Another Time, Another Place

The Stakes

The present article is part of my ongoing doctoral research, where I propose to investigate the memory of women of authority in the Zambezi Valley, by women. I am particularly interested in exploring the possibility that women’s account of history may at best compliment, but at times contradict the version(s) held by scholars, commonly based in written sources and still with some degree of male bias. Through my readings of the existing literature I have perceived some marginality of indigenous female figures in historic records, coupled with a limited understanding of the processes that led women into authoritative roles.

The women in whom I am interested are, to a certain measure notorious and visible in historical texts. They are, for that reason engraved in either historic records or people’s memories. Yet, portrayals of the role and power of women in the Zambezi Valley are not consensual. In some cases, authors cannot agree on the source of their power. In other cases the recognition of their power or authority is undermined by a perceived subordinate position towards men or within society. More often than not, female power is viewed as an exception; hence the women are transgressors of the norm.

One form of portraying authoritative women of the Zambezi Valley has been through the description of “traditional” social structures, by which women are anonymously imbedded into indigenous social systems and ways. Types of “anonymous” women of authority include the wives of emperors and female chiefs, who, contrary to their male counterparts, are seldom called by their own names, even if historians acknowledge their existence and authoritative role. In a matrilineal context, as is a great part of the Valley, mothers and sisters are of great importance. This is particularly true of female authority known as “fumo-acaze,” who have been acknowledged to be both chiefs and sisters of chiefs.¹ Their position could only be inherited by women.² Yet unearthing accounts of specific “fumo-acaze” has proven nearly impossible.

In relation to the underrepresented importance of the wives of the emperors, historian Florence Pabiou-Duchamp³ writes about early influential Portuguese settlers who were called “wives of the karanga”⁴ at the end of sixteenth and beginning of seventeenth centuries. According to her, both settlers and historians who wrote about them mistook this to be a purely honorary title. Even though there is ample documentation on the emperor’s wives’ participation in governing roles, historians did not always understand or recognize the extent and importance of their role. “Informed by their masculine vision of royalty where women were above all spouses, they could not understand the role of these women and, by extension, that of the Portuguese so-called ‘kings’ wives.”⁵

Another way of portraying powerful women of the Valley has been as an accident and an exception, as was the case of the indigenous women who married foreign settlers, and their female offspring, who became known in history as “Donas.”⁶ These women first emerged as landowners in the seventeenth century. The land they owned, called “prazo,” was leased to settlers as a concession for exploration for a set period, normally three generations. By the end of the eighteenth century, they owned the majority of “prazos” in the Zambezi Valley.⁷

Some authors, like José Capela,⁸ are of the opinion that “Donas’” power stemmed from the land entitlement given to them by the Portuguese Crown upon marriage to Portuguese vassals. As such they were an intrinsic part and exclusive creation of the colonial framework. Authors such as Newitt⁹ on the other hand, attribute their power to the indigenous customary lineage systems and the centrality of women in them. Rodrigues,¹⁰ more in line with Capela, considers that Newitt possibly exaggerated the importance of the African context in the inheritance pattern of the “prazo” succession, as this was determined principally through what she called the “Portuguese normative frame.” Instead, she proposes that these women benefited from the influence they had through their parentage with indigenous societies over their foreign husbands. She compares Mozambican “Donas” to land owning women in “Portuguese India,” where the same normative frame allowed female landownership and succession and yet was not conducive to similar power. The main difference between the two cases, Rodrigues claims, is that in India the husbands were also native to the land and thus the women did not have any comparative advantage.

Although it is indisputable that the “Donas” were a direct product of the Portuguese colonial normative frame, my research suggests that the “foreignness” of their husbands did not necessarily make them more powerful than their husbands in the eyes of the indigenous populations. Instead, a general deference to the wives of prominent/wealthy men—with a parallel in the wives of emperors, as well as lesser chiefs—coupled with the practice of female inheritance through authoritative mothers—as was the case of the fumo-acaze—made the “Donas” authority fit well within the logic of female power and authority in Zambezi Valley societies.

To address the “anonymity” and discuss the possible misrepresentations of the processes conducive to the power of authoritative indigenous women in the Zambezi Valley my research relies on oral sources, treating women as privileged sources for reconstructing memories of these authoritative women.¹¹ The underlying assumption is that women, particularly those descending from women of authority, have a unique insight into their ancestresses’ lives and contributions to history. My premise is that all individuals within a society are not passive receptors but active players in their own history. Women (of authority nonetheless) should not be any different. Because I find that written historical records do not contain satisfactory information on these women, whether in regards to their relationship to men or to society as a whole, as well as on their role in historical events that shaped their society, oral records become central in accessing hidden personal histories and the place of female authority within the Zambezi Valley context.

