To tell a story of a formidable woman in history is to confront a narrative the modern world often bypasses, or perhaps intentionally overlooks. In our current world, historical education often leans on the prevailing assumption that pre-colonial women were perpetually reserved, existing only as stationary figures under the male authority. However, this common presumption creates a psychological shock when one encounters a figure that dismantles this misconception. My own introduction to Queen Njinga, the sovereign political strategist, was one such surprise. I came across her while researching an unrelated topic, and I was immediately hooked.
A statue had been erected for her in present-day Luanda, and while staring at the image, I found myself questioning the chain reaction she had set in motion during her reign that commanded such enduring respect, especially in an era where leaders, be they kings or queens, were often forced to prioritise their own survival against enemy encroachment. How did Njinga navigate this problem, making the impossible choice between her survival instincts and the preservation of her people?
The region we now recognise as Angola was, in the 15th and 16th centuries, a huddle of scattered independent kingdoms, with Ndongo and Kongo as its largest and strongest kingdoms. Kongo, the largest among them, was situated in the northern part of Angola, south of the Congo River, while Ndongo was situated in the highlands between the Kwanza and the Lukala rivers. Both were well-established, primary centres of power, possessing distinctive social and economic networks. Even before the Portuguese graced their shores, both kingdoms had a working system, using their own indigenous knowledge to create a web of functionaries within their civilised kingdoms.
The historical trajectory shifted after the Portuguese arrived northwest of Kongo in the year 1483. This initial contact was not immediately hostile; it was to establish tentative diplomatic relations with the indigenous residents. However, as time went on and by the time the missionaries reached Luanda (Ndongo), the intent of the Portuguese had deepened into something different. At that time, there was a dispute over the control of trade —slave trade was the kingdom’s primary export— between Kongo and Portugal, which led to the Portuguese bypassing their Kongo allies in search of more compliant partners. Eventually, they set their sights on Ndongo, sending in a slew of missionaries there.
After several visits, the Portuguese established a permanent colony in Luanda in 1575. This establishment served as a turning point for Ndongo, transitioning the Portuguese from trade partners to an occupying force. By the time Njinga was born, the relationship between her people and the Portuguese was not one of simple diplomacy but a challenging force against an indigenous kingdom. It was in this era of territorial threat that Njinga was born. Njinga herself was born to Ndongo's then-ruler, Ngola Kilombo (King Kilombo), and his slave wife, Kengela Ka Nkombe, around 1583. Her difficult birth was perceived as a sign of greatness because she entered the world with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, which resulted in the name she was given. The name “Njinga” is derived from the Kimbundu word "Kujinga", meaning to “twist”.
In tow were her remarkable fortitude as a warrior, displaying a natural skill in wielding the battle axe (the traditional weapon of Ndongo warriors); and her unusual interest in Ndongo politics as pertaining to listening in on war councils, et cetera. It gave her an edge as a person. She deviated from the domestic expectation of royal women of that era, taking advantage of the education her father provided for her. But while she mastered the indigenous norms of her people, she also recognised the importance of understanding her enemies. During this period, she engaged with the Portuguese missionaries who were weaving their way into the intricacies of her kingdom. She learnt how to speak and write their language, fully navigating their customs and becoming fluent in their ways.
By then, the Portuguese had already integrated themselves into the society. However, unlike the Kongo kingdom, which assimilated the Portuguese into their society following their arrival, the Ndongo people only tolerated the Portuguese. Slaves were also a major export for Ndongo, and the government used this means to negotiate with Portugal. Njinga understood the importance of this trade; it was the primary level of power that the Portuguese craved and the only means by which Ndongo could negotiate European goods. Even so, despite the strategic value of this commodity, the reign of Ngola Kilombo was littered with conflicts as the Ndongo people pushed against the Portuguese’s agenda, which sought not just trade but territorial encroachment and the erosion of indigenous authority.
Eventually her father died, releasing the torch of power to her brother, Ngola Mbandi. Mbandi’s reign began with an air of paranoia and internal fracture. To Mbandi, the royal families were a threat rather than a strength; he viewed his siblings and stepsiblings as potential claimants to the throne who could easily manipulate rival factions or even the Portuguese. Njinga wasn’t left out. In a brutal seizure of power, he ordered the execution of his male siblings. To Njinga, the murder of her first-born son devastated her. She was quietly aware that power was tied to the sons of the family as well as the continuation of the bloodline, especially for Ndongo culture. By slaying her child and subsequently sterilising Njinga and her sisters to prevent them from birthing another child, Mbandi was attempting to erase their political futures.
