Dr. Terza A. Silva Lima-Neves’ dedicates her new book, Cabo Verdean Women Writing Remembrance, Resistance, and Revolution, Kriolas Poderozas, to “all Kriolas across the globe”. Terza’s love and respect for the women of her country has shaped her journey from São Vincente, one of Cabo Verde’s ten islands, to North Carolina - where her work on international politics, women and gender studies, and the African Diaspora has found a home at Johnson C. Smith University. Serving as Associate Professor of Political Science and Chair of the Department of Social and Behavioral Sciences, Terza’s work as educator, scholar, and advocate for the rights of women and girls has been recognised and honoured across institutions, across borders. Here, she shares more about the journey facilitating Cabo Verdean women’s storytelling, the need to write women back into African history, and the women who motivate and inspire her.
What are some of your most cherished and beloved memories of your girlhood in Cabo Verde and who are the kriolas of your girlhood that inspired you?
I had an amazing childhood. I have a big family, and our time together centred around each other, our larger community, food, music, and sports. I always think about running around the neighbourhood barefoot, playing football, soccer, and handball in my town with friends. I remember watching my aunts and following them around the neighbourhood because they played sports. On the weekends, I would trail behind them, going to as many of their games as possible. My aunts were my inspiration and motivation. My grandmother, my mom, my great aunt… I have the most amazing kriolas that I still get to look up, and they're all named in the book, and they're all the reason why I do what I do.
Having left Cabo Verde for Rhode Island during your teenage years, how would you describe your transition from girlhood to womanhood in a new country? What bitterness and sweetness came with new challenges and opportunities?
Although I wasn’t part of the decision-making process, I looked forward to joining my dad - who left for the US nine months before the rest of our family. Relocating to Rhode Island as a teenager who was accustomed to her independence and freedom in São Vicente, I learned quickly that the US I had envisioned on my rooftop in Cabo Verde while dancing to Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston songs didn’t match with Hollywood portrayals. While there was access to everything, including all kinds of new foods, cultures, and opportunities, I wasn’t free to roam the street or my neighbourhood like I had done in my small Island community where my family and school lived close in proximity. In Rhode Island, I wasn’t able to roam the streets or move as freely as I was used to back home.
My parents also struggled with my growing feminist consciousness, especially my father. I was always a feminist. I was a very feisty, independent, outspoken, and opinionated teenager. Being born into the family that I was born into and just watching my aunts, I don’t know if it's just conviction alone. I often ask myself if it is genetic because I see it in my daughter tenfold. Whatever was at the heart of it, it was always central to the friction and going to an all-girls school supported my conviction even more and helped me find my voice. Even though it was mostly white American feminism, the combination of my environment and the bad-ass women in my life shaped by vocalness, my thoughts on liberation.
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What key moments shaped and solidified the focus of your scholarship and activism? What has been your journey as a pioneering interdisciplinary scholar of Cabo Verdean Women’s Studies?
I would say that “the click” happened when I went to Clark Atlanta University for graduate school. Having gone to Clark Atlanta, a historically Black college and university (HBCU) with predominantly African-American, African, and Caribbean professors... Oh my word! I could just be without explaining myself.
Everyone in my department knew about Cabo Verde. It was absolutely comforting and supportive. And so it clicked that I could just be Cabo Verdean. There were no apologies for wanting to talk about Cabo Verde all the time, for wanting to focus on the women, for always asking, “where's Cabo Verde, where are the Cabo Verdean women? Why aren't we talking about it? Where's the work on Cabral, where's the work on the women?” And my professors say, “well, let's talk about it.”
That, to me, was surreal, and watching my colleagues around me unapologetically, just sticking to their research agendas about Black life, Black experiences, whether it be in the US or in the diaspora or on the continent… absolutely amazing.
I owe a lot to Clark Atlanta University.
Your recently published book, Cabo Verdean Women Writing Remembrance, Resistance, and Revolution, Kriolas Poderozas, is a beautiful collection of essays, poetry, reflections, and interviews that is a necessary intervention that reaffirms the contributions of kriolas as cultural, knowledge producers and actors in Cabo Verde and throughout the Diaspora. What is the story behind the book’s inception and name? What brought you the most joy throughout this journey as editor and also as a contributor?
