Turquoise : Rwanda, France, and the In-Between of Representation


Five years in the making, Turquoise,[1] a joint effort between Olivier Bramanti (artwork) and Frédéric Debomy (scenario) that revisits the 1994 genocide in Rwanda, is not a bande dessinée in the conventional sense of the term. The size of Turquoise (much narrower and slightly taller than a regular bande dessinée), the textured soft back cover, the high-quality paper, and Bramanti’s tempera paintings instantly distinguish this text from mainstream bandes dessinées. Indeed, the name of the publisher, Les Cahiers dessinés [Illustrated notebooks], provides a more accurate description of the format of Turquoise as the text more closely resembles an artist’s book rather than a standard “48 CC” bande dessinée.[2] In this regard, the title, being the middle ground between blue and green, can signify the ambiguous classification of the text itself—not quite a bande dessinée—in addition to simultaneously referring explicitly to the ostensibly humanitarian French-led effort Operation Turquoise and symbolically representing the psychological gap between the victims and perpetrators of the genocide as Jessie Bi aptly points out.

This metaphor of in-betweenness suggested by the title, when applied to the text more broadly, provides useful insight into the verbal and visual narrative strategies of Debomy and Bramanti. Most immediately, the text is visually dominated by Bramanti’s paintings of the landscape in which the ratio and representation of the blue sky with the verdant rolling hillsides—iconic images associated with Rwanda—vary with changes in mood. In addition, Debomy and Bramanti make narrative use of the space in between each of the images. While the thick white margins of the page generally direct our attention to the meaning of the images and the text accompanying them, there are many moments of silence as well in the form of images without text and also in completely and almost completely blank pages. This strategy effectively turns up the volume of silence and the non dit or the unspoken and at the same time draws attention to the difficulty of representing an admittedly delicate subject matter. For, as Debomy explains in the afterward entitled, “Le genocide des Tutsi du Rwanda et l’Opération Turquoise,”[3] writing about recent history is difficult. Nonetheless, it is also necessary to which the labored production and subsequent publication of this text attest.

In an attempt to make sense of this recent history, Debomy and Bramanti focus on the complicated reality of France’s involvement in the genocide as epitomized by the simultaneity of Operation Turquoise’s humanitarian efforts and its geopolitical underpinnings. This bifurcated undertaking initiated by then French President François Mitterrand—on the one hand openly praiseworthy and on the other hand surreptitiously politically driven—ultimately became the lens through which the international community was made aware of the genocide. However, as this text makes explicit and tries to undo, the images of the genocide that began circulating as a result of the descent of Western journalists on Rwanda with Operation Turquoise were quickly engulfed by the narrative of a humanitarian crisis developing in the refugee camps in the eastern region of Zaïre (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo) due to the outbreak of cholera, ultimately silencing the atrocities and scale of the actual genocide.

To emphasize the dual nature of Operation Turquoise and to problematize the Western media’s representation of the genocide, Debomy constructs a narrative around the handful of repeated images broadcast internationally of the French troops’ arrival in Rwanda and what they witnessed. Not surprisingly, Debomy’s narrative oscillates between fact and fiction to immerse us in a deeper understanding of what took place before Operation Turquoise as well as after its implementation, thus providing the unsettling context of the genocide that the repetitive media images succeeded in stripping away.

To complement this oscillation at the visual level, Bramanti’s imagery and style shift between a more representative mode and more evocative mode. For example, at one point we are presented with some of the now iconic images of the genocide that circulated in Western media at the time of Operation Turquoise; Bramanti’s style accordingly becomes more detail-oriented to re-present the actual screenshots of footage and photographs of the time. Conversely, at other times, Bramanti deploys repetition and variation to evoke a specific tone and to activate an emotional response.

Repetition and variation

One striking example of this can be seen in this image in which the horizontal body of a victim on the ground is juxtaposed and bisected with the vertical body of a genocide perpetrator in the foreground. The framing of the victim occurs three times over the course of two pages with the perpetrator in two of the frames; each time, Bramanti’s rendering of the figures and their environment changes, becoming ever more in focus and culminating in the image seen here. The repetition and variation of these images—presented without text—provoke a reaction and inhibit us from simply passing over the reality of the genocide.

Ultimately, Turquoise exposes the devastation of the genocide beyond the media-driven focus on the health crisis of the refugee camps and thus invites us to take stock of what we think we might know about the genocide. Moreover, it foregrounds the interplay of truth and lies at the heart of discourse about the genocide. To that end, the text is almost completely devoid of proper names. Interestingly, while the main character, a genocide survivor, is only referred to as elle [she], her captor Ferdinand, a neighbor who becomes a participant in the genocide, is the only character identified with a name. Similarly, the text avoids the use of actual terms for nationality and ethnicity, thus hovering between the universal and the specific, all while pointing directly to the political and ideological weight of certain terms. This delicate balancing act is characteristic of the entire text and demonstrates the subtle efficacy of Bramanti and Debomy’s efforts.



