Senegal’s Hit Show Ignores Taboos
DAKAR, Senegal — In the most controversial scene of “Mistress of a Married Man,” a hugely popular new television series in Senegal, the show’s protagonist, Marème, dons a daring magenta pantsuit and heads out for a date with a married man, but not before pointing below her belt.
“This is mine,” she tells her friend. “I give it to whomever I please.”
The series, which debuted in January, has set off a fierce debate over contemporary womanhood in a largely Muslim West African nation that is urbanizing quickly. The first episode received more than three million views on YouTube, nearly equivalent to the entire population of Senegal’s capital region.
Marème’s pronouncement, fans say, was nothing short of rebellion. And it fits into a movement by women to assert their independence. The show takes on not just feminine desire, but also rape, male power, domestic violence and the jealousies that arise out of polygamy.
It is part of a burst of woman-driven television and film production across Africa in which writers, producers and actors openly assert female sexuality, challenge traditional gender roles and present distinctly African stories.
There has been some pushback from official sources and everyday viewers. In Senegal, a state regulator has threatened a broadcast ban.
Netflix has two woman-driven series in the works in Africa. Ghana’s growing Gollywood scene has several influential female producers. And in Kenya, “Rafiki” chronicles a romance between daughters of rival politicians in a country where being gay is illegal.
“Mistress of a Married Man” is the brainchild of Kalista Sy, 34, a former television journalist. She said she had grown tired of female characters written by men, or by outsiders.
“It’s for Senegalese people first, then for the world,” she said.
Senegal practices a form of Islam that President Macky Sall has called moderate and tolerant. Women are free to run along the beach in tank tops, go to university and lead professional lives. But in the home, men often retain power. Some men take two wives, or more, but for women, sexuality often remains hidden behind a culture of discretion and modesty.
Television has often been dominated by series from the United States, Latin America and Nigeria. Stations have begun to favor local work, but those shows often present women in subservient roles.
In Dakar, many people said that the show’s popularity reflected a deep desire to see reality depicted onscreen. Teenagers copy the hairstyles of a character named Djalika. Men see themselves in an adulterer’s marital conundrum.
But not all are so enamored. This year, a Muslim group influential in Senegal, Jamra, threatened to march in protest of the show.
For all its success, it is unclear if the show will return for a second season. The show’s commercial director, Julia Cabrita Diatta, said some major advertisers had backed away from the show after deciding it was too controversial.
The final episode aired just hours after filming concluded.
Mbayang Gueye, a 29-year-old fan, barely moved her eyes from the characters for the next 70 minutes.
“It’s so good,” she said. “I will miss them and be lonely without them.”
Characters assert female sexuality and independence.