An Ethiopian cotton tunic worn by noblewomen, in the British Museum; the patterns on Ethiopian tunics were copied by the Dutch designer Toon van de Manakker and made into a wax print for Vlisco in the 1960s, known by a few names such as ‘Angelina’ or ‘Addis Ababa’.
Vlisco was started in 1846 in the Netherlands with illustrators recreating Java fabrics, Indonesian Batik prints, for mass production. The fabrics didn’t do well in Indonesia, but they found a market in West Africa.
Vlisco factory, the making of the ‘Angelina’ print. Vlisco. [+]
‘Angelina’ from the Vlisco website.
This print is most recognised in the design of ‘dashiki’ shirts; the word dashiki was borrowed from dan ciki (dan chiki), a close fitting gown worn by men often under a riga, a tunic in northern Nigeria among the Hausa, Fulani and other ethnic groups.
Fulani man photographed by Denfield, British Museum.
Tripoli, Libya (CNN) – “Eight hundred,” says the auctioneer. “900 … 1,000 … 1,100 …” Sold. For 1,200 Libyan dinars – the equivalent of $800.
Not a used car, a piece of land, or an item of furniture. Not “merchandise” at all, but two human beings.One of the unidentified men being sold in the grainy cell phone video obtained by CNN is Nigerian. He appears to be in his twenties and is wearing a pale shirt and sweatpants.He has been offered up for sale as one of a group of “big strong boys for farm work,” according to the auctioneer, who remains off camera. Only his hand – resting proprietorially on the man’s shoulder – is visible in the brief clip.
Last year, documentary photographer Yagazie Emezi left Nigeria and moved to Liberia, exchanging the chaos of Lagos for the persistent grey of Monrovia. “It’s the wettest capital in the world,” she told me, and videos taken from her rooftop showed just that; a dull sky stretched over the ocean, rain as a constant soundtrack, water spitting down on water. It was unsurprising then that her first visit to West Point, a township ten minutes away from her house by tricycle taxi, would be accompanied by a light drizzle. West Point is also the largest slum in Monrovia, susceptible to significant coastal erosion. During the visit, Yagazie was shown around by a West Point resident. They walked through a part of the township that the ocean had reclaimed—where houses had been lost, eaten up by the water.
“I saw this woman who was sitting down in a half knocked down shack,” Yagazie recalled. “She was wearing a pink spaghetti tube top with blue braids, and had all these colors. Green lipstick, red eyeshadow. I wanted to photograph her but I couldn’t because it wasn’t my space; I didn’t know people there.” Her description was striking; easy to imagine. The woman sitting behind a veil of slight water, the rain pattering down, her body adorned in powder and oil-based pigment, stitched fabric and synthetic extensions. “That visual was what drew me into West Point,” Yagazie added.
She spent the next several months working with women and girls in Liberia, and from these interactions, it became clear that the standards of beauty these women were using were not ones she was familiar with. “They see a gold dress and think, that is a gold dress and it’s going to be on my body,” Yagazie explained. “We see a gold dress and we think, how will it look on my body? It’s the same thing with makeup. You’re not putting on pink because it matches, but because you like it, so you’re going to put it on you.”