[1] Beaux Livres-Albums, 2012, 96 p., 23.35 €ISBN 978-2-283-02558-1

[2] 48 CC is an industry shorthand that describes the standard printing format of many mainstream bandes dessinées in which 48 refers to the number of pages and CC stands for cartonné [hardback] and en couleur [in color].

[3] The Genocide of the Tutsi in Rwanda and Operation Turquoise

Le Turban et la capote: Satire and Diversity in Mayotte

Quick-witted and cheeky, Le Turban et la capote[1](published by L’Harmattan BD in 2013),set in the French overseas department of Mayotte, introduces francophone readers to a cast of energetic and short-tempered characters already well known to spectators and readers in the Indian Ocean. This bande dessinée, written by Mahoran Nassur Attoumani and illustrated by Madagascan Luke Razaka, is an updated version of an existing bande dessinée published in Mayotte by Coco-Création in 2000, which was, in fact, an adaptation of Nassur’s successful play of the same title originally written in 1996.[2]

Celebrated and acclaimed author Nassur Attoumani’s first play, La Fille du polygame,[3] premiered in 1989 and was the first play published from the Comoros Islands in the Indian Ocean. His second play, Le Turban et la capote, of which this bande dessinée is an adaptation, premiered soon after in 1996 and was quickly published in Reunion by Grand Océan. As with La Fille du polygame, La Turban et la capote demonstrates Attoumani’s deft Molière-esque satire that entertains spectators and readers while also engaging them in a critique of contemporary society. The correlation with Molière is especially pronounced in La Turban et la capote for the main character, Mabawa Ya Nadzi, an Islamic judge who embodies the title as he hides condoms in his turban, echoes Molière’s Tartuffe in many ways.

Le Turban et la capote’s origin as a play can be felt as the narrative unfolds as a series of scenes with the various characters entering and exiting, often with comedic timing. Also, directly following the title page is a visual replica of the front cover with the addition of the characters’ names and a short description of their role and / or relationship to another character, effectively serving as a cast list and hinting at the potential conflicts between the characters based on their placement in the lineup. For example, the top three figures are the main characters with Mabawa Ya Nadzi strategically placed between the quarreling couple and the bottom three figures are important supporting characters. Moreover, as the central figure, Mabawa Ya Nadzi is placed in the most privileged position while the doctor, ostensibly his foil as a spokesperson for and representative of Western medicine, science, and modernity, is placed directly below him for they are in opposition.

Taking place in contemporary Mamoudzou, Le Turban et la capote provides readers a glimpse into the socially and culturally diverse everyday life of the capital of the French department of Mayotte. Through the interactions of the six characters— Dr. Hachafati, an imported doctor, and Bata-Bata, his no-nonsense secretary; Maborcheti and Pessoiri, a quarreling couple; and Mabawa Ya Nadzi, an Islamic judge and ostensibly honorably religious man and Djanabati, his secretary—the narrative addresses the familiar juxtaposition of tradition versus modernity, focusing on the unique case of Mayotte and the specific themes of Mayotte’s departmentalization, the emancipation of women, birth control and the prevention of AIDS, polygamy, and the lack of any form of structured social program to accompany Mayotte’s political shift.

The title, itself, Le Turban et la capote, points to the simultaneity of different value systems through metonymy with the turban signifying both Islamic culture and traditional African cultures and the condom signifying Westernization and, more specifically, sexual liberation and the emancipation of women. While the juxtaposition of a turban and a condom is meant to create a spark to hook the audience (of the play) and readers (of the bande dessinée), the ‘et’ [and] between the two gives them equal weight, thus sidestepping the primacy or validity of one over the other. Indeed, the narrative foregrounds the assumption that the traditions and value systems associated with these two images are at odds when, in fact, they are often not at odds and do not have to be. Through satire and comedy, Attoumani reveals how this tension between perceived difference and reality manifests in everyday life.

