Fourth Annual Symposium on Pop Culture and International Law: “Melodies of Morality”- Exploring the Impact of Anti – abortion Songs on Women’s Rights in Africa

[Tracy Jerop Kimutai is a third year law student at Kabarak University. She is an early career researcher with a keen interest in International Women’s Rights in Africa.]

The power of music in shaping societal norms and influencing legal frameworks cannot be understated. African music, rich in cultural narratives and social commentary, often addresses critical issues that resonate deeply within communities. The song Nerea by Sauti Sol, alongside other anti-abortion songs by African artists, provides a poignant lens through which to explore the intersection of musical popular culture and international law, particularly concerning women’s rights.

By analysing lyrics, music videos, public reception, and the broader cultural impact of these songs, this post uncovers the ways in which music fosters a dialogue between local cultural practices and international legal standards. It discusses how these musical narratives can reinforce cultural ideals, thereby influencing policy-making and legal reforms. In a world where music shapes minds and cultures, anti-abortion songs in Africa serve as a powerful reminder that popular culture can transcend borders, influencing international law and challenging the progress of women’s rights on a global scale.

Cries for Life: The Anti-Abortion Sentiments in Sauti Sol’s Nerea

The song Nerea by Sauti Sol featuring Amos and Josh, directly addresses the issue of abortion, setting it apart from other African music. Having garnered millions of streams on Spotify and Youtube, at first glance, it appears to be a love ballad, with soft melodies and heart-warming lyrics. However, the core message of the song is a plea from a man to a woman named Nerea not to abort their child. The chorus, “Nakuomba Nerea, usitoe mimba yangu we” (I beg you Nerea, don’t abort my child), is repeated throughout the song, underscoring the main theme: the man’s desire to protect the unborn child.

The lyrics of Nerea celebrate the potential of the unborn child, imagining the child as a future leader or changemaker: “Huenda akawa Obama, Lupita au Mandela” (Our child could be the next Obama, Lupita, or Nelson Mandela). It portrays the unborn child’s life as a divine gift: “Mungu akileta mtoto, analeta na sahani yake” (When God brings a child, he provides ways to cater for the child’s needs). There is no space here for Nerea’s doubts, her fears, or her autonomy. In this song, her womb is a cradle for future greatness, and to abort would be to extinguish that potential. Nerea echoes widespread cultural and religious beliefs in many African societies that view abortion as morally unacceptable.

While Nerea directly confronts the issue of abortion, most African songs avoid explicitly addressing the topic, but still convey anti-abortion sentiments. Modern African music, in all its vibrancy, walks a fine line between celebrating the sensual and glorifying the maternal. However, it is within this duality that a troubling narrative unfolds; a narrative that can, in many ways, be construed as anti-abortion.

The Duality of African Music

African music is a powerful force. It speaks to the soul, moves bodies, and stirs emotions. Yet, hidden within its infectious rhythms and melodies lies a delicate paradox that reflects the cultural expectations placed on women. On one hand, women in contemporary African songs are often portrayed as objects of desire. These songs frame women as wild, free, liberal, yet firmly tethered to their role as objects of sexual pleasure. Then, on the other hand, there are the romantic ballads, songs drenched in love, promising eternal commitment. In these, women are not celebrated for their sensuality, but for their potential motherhood.

This portrayal of women as sensual beings in contemporary African songs is not about a woman’s true empowerment or autonomy. It is about her sexuality being permissible only when it caters to male fantasy. The wildness that is encouraged is one of convenience. They never explore their inner complexity, their individual desires, or their autonomy. Her body is praised in the context of what it offers a man, not in her own right.

Take, for instance, Afrobeats, a genre of African music which has transcended its West African roots to capture the attention of audiences around the world. Artists like Burna Boy, Wizkid, and Davido have become household names, not just in Africa but globally. Anyone doing a surface-based random online search for music videos from the Afrobeats musical genre will realise that the leading artists and performers are predominantly black African men. As such, the music video storylines and song lyrics produced from this musical genre engender an unapologetic masculine aura.

In Davido’s song Aye, which garnered almost 90 million views, Davido appeals to the woman to “shakee your asset” (shake your posterior). For doing what is asked of her, the woman is hailed as “the baddest”. Her “badness” is emphasised in a positive manner. By shaking her posterior, as requested by a man, she will “make e man no go forget” (render her memorable or unforgettable to a man); in this case, Davido. This woman’s expression of her femininity is at once hypersexualised and controlled by a male other who, by getting her to oblige to his misogynistic instructions, exercises dominance over her.

Gengetone, a subgenre of hip-hop that originated in Nairobi, Kenya is also characterized by its increasingly sensual nature despite its catchy beats. The genre’s appeal extends beyond Kenya, with significant listenership in the US, UK, Tanzania, South Africa, Nigeria and Uganda. The lyrics and music videos often objectify women, presenting them in a way that emphasizes their physical attributes and sexual availability. In the song Wamlambez by Sailors, lyrics like “akijipa wanapiga bila huruma” (when she allows we give it to her with no mercy) and also “Ukibleki naanza kukuguza unafurahi” (When you’re blacked out, I start touching you and you get happy) blatantly depict non-consensual sexual encounters, erasing the woman’s autonomy and reinforcing a troubling narrative of objectification.