Dominant Descriptions of the Zambezi Valley

In order to better address the gaps that may exist in relation to the placement of women in the history of the Zambezi Valley, it is important to first present how history usually describes the region and its peoples; i.e. who gets to be mentioned and how.

The dominant description refers that to the north of the Zambezi River, where the most notable political organization was the Maravi state formation. There is some dispute about the inception of this state. Newitt¹² states that the most popular assumptions about their settlement follow the work of Alpers, which dates from 1966 and sustains that the Maravi had been established long before the Portuguese arrived in the sixteenth century.¹³ Several Mozambican historians hold the same position.¹⁴ Newitt, however, contends that settled Maravi states did not occur until the first half of the seventeenth century,¹⁵ sometime after the first Portuguese settlers were established in the region. In general, however few authors who talk about the Maravi¹⁶ provide information of the inception of this state, and most describe their existence through their interaction with Portuguese traders and settlers.

Despite this, virtually all authors agree that the Maravi peoples originated in the region of Katanga, in the Congo.¹⁷ By the end of the sixteenth century a split seems to have occurred in the lineage that migrated from the region of origin and was settled to the north of the Zambezi, giving rise to three independent political chieftaincies; the Karonga¹⁸ in present southeast Malawi, The Undi in Northern Tete and the Lundo in Zambezia, to the west of Chire river. The lineage was established through the maternal line. Among them, the wife of the karonga emperor had jurisdiction over part of the territory, and women chiefs named “fumo-acaze” also governed.¹⁹ Other people mentioned in the region are the Makwa people, who resided in coastal and northern Zambezia, whose lineage was also matrilineal and whose women enjoyed some influence in their society too.²⁰

To the south of the Zambezi River existed the empire of the Mwenemutapa. Contrary to the Maravi, who according to Rocha²¹ extended their influence through marital allegiances and assimilation of religious practices,²² the Mwenemutapa expanded through political allegiances, military conquests and annexations.²³ The empire’s most important asset was gold, which was of particular interest to Arab and Swahili traders of the eastern coast of Africa, and later the Portuguese. Although having varied throughout its existence, the jurisdiction of the Muwenemutapa extended from the Mazowe River in what is now Zimbabwe, to the Luia River, a tributary of Zambezi River in present day Mozambique. It also included a number of subordinate states, among which were the Sodanda, Quissanga, Quiteve, Manica, Barue, and others more to the interior.²⁴

The Shona peoples, who composed this empire, establish their lineage through the paternal line. However, according to Rodrigues,²⁵ even among these patrilineal peoples the wives of the mutapa emperor had their own territory and could serve as ambassadors.²⁶

The first Portuguese settlements in Mozambique date from the early sixteenth century. Initially they were limited to littoral areas in Sofala and Mozambique Island. The main interest was the control of the gold trade originating from the mutapa lands²⁷ and later on the ivory trade routes²⁸ of the karonga area. However, the Portuguese competed over these mineral and natural resources with Arab, Persian and Swahili traders who had settled in the area as early as the eleventh century. As a result, the Portuguese ventured to the interior of the territory. Instead of solely controlling the trading routes, Portuguese traders and officials invested in direct access to the producing areas. They gained influence by militarily supporting the Mwenemutapa against contenders to the throne. This support soon translated into concessions to the gold mines and access to land, which in turn became assets of the Portuguese Crown.²⁹

To govern over this area the Portuguese Crown instituted the so-called “prazo” system. Some authors³⁰ consider that this was in fact the first tangible manifestation of Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique. This model was similar to one applied by the Portuguese in India³¹ and by which the Portuguese Crown could “occupy” the territory by granting “Crown land” to “European” vassals in exchange for insuring the Crown’s commercial interests, administrative forts and protection from invasion by local chiefs. The areas that became “prazos” were at times received as a result of commercial negotiations as well as in return for services rendered (especially in the protection of the local chiefs and kings); but mostly they resulted from military conquest.³²

During the seventeenth century, due to the scarcity of Portuguese settlers in an area of profound economic interest, a royal order allowed for female proprietorship, stipulating that orphaned girls would be given land, as dowry by the Crown, upon marriage to Portuguese settlers.³³ The reasoning behind this order was that the possibility of accessing land through marriage would attract prospective settlers. The order further stipulated that the land was to be inherited through the female line, with priority to the eldest daughter, for at least three generations. The lack of Portuguese women at the time willing to venture to this frontier—orphaned or otherwise—meant that the prazeiros ended up marrying indigenous women. In some instances, preference was given to daughters of local chiefs,³⁴ who could also guarantee allegiances through kinship bonds so fundamental to claims of political power and influence. The indigenous women who accessed these lands, but particularly their female progeny, were called “Donas.”