In the afterward of Le Turban et la capote, editor and director of the L’Harmattan’s bande dessinée collection, Christophe Cassiau-Haurie explains that Madagascan cartoonist Ndrematoa (Tana Blues) was first considered to supply the artwork for the updated edition of the bande dessinée. Directly following Cassiau-Haurie’s afterward are the first ten pages in black and white (the last two of which are sketched by not inked) of the bande dessinée as drawn by Ndrematoa. Given Ndrematoa’s extravagantly detailed and expressive drawings, the incompletion of such a massive project is not surprising. However, Madagascan cartoonist Luke Razaka who illustrated the original edition of the bande dessinée, reworked his original images on the computer and added colors (whereas the original was in black and white) and, while Razaka’s drawings are nowhere near as realistic and detailed-oriented as Ndrematoa’s, his cartoonish style, very much in the vein of famed Belgian cartoonist André Franquin’s Gaston Lagaffe, has the double advantage of, on the one hand, capturing the urgency and energy of Attoumani’s characters and, on the other hand, appealing to a global, French-speaking audience already familiar with the visual and verbal comedic conventions of Franquin’s style. For example, characters’ expressions are exaggerated and, to emphasize their anger, they become completely red and even their clothes change the same color red as their complexion. Moreover, Razaka’s use of physical comedy, onomatopoeia, and action lines goes a long way in bringing the humor of Attoumani’s play to life on the page. Ultimately, Razaka’s balance between a swift cartoonish style and a playfulness of characters’ expressions complements Attoumani’s quick-paced and lively satirical writing style.

Opening scene

Another added bonus of this updated version is the overall impact color has on the text and the reader’s experience of Mayotte. Situated in the Indian Ocean in the crux between Madagascar to the east and the Mozambican coastline to the west, Mayotte, not-surprisingly, is a place where cultural hybridity constitutes the fabric of everyday life. Visually, Luke Razaka’s use of color subtly emphasizes this. For example, during the taxi ride at the beginning of the text, Razaka populates the urban coastal setting with people from a wide range of ethnic backgrounds, but it is mainly through the people’s clothes that the color scheme provides the most visible marker of cultural hybridity: blue jeans and bright t-shirts for more modern outfits contrast with bright colored traditional African fabrics worn by many of the female characters and with the white traditional men’s outfits.

According to Cassiau-Haurie, the goal of this updated and colored version of the 2000 bande dessinée was to give new life to Attoumani’s insightful satire that excels in exposing the social and cultural complexity of life in Mayotte leading up to and during the long (and still ongoing) process of departmentalization.

Mayotte, a small archipelago of the Comoros Islands, became part of the French empire in 1841 and while the rest of the Comoros Islands gained independence from France in 1975, the population of Mayotte, in 1976, voted almost unanimously to forgo independence in favor of keeping its ties to France. In the spring of 2009, the Mahoran people voted, almost unanimously once again, to become an official part of France, thus shifting political status from an overseas community to an overseas department, a long-term process destined to have deep social, cultural, and political affects. Included in the departmentalization of Mayotte would be the gradual phasing out of traditional Islamic law and the establishment of French civil code and republican institutions such as French schools and courts.

It is in the midst of this transition that Attoumani sets Le Turban et la capote, deftly presenting readers with a comical portrait of the diversity of the Mahoran population while also wittingly bringing to bare on important social issues and satirizing personally-motivated hypocrites who take advantage of the vulnerability of such a transitional time.

The timeliness of this updated version of Attoumani’s adept play-turned-bandedessinée and its portrayal of the complex social reality in Mayotte is even more pressing when we consider that, as of 1 January 2014, Mayotte officially became one of the most far-reaching regions of the European Union. Indeed, the issues of cultural hybridity and overlapping value systems—in particular the civil codes associated with French republicanism and traditional Islamic codes of conduct—at the heart of Attoumani’s text are representative of broader discussions of identity in the contemporary global context.

[1] The Turban and the Condom

[2] L’Harmattan also offers a DVD of a 2011 performance of the play directed by Sophie Fueyo. You can watch the trailer for it here.

[3] The Polygamist’s Daughter

Notre Histoire: From Lilian Thuram’s Personal Story to a Shared Diasporic History

Notre Histoire[1] (volume 1, 2014) recounts the story of Mariana Thuram, mother of famed Guadeloupian footballer-turned-activist Lilian Thuram, and focuses on her fortitude and the fortitude of those before her and like her who actively work towards providing a better future for their children. As mentioned on the title page of this recent publication from Éditions Delcourt, the story is loosely inspired by the essay Mes Étoiles noires, de Lucy à Barack Obama[2] by Thuram and Bernard Filaire published in 2010 by Éditions Philippe Rey. As Thuram explains in the introduction to Notre Histoire, this bande dessinée takes up the story of his first star, his mother, while also introducing readers to other stars, in this case, important historical figures whose legacies and contributions are often overlooked and also elements of traditional African culture, in particular from Fulani culture. Written by Jean-Christophe Camus (artistic director of Delcourt and author of the autobiographically-inspired Negrinha), illustrated by Spanish Sam Garcia (Lunes birmanes), and colored by Hugo Poupelin, Notre Histoire uses Thuram’s personal family history both as an emblem of other family histories and as a vehicle to open up our understanding of history as an experienced shared by all.

