listen”

Les Aunties are a group of nine Chadian women, aged between 40 and 65, who produce empowering, traditional music. They recently took Montréal’s Nuits d’Afrique, a free festival that prioritises the staging of acts with African roots, by storm, literally. A rain shower was just causing attendees to scatter when the women, in striking orange skirts, black shirts and orange headdresses sat in a semi-circle on stage, each with a calabash in front of them. The drumming and high-pitched call-and-response singing interrupted the chaos and froze the crowd. The music continued and, now undeterred by the rain, the audience moved in closer. Les Aunties, grinning, sang a number of songs in this initial formation, before taking turns to stand up and dance to the front, while others kept the rhythm and singing driving. Fellow Nuits d’Afrique artists and members of Les Aunties’ entourage took the opportunity to run on stage and join the dancing in short bursts. At other moments, all of Les Aunties stood up to sing together without the calabash percussion. Towards the end of their set, one member, Somti, put on headphones and added backbeats to the group vocals, underpinning the already rhythmic sounds with subtle extra effects.

The core of this music comes from what AfrotroniX, a pan-Africanist music producer who has been working with Les Aunties, dubs a traditional Chadian “therapy session.” In this, women sit in a circle and sing their grievances above the sound of the calabash, which he describes as “a very female instrument.” It’s made from a large dried, hollowed-out gourd and has many uses: “The calabash is a fruit that they cut in two pieces and they use it to do everything: to cook, to bring things from the bush, to carry water, to serve food. And this thing, whenever you feel sad or happy, you turn it and you start to play on it, and that’s it. According to what you are going through, the songs come out,” explains AfrotroniX.

The members of Les Aunties are all survivors of domestic abuse and violence, and these circles present one of very few occasions in which women will be listened to by men. “In Chad,” says Tokari, one of Les Aunties, “we can’t get up and go and tell our husbands to stop mistreating us, but if it’s in the song, you can express yourself there and he will listen to the song.” Les Aunties’ core mission is to bring awareness (and ultimately improvement) to the dire state of women’s rights in Chad where, generally, wives and daughters lead “the life of a slave in the house.” Tokari tells me, “We [Les Aunties] have suffered that… a man can hit you, break your ribs, but you don’t even have the right to tell him to stop. Our struggle is that we manage to tell women that it’s not normal, that they see that it is not normal and that they join the movement to start saying that it must stop.”

At different points in their set, the driving, feminist message of Les Aunties was made clear. Between singing, they shouted to the audience in French, “Send girls to school!” (and had the chant whooped and roared back at them). With the help of AfrotroniX’s translation, they made clear that they were in Montréal “representing the other women in Chad… suffering [under the rules of an oppressive] government.”

Around a year and a half ago, AfrotroniX was in Chad looking for voices to collaborate with. On meeting Les Aunties, he suspended touring for a year to work with them on this project, in which he aims to give them the spotlight as much as possible. “What I liked [was] that they didn’t show themselves as victims,” he reflects. “They are talking about the strength that they used to overcome [their traumatic experiences]. [Somti’s] husband broke like four of her bones and her legs and arms, and then he abused one of her daughters… So, she went to N’Djamena [Chad’s capital, where Les Aunties are based] and she said that was the limit. It’s been ten years, and she doesn’t have access to the rest of the kids. There are five. Because when kids reach eight years old, they belong to men. That’s a law in Chad. So, this is a very hard mental burden, but through the song she is saying, ‘See I made it, I didn’t die, I survived.’… I heard the power of the song… I realised the songs are not for me. I [gave] them a stage so they can tell [their stories].” Since then, Les Aunties have performed within and outside of Chad to great success. “The impact is enormous,” Tokari says, “We have women who come to us and say that it gives them joy, [telling us,] ‘Your messages have allowed us to see the stupidity in which we have remained.’ Many women have left certain things, they have decided to stop certain things… it has created a big movement.”

This is despite a challenging environment for performing music in Chad. “There are not very many modern theatres,” explains Tokari, “There is one place where artists can perform. In a traditional way, we perform at the wedding events, funeral events. And sometimes we just bring our calabash under a big tree, we start playing and people come. That happens often.” “There is no structure, you know,” comments AfrotroniX, who grew up in Chad but is now based in Montréal. On his visit to Chad in 2018, he explains, he had no idea that people knew who he was until “I went to the very north Sahara zone. I started a show [and] there were 35,000 people.”

Going forward, Les Aunties are seeking not just to be a music group but to provide practical support for women in their country. Their aim is ‘to create a national support and mentoring network for female entrepreneurship,’ something which they’ve built the skills to do, partially through managing their own music career and finances. Beyond that, they declare, ‘Our mission is to gradually promote peace, education, financial inclusion, banking, women’s empowerment, reforestation of the Sahel and education through culture and artistic excellence.’

But these large and outspoken ambitions are not without risk. “I wouldn’t tell you how it’s going to be when we go back [to Chad].” AfrotroniX grimaces. “It’s a risk that they [Les Aunties] are taking. Because they have threats [from] a lot of men already. And I receive them too. They are like, ‘Oh you come, you start a rebellion. Now we are losing our wives. You are bringing a disorder in the families…’ But some of the men, they back me as well. Because they know what their mothers go through. So, it’s a movement. And I know the risk. But I think it’s worth it. And they are ready. They are so ready. If we go back tomorrow and it’s done for us, we’ve experienced something big. So that’s how far they’re ready to go.”

With all that risk, the pervasive strength and power of Les Aunties remains, as expressed in their group name. “If you have a message and you want to spread it very fast, go to the Aunties, stay with them, talk a little bit, you go home and tomorrow the whole city is talking about it,” laughs AfrotroniX. “They are the ones that can use knowledge, now that they know what is their strength, they know how to [use it].”

This article originally appeared in the November 2024 issue of Songlines. Never miss an issue – subscribe today