the global fight against gender inequality and social injustice has grown steadily, and after many years of dedication, it has become indisputably a priority for global and national development that is reshaping policies and decision-making. The integration of the agenda for gender equality and women's and girls’ empowerment with Ghana's national development efforts has yielded some modest progress.1 For example, the enactment of various laws and policies has increased girls’ access to education. As a result, there are now more girls than boys in primary schools (Florence Muhanguzi 6), and there is growth in the number of women engaged in the workforce as entrepreneurs (Entsie). Regardless of these gains, new and complex forms of gender-based violence are emerging in the current technology-mediated digital environment. Examples of these are various forms of cyberviolence and cyberbullying. Besides, some age-old forms of violence against women and girls (VAWG), such as sexual assault, sexual exploitation, rape, domestic violence, female genital mutilation (FGM),2 witchcraft accusations against women, ritual servitude known as Trokosi,3 and child marriages, have persisted for centuries.Ghana's government enshrined its commitment to women's rights in its 1992 constitution—specifically covering protection of fundamental human rights and freedom, right to life, personal liberty, respect for human dignity, protection from slavery and forced labor, protection from discrimination, and protection of the rights of women and children. Ghana also ratified several international human rights instruments, including the 1979 Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW), the 1995 Beijing Platform for Action, the 2000 Millennium Development Goals, the 2003 Maputo Protocol, the 2004 African Union Solemn Declaration on Gender Equality in Africa, and the 2015 Sustainable Development Agenda, to defend the principles of gender equality and social justice for women and girls. These international and regional agreements have informed the formulation of national policies such as the National Gender Policy and Justice for Children Policy to provide comprehensive frameworks to respond to entrenched social injustices that undermine equity for women and girls. They also led to the institutionalization of, for example, the Ministry of Women and Children's Affairs in 2001, now called the Ministry of Gender, Children and Social Protection, tasked to drive policy change and contribute to national growth by achieving equality and equity for all.Certainly, commitments to addressing gender inequality and various forms of gender-based violence are evident, even though more needs to be done. While the efforts by governments, institutions, women's movements, and civil society organizations have been well documented (Adomako-Ampofo 395–421; Amoakohene 2373–85; Anyidoho et al. 1–27; Manuh and Dwamena-Aboagye 203–34), existing knowledge on the contributions of Ghanaian and Ghanaian-diaspora female filmmakers toward the fight against gender-based violence is limited. With strategic commitments in mind, female filmmakers in Ghana and its diaspora have made fiction and nonfiction films about women's rights issues and VAWG to increase public awareness and enhance mainstream conversations in efforts to improve lives.This article draws on African feminist framework to thematically analyze the documentary The Witches of Gambaga (2010) by Yaba Badoe and the feature film Like Cotton Twines (2016) by Leila Djansi, to understand the ways these female filmmakers accentuate the effects of witchcraft accusation and ritual servitude on women and girls, respectively. Amoakohene notes that witchcraft accusations and ritual enslavement are pseudo-religious practices that cause inhumane treatment of women and girls and account for violations of their rights (2375). Women in both traditional and modern societies are often accused of witchcraft for various reasons and are “frequently subjected to ridicule, ostracism, assault and torture, exile and murder” (Roxburgh 896). With “Trokosi” (ritual bondage), females, often girls, are enslaved to atone for crimes committed by their family members. As the thematic feminist analysis of the films will demonstrate, the filmmakers create awareness around the causes of witchcraft accusation and ritual servitude, their effects on women and girls, and strategies to help address the menace. The article furthers our understanding of African feminist filmmaking and the visual discourse on gender-based violence in Ghanaian-diaspora women's films.Choosing to analyze the works of female filmmakers who use film to critique patriarchy and religio-cultural practices that cause women and girls to live in perpetual discrimination and violence means considering the wider contexts of Ghanaian and diaspora female filmmaking practices and thematic preoccupations. In view of this, the remainder of this article is structured as follows: the immediate section opens with a brief discussion of Ghanaian film culture and women's place within that practice; the theoretical framework is then examined; and the subsequent section analyzes the ways the selected films tackle the issue of VAWG. I conclude with a summary of the key arguments and their implications.Ghanaian female filmmaking dates to 1967, when the renowned pan-African cultural activist Efua T. Sutherland collaborated with the American Broadcasting Corporation to make the documentary Araba: The Village Story. After Sutherland's pioneering work, female directors followed as independents and operated in the highly commercial video and subsequently digital film industries, catering to audiences’ tastes. Like their male counterparts, they have tackled diverse issues relevant to Ghanaian experiences that do or do not speak to the numerous women's rights violations or promote female subjectivity and empowerment. Indeed, over the years, Ghanaian video films have been said to offer “crass commercialism, ideological conservatism, sexism, superstition, and negative stereotypes about African culture and peoples” (Dogbe 99). Within this context, representations of both men and women have been replete with stereotypical