On Africa Day, South African filmmaker Alfonso Solomon and artist-activist Odidi Mfenyana are hosting a Cape Town event that reflects their vision for the day. It’s part of their campaign to make Africa Day a public holiday continent-wide. Only nine countries currently observe it: Ghana, Gambia, Guinea, Mali, Mauritania, Namibia, Lesotho, Zambia, and Zimbabwe.Africa Day, first commemorated in 1963 with the founding of the Organisation of African Unity, was born out of the dream of a free, united, and self-determined continent.
Today, its successor, the African Union, is pushing to realise that vision through sweeping policy ambitions and institutional reforms.
One of the AU’s most transformative projects is the African Continental Free Trade Area (AfCFTA), seeking to unify 54 countries into a $3.4 trillion market.
If fully realised, the AfCFTA could raise Africa’s GDP by 7% and boost intra-African trade by over 50%—even double that with fewer trade barriers.
This would be landmark considering Africa still trades more with the world than with itself. Intra-African trade lags at just 13% of total commerce. And while goals like visa-free travel, cross-border cooperation, and a unified digital economy are in motion, implementation remains uneven.
Amid these challenges, a different kind of revolution is taking shape.
Artists, activists, and cultural workers are reclaiming space, voice, and visibility – insisting that unity isn’t just policy, but culture, story, and celebration.
“This event is an attempt to put a spotlight on our stories,” says Alfonso Solomon, co-founder of an Africa Day celebration event planned for Cape Town.
“It’s also an act of reclamation: instead of waiting for someone to give us a platform, we’re creating it ourselves.”
Together with Odidiva Mfenyani – a drag performer and queer rights advocate – they are reimagining Africa Day into an unapologetically African, proudly people-powered movement.
The duo is campaigning to have it formally recognised as a public holiday.
They’re using music, fashion, film, food, and performance to build community and affirm Black African identity. “We are here, we are excellent, and we are not waiting for permission anymore,” Solomon affirmed in a call.
In this conversation, Odidi, alias Odidiva, unpacks the deeper mission behind the movement: from challenging erasure to building belonging.
Through art and activism, they are helping shape a future where every African feels seen, proud, and powerful.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Bird Story Agency: Let’s talk about your artistry for a moment before we get into the campaign. You’re a live performer. When did that journey begin for you?
ODIDI: I started performing professionally at 16. My first big stage production was Peter Pan at the Civic Theatre in Johannesburg in 1994. That was the year South African children were finally allowed to participate in professional theatre.
Since then, I’ve done television, been in a rock band, and acted in commercials. One day, after doing a commercial for Freedom Park in Cape Town, a director approached me to star in a play – based on my life. That took me by surprise.
I wasn’t emotionally prepared to revisit my youth, but the timing was uncanny. My mother had just told me about the African Renaissance of the late 1970s – around when I was born. The play opened in Amsterdam. By the first half, I was just playing a fan in a scene with an air conditioner. But then it hit me: the final lines were literally my name.
That play reintroduced me to myself as a performer. The director described my persona as a mix of Brenda Fassie, Grace Jones, and Shirley Bassey. That was in May 2001.
Two decades in the game – and I imagine you’ve done hundreds of shows. What’s it like performing on African stages?
There’s nothing like it. A few years ago, I performed at an art festival in Brussels. After our show, a local took me to a bar where a drag performer was performing in blackface – this was 2005. It struck me how little people know about Africa. They have this singular view of it –poverty, conflict.
That’s why I do what I do. My work is rooted in showcasing Afro-urban identity. Our styles, our dance, our music – they’re global now, but they come from here. Even when referencing tradition, I always aim to present Africa as 21st-century, innovative, and forward-moving.
That mindset began during the African Renaissance, just as South Africa was re-entering the global and continental stage. The energy from that era still fuels me.
And now you’re headlining an Africa Day celebration. What does that mean to you?
It’s deeply meaningful. I’m old enough to remember apartheid South Africa and young enough to have lived through the post-1990 transition. I remember what it was like to be cut off – not just from the world but from the rest of Africa.
In the late ‘80s, we had a show called Screen, and by 1990, South African TV started changing. New hosts like Lawrence and Alex J brought fresh African energy onto our screens. It marked the beginning of us reconnecting with the continent. Africa Day reminds me of that journey—of being apart, and finally coming together.
You’ve been vocal about turning Africa Day into a public holiday. Can you share why this matters so much to you?
When I first started digging into Africa Day, especially during the COVID lockdowns, I realised it’s not celebrated as a public holiday in most African countries. That felt odd to me because this day symbolises unity and pan-African identity. So I started thinking: why can’t we elevate Africa Day to the same status as, say, Independence Day?