For us, this is a movement, not just a standalone moment. Everything that we're doing is intentional, beginning with the founding of the Kriolas Poderozas Conference on Cabo Verdean Women in 2015. The idea to create an anthology was born out of the papers that were presented at the conference and grew beyond a strict, academic collection.
As for the title, my co-editor Aminah N. Fernandes Pilgrim and I wanted words that were powerful, that talked about the different phases of our past, present, and future. This book is about remembering our foremothers. It's about the way that we resist and struggle against the patriarchy and revolutionize the spaces that we're in to show that not only can we talk about “women's things” but that we can talk about anything. And of course, kriolas meaning Cabo Verdean women and poderozas meaning empowered women.
We wanted any woman, any person I should say, who is walking in a bookstore, especially if they are Cabo Verdean, for those words Kriolas Poderozas to stick out for them, even if English isn’t their dominant language, even if they were in the Netherlands or France, we wanted those words to stick out. We wanted our community to say, “hold on, I know that word!”
What brought you the most joy throughout this journey as editor and also as contributor?
Reading the pieces as they came in. I felt a deep pride and honour that these women were letting us use their words in our collection. And with each piece that came in - just - it was amazing. The reflection pieces on the conference also make me happy and bring me lots of joy. Aminah’s chapter is structured as a letter to her grandmother, and it made me cry. It is the last chapter of the book, and it is so powerful.
My chapter on my great aunt and my grandmother and Aminah’s chapter conclude the book in the final section entitled Consedju, which means wisdom and advice. There are so many little parts that still bring me joy and make my heart smile.
What has it been like for you to learn more about the book’s positive reception among scholars, activists, and community members alike?
I’m so grateful. I don't take it for granted, at all, that people are spending their hard earned money to purchase this because they recognise the significance of this moment. This is not just about Cabo Verdean women. This is about Africa. This is about Lusophone Africa. This is about Black women, Black diasporic women, Black feminists, transnational feminists. This is about all of us in these spaces because it's one more collection that gets added to the collection of stories of Black women in the world that we need to know about, women who have been rendered invisible.
I feel like it's my duty to get the book out to as many people as possible. I wrote this for my mom, Ivone, my grandma, Mariaand Ema, my daughter, but this is for everyone. This belongs in all the libraries because everyone needs and should hear the stories of people throughout the world. The story should never be a single one. Narratives on Africa should never be written in that way. We need to start learning about Cabo Verde, Benin, Djibouti, the entire continent. And let's learn the similarities and differences and listen to the voices of the people because they have beautiful stories to tell.
I am completely honoured that I get to share our stories, and if this book inspires Cabo Verdean men to get together and write a book about their experiences, that's absolutely beautiful. Or the Cabo Verdean youth, or the musicians. I just want more of it. I just want all of us to be included and to be seen when we enter spaces.
"I'm facilitating the storytelling of Cabo Verdean women and their experiences."
Do you have any final thoughts, reflections, love notes or offerings?
You know, I don't know how I got here. I know how it got here professionally and personally, but I keep asking myself, “how did I get to the point where I, along with my sister-friend Aminah, would co-edit the first book about Cabo Verdeans in English, by all Cabo Verdeans?” How did the universe align for me to be in this space, to have the first conference on Cabo Verdean women, to be one of the pioneers of Cape Verdean studies, particularly Cape Verdean Women’s Studies? I'm still trying to figure that out, but what I can say is I don't take it for granted, not one for one minute.
As my friend and Black women’s scholar Julia Jordan-Zachary says, “I just want to be the facilitator to tell black women's stories.” I'm the facilitator. I'm not doing research. This is life. I'm facilitating the storytelling of Cabo Verdean women and their experiences. That's it. And I will continue to do that. Does that mean that I get to write another book by myself? Who knows? Does that mean that I get to bring another group of women, people to tell another section, another phase of our story? Maybe, but this is not research for me. Academia is all about research and publication. This is so much bigger. This is about nation-building, pride building, record keeping, national archive building, adding women back into national memory. This is my life. And so I'm the facilitator to tell the stories that I think that I find important that uplift us, that make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
*This interview has been edited for length and clarity.