While little has been written about the wives of the emperors of the region or the female chiefs, the same has not happened with the landowning “Donas.” I would suggest that the reason for this is what Pabiou-Duchamp called the historians’ masculine vision, which fails to understand not only the role but the importance of wives in the indigenous social structure, hence relegating them to a marginal plane. At the same time, this vision centralizes historical events around the encounter of indigenous people with the colonial settlers and imposing structures. Within this logic, “Donas,” perceived as part of and empowered by these structures, deserve more centrality. Their indigenous ties are acknowledged as relevant, but not fully recognized as a true source of power.

In Search of Place for Female and Native Constructions

Before I attempt to fill the gaps mentioned above, I should contextualize the efforts to bring forth a more accurate historiography of Mozambique in general and of the Zambezi Valley in particular. In the 1980s members of the history department at the Eduardo Mondlane University (UEM) in Mozambique published two volumes on the history of the country.³⁵ In the words of Clarence-Smith, their work included “exciting new research,”³⁶ as they went beyond the then existing scholarly publications. This was only possible through resorting to archaeology and oral sources. Given Mozambique’s recent independence, these volumes reflected the official ideology of the time, focused on resistance to colonialism, and aimed at reconstructing a past that the nationalist historians perceived as having been erased by colonial preconceptions. Representations held thus far, they sustained, were the product of colonialism and non-African scholars, and hence were highly prejudiced.

The use of oral sources is central, and has been discussed at length, particularly in regard to African history.³⁷ In particular oral and life histories have been central in the area of women’s history.³⁸ Of course, one should be wary of universal categories that isolate African historiography as a distinct and homogenous entity that requires differentiated methods and approaches from those used in non-African contexts.³⁹ Whichever position one takes, oral sources are unavoidable for African historiography in general and women’s histories in particular. One should also not fall into the trap of assuming that African or Africa-based historians are more accurate in developing its history than other scholars. Although, for the case of Mozambique, UEM’s mostly Mozambican historians’ critical approach to a history previously based solely on written records did enrich the knowledge that otherwise would not be there.

European observers of all walks of life—missionaries, military, administrators, and so on—have described indigenous African societies at length. Their writings constitute the backbone of sources used by non-African historians reliant on written accounts. In the case of Mozambique, the major implication for the use of these sources has been the chronology of accounts. Chronologically, most registries start their accounts from late fifteenth century, when the first Europeans first arrived to the shores of what is now Mozambican territory. It is typically at this point that the history of Mozambique “begins.” European presence and colonialism are at the center of the country’s history and shape any and all events.

Arab traders, present in the region and writing about the same area as far back as the eleventh century⁴⁰ are not common historical sources.⁴¹ Though their long-standing presence in the area has strongly influenced religious practices, trade, and commerce, they occupy a comparatively small part of the historiography of the country. Their presence is usually acknowledged only in competition or conflict with European, specifically Portuguese interests, even if the concept of what constituted Portuguese interests was not always clear-cut. Several sources state that Portuguese interests, in Mozambican history at least, were not always defended by European Portuguese, but also by Goans⁴² and other men from across the Portuguese empire, even men of mixed African and European or Asian origins.⁴³

The Africanist desire of Mozambican historiographers for a reconstruction of a past undermining and vilifying European/colonial interference ran parallel with the socialist political project, and privileged the depiction of perceived unadulterated social institutions and practices such as patrilineal and matrilineal lineage traditions. It also aimed at recollecting major kings and dynasties, preferably with notable resistance to the colonial project. In the case of Mozambique this recollection included the great kingdoms of Mwenemutapa, and to some extent the Maravi states, or (in)famous Gaza king/emperor Ngungunhane. Famous female anti-colonial resistance examples such as the Angolan Queen Nzinga did not grace Mozambique’s history. Although there are a few, often unnamed, “fumo-acaze” who are mentioned as resistors of foreign settlement, the most famous female figures of colonial resistance in Mozambican history are those presented within the context of the nationalist resistance movement.