In South Africa, I discovered the process to petition Parliament to make a day a public holiday isn’t that complicated if you have the right support and enough signatures. You need an MP to sponsor the petition, then if you gather enough public backing, Parliament can debate and possibly pass it. This is citizen power in action.
But more than the mechanics, what strikes me is how we, as Africans, are often passive when it comes to our collective identity. We let governments decide when and how to celebrate us, and many times, they don’t prioritize pan-African unity or culture. We see protests and mobilizations for specific causes – like tax protests in Kenya – but for something as foundational as Africa Day, the energy isn’t there. And that’s a problem.
Democracy doesn’t end with casting a vote every five years. It’s a daily commitment to shape society, demand rights, and celebrate what unites us. Bob Marley said it well: “Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery.” That’s what this is about – reclaiming African consciousness and ownership of our narrative.
Do you see this campaign for Africa Day becoming a continent-wide movement? How do you imagine it spreading?
Definitely. Africa Day is, by nature, pan-African – it celebrates the African Union and our shared heritage. But in practice, each country treats it differently, and many barely acknowledge it. For me, this is a call for solidarity across all regions –West Africa, the Maghreb, Central, East, and Southern Africa.
If we push for Africa Day as a public holiday continent-wide, it would symbolize a real shift. Imagine synchronized celebrations – from Dakar to Addis Ababa to Cape Town – highlighting African achievements, culture, and progress. It would also pressure governments to prioritize continental unity, which has been elusive for decades.
This campaign is about creating a culture of active citizenship. We don’t just want symbolic gestures; we want an Africa Day that people look forward to – a day when African languages are spoken widely, African music dominates the airwaves, and African history is proudly taught and celebrated. It would be a foundational pillar in reshaping how Africans see themselves and each other.
What’s striking is how you’re using art, music, fashion, and performance to drive this campaign. What role do these cultural elements play in advocacy?
Look, culture has always been a vehicle for communication in Africa. Before colonial times, before newspapers, before formal institutions, people used songs, dances, and rituals to share messages. But we’ve become so Europeanised that we’ve started disrespecting our own traditions.
Everything that happens in Africa includes media – songs before events, rituals before meetings. It’s always been that way. Culture is how we connect to God, to our ancestors, to ourselves. So using it for advocacy isn’t new – it’s just us going back to who we are.
They’ve stolen so much of our culture. And yet we complain when others appropriate it. Why are we not doing more to celebrate it ourselves? Why are we not producing our own “Black Panther” instead of waiting for Hollywood to tell our stories?
You’re also organizing a big event, at Mama Africa, linked to this campaign. Can you tell me about what people can expect and why it’s important?
Yes! Mama Africa is more than an event – it’s an experience and a statement. It’s happening on May 25 in Cape Town, at Long Street, and it’s designed as a three-course dinner with live performances. Guests will enjoy authentic African cuisine paired with music, storytelling, and of course, drag shows.
We wanted to create a space where people can fully immerse themselves in African identity –through taste, sound, and sight. It’s a celebration of our queer, Black, African selves, unapologetically bold and joyful. The tickets are R700, which covers food, drinks, and the performances.
What’s key here is that it’s not just entertainment—it’s cultural education and political expression. It’s about challenging stereotypes and embracing all facets of African identity, including queerness. We want attendees to leave feeling nourished on every level—physically, emotionally, spiritually.
Speaking of queerness, how does your identity and your work as a queer activist intersect with this pan-African activism?
Queerness is deeply African, though that fact is often denied or erased. Pre-colonial African societies recognised and respected gender diversity and queer identities. There were roles for people who didn’t fit into colonial binary gender norms—spiritual leaders, healers, community mediators.
Colonisation imposed rigid laws and norms, criminalizing queerness and fostering homophobia. Christianity and colonial legal systems entrenched this. So today, being openly queer and African is itself an act of resistance and reclamation.
Drag, for me, is a living, breathing form of African storytelling and spirituality. When I dress in drag and perform, I’m channeling my ancestors, I’m telling stories that have always existed but were hidden or forbidden. This isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s about survival, identity, and justice.
Our activism must include queer voices because queerness is part of Africa’s rich tapestry. We need to dismantle the false idea that queerness is “un-African.” It’s not. We are reclaiming space, visibility, and respect.
What message do you want Africans to take from your work and this campaign?
I want all Africans to embrace celebration as a daily practice – not just on one day of the year, but every day through how we live, dress, speak, and connect.
Celebrating Africa means rejecting mental slavery, standing in our power, and loving ourselves fiercely.
More specifically, I want queer Africans to know they are seen, valued, and essential to Africa’s future. Our stories belong here. We are not imported or unnatural. We are part of the continent’s soul.
This campaign for Africa Day as a public holiday is one step. But culture, art, queerness, and activism together can change how we see ourselves and the world. It’s about healing and building a continent that truly honors all its people.
bird story agency