On the other hand, there are the romantic ballads. In these, women are not celebrated for their sensuality, but for their potential motherhood. The Yoruba saying, “Iya ni wura, baba ni jigi” (“mother is gold, father is a mirror”) is expressed by the late Dipo Sodipo in a song titled Iya ni Wura. He goes a long way in showing the importance of motherhood in African society. Mothers as nurturers and caretakers of the home and within society. This is culturally understood to entail a totality of traits that are peculiar to African mothers. This glorification of motherhood, while beautiful in its own right, presents a narrow vision of womanhood. The romantic vision is incomplete without the promise of motherhood.

And here lies the paradox: the same woman who is encouraged to explore her sexuality is expected, at the same time, to embrace the traditional role of a mother. There is no in-between, no middle ground that allows her to navigate her own desires, her own ambitions, and her own body on her terms. She is either the sexual object or the future mother; never both, and never neither.

By tying womanhood so closely to both sensuality and motherhood, African music, knowingly or unknowingly, reinforces a cultural framework that marginalizes a woman’s right to choose what happens to her own body. If a woman is only celebrated for her sensuality when it serves men, and only praised for her motherhood when it benefits family and tradition, where does that leave her own choices? Her reproductive decisions? Her right to choose if and when to become a mother? Abortion, then, becomes unthinkable in this framework because it disrupts the carefully curated narrative of what a woman should be. In these musical depictions, her autonomy is erased.

In the end, African music, in all its beauty and complexity, tells a story not just of love and life, but of how women are often confined within the limits of expectation. To be liberated is not truly to be free, and to be a mother is not always a choice. Until the music begins to sing of a woman’s full, untethered autonomy, these two narratives: one of pleasure, one of reproduction, will continue to echo, reinforcing a world where abortion is not only frowned upon but almost unspeakable.

How Anti-Abortion Songs Shape Women’s Rights in Africa.

Anti-abortion sentiments in songs have a profound impact on international women’s rights in Africa, influencing both public opinion and policy in a region where culture and law are tightly interwoven. Music, a powerful cultural medium, often reflects and shapes societal values. Songs that promote motherhood and sensuality, while subtly or explicitly condemning abortion contribute to a larger narrative that undermines women’s reproductive rights, which are enshrined in international frameworks like the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW) and the Maputo Protocol.

While these songs resonate with societal values that prioritize family, they also perpetuate a discourse that overlooks women’s autonomy over their reproductive choices. In effect, they contribute to a culture where women feel pressured to carry pregnancies to term, regardless of their circumstances, reinforcing the restrictive abortion laws found in many African countries.

These musical narratives are in stark contrast to international human rights standards, which emphasize women’s reproductive autonomy as a cornerstone of gender equality. Article 16 of CEDAW, for instance, obligates states to ensure women have the same rights as men in deciding “freely and responsibly on the number and spacing of their children”. The Maputo Protocol, a regional treaty that specifically addresses women’s rights in Africa, goes even further by explicitly recognizing the right to safe and legal abortion in cases of sexual assault, rape, incest, and when the pregnancy endangers the mental or physical health of the mother. These international legal frameworks aim to dismantle the systemic barriers that restrict women’s access to safe abortion services, yet cultural expressions in music often perpetuate the very barriers these treaties seek to eliminate.

The influence of anti-abortion songs in African countries with restrictive abortion laws, such as Madagascar, Senegal, Uganda, and Tanzania, cannot be underestimated. In these nations, abortion remains illegal in most or all circumstances, aligning with cultural and religious values that view the termination of pregnancy as morally unacceptable. This rigid stance on abortion reflects not only legal restrictions but also a deep cultural resistance to changing traditional views on reproductive health, which is mirrored in popular music. In contrast, countries like South Africa, which has one of the most liberal abortion laws on the continent, have embraced more progressive reproductive rights policies that align with international human rights standards. South Africa’s Choice on Termination of Pregnancy Act of 1996 allows women to access abortion on demand during the first trimester, showing a legal and cultural shift toward prioritizing women’s autonomy.

Kenya occupies a middle ground in this debate, with relatively liberal abortion laws compared to its more restrictive neighbours. Article 26(4) of Kenya’s Constitution permits abortion when the life or health of the mother is in danger, a significant departure from the total bans seen in countries like Madagascar. However, societal attitudes, heavily influenced by music and other cultural expressions, still stigmatize abortion, making it difficult for women to access even legally permitted services. This tension between legal rights and cultural values highlights the complex landscape of reproductive rights in Africa, where music plays a key role in shaping public opinion and, by extension, the implementation of legal frameworks.

In conclusion, while international legal frameworks like CEDAW and the Maputo Protocol advocate for the protection of women’s reproductive rights, the influence of anti-abortion sentiments in African music complicates their realization. Countries like Kenya with more liberal abortion laws strike a delicate balance between respecting cultural values and upholding women’s rights. While many African nations maintain total abortion bans, the question remains whether they are expected to abandon deeply ingrained social and moral values in favour of a Eurocentric approach to reproductive rights. Should African countries fully adopt external legal standards, or can they find a way to protect women’s rights within their own cultural contexts? This remains a critical debate for the future of women’s reproductive autonomy in Africa.