In her revision of women’s authority in East-Central Africa, Christine Saidi expresses a similar frustration that despite plenty of evidence, scholars have systematically failed to recognize “the significant role women played in African history.”⁴⁴ She posits that views of African women’s history by western scholars have been clouded by ideological constraints. These constraints include the inability to recognize the variety of social categories to which women may belong; the insistence of considering the most meaningful relationships of women as only those that are established with the spouse; and the assumption of female subjugation in all relationships in relation to men. I would suggest that similar constraints affect not only western scholars, but also native male scholars.

I agree with Saidi, particularly about the wealth of social categories available to women, as I will discuss below. Like her, I have found the role of the sister to be of greater importance then it is usually given. However, the role of the wife is not less so. Whether by influence of current historical conjuncture, the importance of the woman as a spouse cannot be ignored.⁴⁵ What can and should be changed is the idea of the female spouse as subordinate. As I will argue, rather than taking the backseat, women of prominence, even those who gain prominence through marriage, are expected to fulfill an authoritative role.

The Place of the Wife, the Sister and Other Women

Between the months of January 2014 and August 2015, I interviewed twelve elderly women and four men, specifically suggested by the women who were my primary informants, in Quelimane, Macuze and Inhassunge.⁴⁶ In addition to interviews, I have taken a number of pictures of the places my informants have considered significant. I also had access to private collections of pictures. One group of elderly women also performed songs, through which past life was remembered. These different media exemplify the number of ways in which the past is stored, selected and ultimately remembered and performed.

Macuze is a locality in the district of Namacurra in Zambezia Province North of Quelimane. It is located at the shores of the Indian Ocean. Here I collected data around the history of the family of “Régulo” (head chief) Voabil. This is where the “Companhia do Boror” (a lessee company) had its headquarters, and which sat on land of one of the oldest “prazos” of the “Rios de Sena.” The Boror Company was a capitalist venture once “reputed to have the largest plantation of coconuts in the world.”⁴⁷ It was dominated mainly by French capital and was run by a Swiss called Joseph Stucky (de Quay). In Macuze, I was searching for possible descendants of the ruling indigenous peoples described in the historic texts, the Maravi or the Makwas. Boror has been determined by many historians⁴⁸ to mean the northern side of the Zambezi River. It also refers to the land of the Lolo people, a branch of the Makwa peoples.

The term Bororo referred to the country of the Lolo people and we know from later sources that they were part of the Macua language family and were clearly distinguished from the Maravi. Indeed the rise of the Maravi chieftaincies in the seventeenth century pushed the Lolo downstream to the region round Quelimane.⁴⁹

Presently the Sena and the Chuabo seem to be the people of the region most referred to as belonging to the Valley. The Lolo peoples are considered to be the origin of the Chuabo people⁵⁰ and enjoyed the protection of the Portuguese from the Maravi expansion.⁵¹ The Sena, on the other hand, are described as the result of the intersection of Shona and the Maravi peoples.⁵² They have also incorporated linguistic and customary practices of other origins, including non-African. These connections provide strong elements that indicate active allegiances and exchanges between certain indigenous peoples of the area and settlers.

The central figure of the family in Macuze is the second “Régulo” Voabil. According to his daughter, the first Voabil, became “Régulo” by appointment of the Portuguese administration at the end of the nineteenth century, and his eldest son succeeded him. The history of this family and that of other “traditional” authorities of the region illustrates the establishment of leaderships within the colonial framework, which resulted in them being considered “colonial stooges”⁵³ shortly after the independence. Despite the specific role of the colonial regime in instituting these indigenous authority figures, I have not heard them being considered a European institution as is the case with the “Donas” or lessee and chartered companies. It is a fact that “Régulos” and other traditional leaders, like their assistant “Mwenes,” did not marry or descended from European settlers. However, many had their names changed to something more European sounding, adopted the catholic religion, thoroughly assimilated into European customs, and worked for and within the colonial apparatus (see Figure 1).

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Figure 1.