For several years, Njinga hid away from her brother, distancing herself from the wrath and instability of Mbandi’s rule until the year 1621. By then, the pressure from the Portuguese had pushed Mbandi to a breaking point, and he reached out to Njinga in a bid to negotiate with the Portuguese. Njinga possessed knowledge of the language and understood their customs better than he, and he wanted to utilise that talent to negotiate with the Portuguese. His decision was born out of a necessity, even though the woman he appointed for the job was from the royal household. In this era, it signalled a strategy that no longer relies on a battle but also on intellect to further its agenda, this intellect which Njinga had spent her life honing.
It was during this period that the legend Njinga was born, moving up to be part of the historical nomenclature of Angolan history. Njinga didn’t just enter the negotiation unprepared. She came in with a statement, asserting her dominance within the Portuguese, and sat amongst them like she was their equal. In that moment, she wasn’t a representative vessel sent by Mbandi but an embodiment of an ancient and unyielding power. As I glanced at the scene depicted in the image that pivoted her to a cultural phenomenon, I was drawn to the stark cultural contrast of it all. On one side stood the Portuguese officers dressed in their heavy European textiles, clothing that was designed to portray a sense of civilisation. A few were seated on chairs, placed as a demonstration of perceived hierarchy.
Njinga arrived with a large entourage; their traditional attire served as a bold display of respect and love for their culture. However, as she entered the negotiation room, she immediately noticed a diplomatic insult—something the Europeans would have identified as the only respect they would accord to the indigenous residents: a chair had been provided for the then governor, Governor Joao Correia de Sousa, while a mat was provided for her. At that time, it was typical for the Portuguese to provide a mat for the African leaders, which in a sense was perceived as a symbol of subservience to the Portuguese. However, Njinga motioned to one of her attendants, and without a word, the attendant dropped on all fours, offering their back as a living chair for her.
Njinga sat upon her attendant, ensuring that her eye level was exactly equal to that of the governor. It was a strategic move, one which probably took the governor by surprise. This picturesque moment dubbed her a powerful traditional ruler, an equal head of state, which, in turn, forced the governor to negotiate on her terms. She dictated her demands, using flattery as her diplomatic tool, and was able to agree on a peace treaty. It was an inspiring moment, not just to the women of that period but also to the indigenes of Ndongo. It showed her pride and the respect she had for her people’s traditions while also acknowledging the Portuguese as diplomats they currently needed.
However, despite the resolution they agreed upon, the 1621 treaty turned out to be a fragile proposition; the Portuguese kept pushing their agenda. Even following the death of Mbandi in the year 1624 and Njinga’s rise to the throne, the Portuguese demanded a renegotiation, but Njinga wanted to uphold their previous agreement. Their previous negotiations negated the release of the kijikos (a caste of slaves that was traditionally owned by the royal family) who were residing in Portuguese-controlled areas, but the governor refused. He demanded the return of escaped slaves who had found sanctuary in Njinga’s army, as well as insisting that she become a subject of the king of Portugal. Njinga refused, and the negotiation never progressed beyond their demands.
However, Njinga’s reign was also littered by internal strife. As she navigated the colonial pressure, she also faced internal conflicts among the noble families who invoked tradition to undermine her authority. They challenged her legitimacy on two fronts: her gender and her maternal lineage as the daughter of a slave. Furthermore, she was also accused of showing weakness for attempting to negotiate with the Portuguese instead of fighting them like her predecessors. In response to their furious accusations, Njinga leaned into her direct patrilineal descent from the royal bloodline, yet she knew that traditional legitimacy alone would not save her kingdom.
In the end, a massive Portuguese invasion forced her and her collective army out of Luanda, and she had to stop to recuperate. It was in that hour she demonstrated another extraordinary political move: she formed an alliance with Kasanje, an Imbangala warlord. The cost of this alliance was a forced marriage with Kasanje and surrendering her Lunga, a large bell that is used by Ndongo war captains as a symbol of their power. By giving up her Lunga, she had surrendered her identity as a traditional Ndongo ruler and emerged as a new leader. This resulting partnership enabled her to rebuild her army, modelling them after the highly militarised Imbangala warriors. By 1631, she had rebuilt her army and conquered the kingdom of Matamba, a neighbouring kingdom. She also reconquered Luanda and former parts of the domains of Ndongo.
For decades, she engaged in a war of attrition, successfully preventing the Portuguese from colonising every part of her kingdom. By 17th December 1663, she died from an active throat infection that had spread to her lungs, but her death marked the beginning of an eternal legend. In summary, Njinga’s life serves as an accurate rebuttal to the notion of a passive African woman. She was a warrior who owned her life by seizing it by the throat. She demonstrated her power through her military strategies, diplomatic strengths and strategic political alliances. Her strength lay in her unwavering will to achieve her goals, even when the odds were stacked against her. She understood that her people’s independence came first and stood as a beacon of resistance. This agility shaped her world, dubbing her a woman who defied societal norms.