Notre Histoire draws on Thuram’s celebrity by offering readers an authentic look into his humble beginnings. The text even includes a bonus section with reproductions of Thuram’s family photographs and preparatory sketches by Garcia for the bande dessinée. Indeed, Notre Histoire is an example of a recent trend in which public figures not normally associated with the 9th art produce autobiographically-inspired bandes dessinées and picture books as a means of introducing enriching historical perspectives to a multicultural contemporary French-speaking readership. Examples include Azouz Begag’s Leçons coloniales[3] (2012) illustrated by artist Djillali Defali and Alain Mabanckou’s Ma Soeur-étoile[4] (2010) illustrated by artist Judith Gueyfier. In each of these cases, the format is meant to appeal to a broad audience, thus engaging a wide range of readers with the authors’ personal stories.

Mariana’s difficult decision

Starting in the summer of 1980, Notre Histoire tracks Mariana’s decision to leave the hard work of the sugar cane fields and of housekeeping in Guadeloupe (difficult and physically demanding jobs that fail to provide her a decent income to adequately support herself and her five children) for better-paying jobs in France. Though there are those in her community that question the wisdom and plausibility of her decision as she must travel alone and leave her children behind while she earns enough to bring all of them to France and support them, Mariana’s courage and determination lead to young Lilian (aged 8 in the text) and his siblings moving to France a year later. Once in France, Lilian and his siblings happily take to learning new customs and adapting to differences in weather, cuisine, and culture. Interestingly enough, as their first home-cooked meal in France, Mariana prepares them couscous, which she explains is a dish that everyone in France eats—a not-so-subtle indication of the always already hybrid nature of French culture and of the ways in which the effects of France’s long-reaching geopolitical history manifest in everyday life.

At first, the Thurams live with Mariana’s boyfriend and his daughter. However, after tension arises between the couple, Mariana arranges for her family to move to a different apartment all in one day to give her former boyfriend the slip. The family moves to a new apartment located in an HLM (habitation à loyer modéré)[5] in Fourgères (northeast of Rennes) and it is in this new neighborhood that young Lilian befriends an old man, Neddo. It is also at this point in the text (little more than half way) that Notre Histoire shifts from being about Thuram’s family history to being about a shared diasporic history.

Back Cover with Neddo on the right

Back Cover with Neddo on the right

Neddo, as Thuram explains in the introduction to Notre Histoire, is in fact a figure from Peul (the French term for Fulani) cosmogony who stands as the primordial man with the gifts of intelligence and speech charged with keeping watch on universal harmony and who transmits his wealth of knowledge to his descendants. Symbolically, Neddo represents all the people in our lives who help us become who we are. Visually, the character of Neddo in Notre Histoire resembles celebrated Senegalese sculpture Ousmane Sow, the first African artist to be inducted into the Académie des Beaux-Arts in Paris in 2013. Through his name and his appearance, Neddo thus embodies the richness and wisdom of traditional and contemporary African cultures and the gift of his knowledge is meant to open young Lilian’s eyes and by extension, those of the readers. In this regard, the didactic nature of the character of Neddo most aptly demonstrates the motto of Lilian Thuram’s Foundation: “Éducation contre le racisme.”[6]


Ousmane Sow

By teaching readers (young and old alike) through young Lilian about slavery in the Caribbean and about forgotten and underappreciated black historical figures, in particular Commander Louis Delgrès and Solitude who, in 1802, fought against the reinstatement of slavery in Guadeloupe under Emperor Napoleon, and Haitian scientist Joseph Anténor Firmin who, after much research, published De l’égalité des races humaines – Anthropologie positive[7] in 1885 as a refutation of Arthur de Gobineau’s ubiquitous Essai sur les inégalités des races humaines[8] (1853-1855), Neddo explains how preconceived notions of the past are based on certain versions of history. Moreover, at the end of the text is a list of definitions of key historical terms, events, and laws pertaining to the global history of inequality.

Young Lilian’s curiosity about and passion for such historical figures and events is meant to find an echo in the reader through Garcia’s dramatic renderings of the past and Poupelin’s dynamic and cinematic color palette. Implied in Neddo’s recounting is the fact that there are many important events and people that risk being forgotten due to the power dynamics of remembering. Ultimately, these fascinating histories (and Notre Histoire itself) demonstrate how racism and all forms of prejudice are social constructs and that knowledge and education are the best tools for changing such constructs.

[1] Our History

[2] My Black Stars: From Lucy to Barack Obama

[3] Colonial Lessons

[4] My Star-Sister

[5] Subsidized housing

[6] Education Against Racism

[7] On the Equality of Human Races

[8] Essay on the Inequalities of the Human Races