Meeting of “Régulos” in Coimbra, Portugal—1953 (private collection, Voabil Family)

In Figure 1 we see a group of “Régulos,” including “Régulo” Voabil, on an official visit to Portugal to report on the economic health of the territories under their jurisdiction. The “Régulos’” main responsibility was to collect taxes from the indigenous population. In the case of “Régulo” Voabil that meant those living within the territory of “Companhia do Boror”. The history of the Voabil family is thus inserted within the historical context of forced labor, which characterized the economy of the capitalist ventures of the lessee companies.⁵⁴ Families, especially women, were “recruited” into providing labor force at the company’s plantations and were obliged to keep a certain productivity level or face punishment.

While learning about the family’s history I heard of the “Régulo’s” multiple wives, all of them called “Nhanhe.” This is the term which is recurrent in the literature about the Zambezi Valley. Capela⁵⁵ says that the people, all of them male, chronicling the characteristics of the colonial society were not particularly rigorous. Some authors considered the “aNhanhe”⁵⁶ derogatorily as “amázias”⁵⁷ (mistresses) of white men. Others considered them darker women, but of mixed parentage, as, in the nineteenth century, racial distinctions started to matter greatly and often marked the differences between the perceived social strata.

Instead, for my informants in Macuze the “aNhane” were highly regarded and esteemed women, who married prominent men. People did not make the distinction in regard to color or origin of the husband. The only distinction mentioned was in regards to religion. If the men were Muslim, their wives were called “Nuno.” “aNhane” and “aNuno” had equivalent status. When asked if there was a distinction between “Nhanes” and “Donas,” they told me there was none. For them, “aNhanhe” were “Donas”.⁵⁸ If distinctions were made, most informants insisted it would be through the clothes they wore and jewelry they donned on themselves.

Figure 2 shows D. Ernestina de Menezes Soares, who was the spouse of Antonio Maria Pinto, owner of Prazo Carungo,⁵⁹ in Inhassunge⁶⁰ at the end of the nineteenth century. Figure 3 shows their daughter, D. Amália Pinto, who inherited the “prazo.” She later married Francisco Gavicho de Lacerda, one of the last “prazo” lessees of the colony. Both, mother and daughter, have elaborated gowns and lavish jewelry.

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Figure 2.

D. Ernestina de Menezes Soares, undated (private collection, Barros Family)

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Figure 3.

D. Amália Pinto, undated (private collection, Prado e Lacerda Family)

Figure 4 shows “Nhanhe” Amélia Pachave, one of Régulo Voabil’s wives. Figure 5 depicts Elisa Luis Soares, who was mother to Gavicho de Lacerda’s daughter D. Maria Adelaide Elisa Lacerda (later changed to Maria Adelaide Soares), born out of wedlock. Elisa was cousin to D. Ernestina, and owned property inherited from her father yet was not considered a “Dona”. She went on to wed and had children with a “Régulo” from the Inhassunge area. In the pictures, the two latter women both wear less lavish clothing and simpler jewelry. However, they would have still been warranted “respect”, as they were the wives of respectable men. They were also closer to the indigenous population then the “Donas” of this particular region, who most often resided in Quelimane.

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Figure 4:

“Nhanhe” Amélia Pachave, undated (private collection, Voabil Family)

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Figure 5:

Elisa Luís Soares, undated (private collection, Morais Family)

Prominent men could be prominent through personal fortune or by having a particular authoritative status in society. Women who were revered through their marital status distinguished themselves from others by the lush ways they adorned themselves with gold and silver. Most importantly, these women looked after the workforce, both at home and in the private plantation fields or businesses. They provided protection, including against colonial authorities and mediated conflicts among the peoples under her “rule.” In exchange for protection, her protégés often provided them with life-long allegiance.

Women could also be prominent through status acquired with inheritance, personal economic power or through a particular skill. The special skill that made women renowned was that of midwife, which is not supposed to be practiced by a man. Although, I did hear of a case in which the most renowned midwife of the area, not having daughters to pass on her knowledge, trained one of her sons in her skill. He became a male-midwife and was as respected as his mother had been.

My informants told me that women could also serve as counselors to the leaders. They would mostly attain this through age, as well as kinship. The second Voabil “Régulo” had one of his nieces as his counselor. My main informant of this family tells me that this niece was his counselor as a surrogate to her mother, the “Régulo’s” elder sister; thus, reinforcing the importance of the leader’s sister within the leadership structures. Moreover, the fact that she was childless did not prevent her from being married or acting as a counselor. The “Régulo” had two additional female counselors who were not related to him but were part of the council of elders. Whereas the community at large, men and women alike, recognized these two women for their role, only those closest to the “Régulo” knew his niece’s role.

The final category of women considered memorable and of authority were the “aNhacoda.” According to Newitt,⁶¹ “Nhacodas” were slaves who oversaw the labor of female slaves. The description of “Nhacoda” I received from my informants is indeed of women who oversaw the productivity of other women in the plantations, but they were not referred to as slaves. Just as the “Mwenes” and the “Régulos,” my informants told me, “aNhacoda” were forcefully recruited among the indigenous population. They were fearful of the colonial authorities but they commanded respect from the population over whom they were “ordered” to rule. Perhaps no other role for women has been more constant than that of the “Nhacoda.” Presently they are equated to OMM.⁶² As before, they are selected and drafted for their role as forewomen, due to their mobilization capabilities and extreme productivity. They are described as inspiring: “a ‘Nhacoda’ is like a pastor, she guides.”⁶³ Their main role, thus was to guide and inspire other women.

Her-story Still to be Told

In this article, I have attempted to reconcile the history that has been written on women of the Zambezi Valley with material gathered first hand through interviews to women on their memory of women of authority of this region. My main intention has been to conduct research that may help fill the gaps that still occur, either through the absence of specific indigenous female historic figures or the misunderstood role they played in the Zambezi Valley history.

I have found, much like Pabiou-Duchamp, that women’s roles have been greatly underestimated and marginalized by most of the literature on the Zambezi Valley. I did not find a shortage of examples of women in authoritative roles, renowned, revered, and remembered by their names and by their specific deeds.

In truth none of the categories of female authority I have come across are new to the literature on the Zambezi Valley. Rather how they are understood is what differs. For example, findings from the field evidence how time and space contribute to reshaping the meaning and understanding of each category of authority. “aNhanhe” have generally been described in the literature derogatorily as mistresses of “white men” or as the indigenous mothers of “Donas.” Instead, in the rural context of Macuze “aNhanhe” are highly regarded. And while literature attributes power to the “Donas,” and suggests a mere reproductive role for “aNhanhe,” my informants perceive no difference between the powers of the two. In addition, “aNhanhe” as spouses of prominent and affluent men have important managerial responsibilities. While it is understandable that these responsibilities could be misconstrued as related specifically to the domestic sphere, this sphere included not only the household but also private plantations or businesses. These women had responsibility over the labor force, including protection and mediation of conflict. This resembles much of the description of “Donas’” role in their management of the “prazos.”

In the case of the “aNhacoda,” over time the term has been attributed to apparently different functions, but serving arguably a similar purpose. From slaves who oversaw the work of other women to forewomen that guaranteed the productivity of female labor in the colonial companies, “aNhacoda” are now equated with members of the Mozambican Women’s Organization. During colonial times they were chosen for their productivity, which meant they were economically essential. Presently they are chosen for their mobilizing abilities, and have become politically influential.

The “aNhacoda’” subordinate status in relation to the colonial apparatus cannot be denied. But the description of their recruitment had parallels on other forceful recruitments of “aMwene” or even “Régulos”. In relation to the colonial structure both had little choice, and yet had strong influence over the indigenous population put under their jurisdiction.

On the other hand, much of the literature on matriliny is filled with the importance of the maternal uncle, and his power over his sister and her offspring. It seldom dwells about the role of sisters in relation to their brothers. In Macuze the “Régulo” was advised by his niece, as a surrogate for his sister who had passed away. He also had two women as members of his council of (five) advising elders. This seems to speak not only to the possibility, but also the necessity of the presence of women within the ruling structure. Women could also attain prominence through particular knowledge and skills, particularly through midwifery or anything related to female reproduction. Admittedly this is a skill seldom reserved for men.

To be fair, although there are no shortages of examples of women of prominence and authority, the reality is that their histories are not readily available. They need to be actively pursued. It is also true that Quelimane, Macuze or Inhassunge do not represent the whole Zambezi Valley. Other categories of women of prominence may exist elsewhere, and may show how a seemingly similar socio-geographical history impacted differently across the region. Above all, different understandings of these same categories could be found in different places of the Valley. Through the example of the life histories I have collected in Macuze and Inhassunge, however, it is necessary to acknowledge that by listening to which categories of authority women find important, and how they describe them as relevant, many discrepancies arise in relation to existing literature on these same categories. Nonetheless, the fact is that at least one category mentioned by my informants was not considered a category of authority by the literature.

For all the above, I believe that if the histories of these and other women of prominence in the Valley are not systematically collected, her-stories and contributions may irremediably be lost. And our history will remain poorer for it.