constructions. A cursory look at female representations in many Ghanaian video/digital films reveal that women play crucial roles in terms of plot development, but their representations, to borrow from Lindiwe Dovey, “are highly problematic” (23). Most commercial and entertainment films in recent years have been dedicated to exploring domestic issues, consumerism, and gender issues (Garritano 92–100).Since the early 1990s, themes explored by Ghanaian female directors have varied greatly in accordance with filmmakers’ interests and political and economic circumstances. According to Lizelle Bisschoff and Stefanie Van de Peer, not all works by African female filmmakers are feminist-oriented, even though they share in “a politically female sensibility” (53). Despite divergent approaches, some filmmakers have found it necessary to alter the normative discourse and present alternative representations of female subjectivities from perspectives that refashion Ghanaian womanhood and experiences.4 Veronica Quarshie,5 for instance, “purposely responded to the representations of women dominant in video films of the period” from the mid-1990s to the early 2000s (Garritano 117). Moreover, Shirley Frimpong-Manso6 and others made the choice to use their films to reverse the stereotypical images of women.Ghanaian-diaspora female filmmakers, like other African-diaspora women through their films, speak to a plurality of themes, including issues of race and the tension it generates and the overall realities of their diasporic experiences. Although multiple experiences tend to inspire diaspora filmmakers’ work, their films sometimes maintain ethnic consciousness and consciousness of issues in the homeland (Naficy 14). As first-generation Ghanaian-diaspora women filmmakers, Badoe and Djansi, in their desire to advocate against VAWG, “return to the source” that is the homeland in The Witches of Gambaga and Like Cotton Twines, to highlight and stimulate discussions toward action and transformation to improve the lives of women and girls held as witches and slaves (Ellerson, “Traveling Gazes” 275).In fact, Badoe and Djansi's works could be regarded as part of what Amanda Coffie views as African diaspora engagement with women's struggles on the continent (2). A Ghanaian-British documentary filmmaker,7 writer, researcher, and feminist advocate, Badoe has within the last two decades not only pursued a transnational filmmaking practice but also chased interests in educational documentaries,8 telling stories about the experiences of Ghanaian women in the public, private, and academic spheres in such films as Honorable Women (2010), The Witches of Gambaga, and The Art of Ama Ata Aidoo (2014). Her understanding of structural imbalances in policies and power that affect women's autonomy and her fascination with stories that link ordinary middle-aged women like herself to witchcraft culminated in her first independent feminist documentary project, The Witches of Gambaga, which she directed and coproduced with the renowned African feminist scholar Amina Mama. The film has been distributed on DVD for educational purposes in Ghana and beyond and screened at various film festivals,9 exposing the plight of Ghanaian women condemned as witches, particularly to policy makers and international audiences.Unlike Badoe, Djansi has made short films and web series, and she is widely known to be one of the few Ghanaian-diaspora commercial feature filmmakers. After her initial engagements with the Ghanaian video film industry as a writer, she moved to the United States in 2003, when she won an Artistic Honors Scholarship to study at the Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD) in Georgia, USA. She received formal training in scriptwriting and film production. She later moved to the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, California, to build on her scriptwriting and film directing skills. It was during this period that she wrote and directed her debut feature film, I Sing of a Well (2009), shot in Ghana. Given her liminal position as an independent Ghanaian-diaspora film director, scriptwriter, producer, and founder of the Los Angeles motion picture production company Turning Point Pictures, Djansi's films take on what Naficy describes as an interstitial character operating at the intersection of the local and global cinematic cultures (46).Besides the transnational production approach she employs, Djansi's films tell African, African diaspora, and African/African diaspora stories. They deal with pressing social issues and lean toward a more “‘artsy,’ francophone aesthetic” (Badoe, “Representing Witches” 82). Women-centered narratives are her preoccupations, and puberty rites and FGM (Ebbe [2012]), domestic violence (Sinking Sands [2010]), gender inequality and women's empowerment (Ties that Bind [2011]), and gender-based violence (Like Cotton Twines [2016]) are the themes in her short and feature films shot in Ghana, the United States, or both.10 Her feature films are released commercially in theaters and online as well as screened at film festivals. For instance, Like Cotton Twines,11 which I analyze in this article, is distributed by Urban Movie Channel (UMC, now ALLBLK). The film is also available on Prime Video and on Vudu. Even though she operates in the commercial space, through these platforms Djansi, like Badoe, brings to Ghanaian and international audiences the story of girls forced to atone for crimes of which they are innocent. Indeed, this article argues that even though Badoe's The Witches of Gambaga and Djansi's Like Cotton Twines differ in form, they promote the need for rights advocacy against witchcraft accusation and ritual servitude of women and girls, respectively.Drawing on African feminist theory and discourses on gender-based violence, including the works of such scholars as Jane Bennett, Mama, Obioma Nnaemeka, and Sylvia Tamale, is particularly useful for thematically analyzing Badoe's The Witches of Gambaga and Djansi's Like Cotton Twines. African feminism commits to the struggle for social justice for African women (Amadiume 65). Hence, it is useful to analyze what the filmmakers represent as the causes of witchcraft accusation and ritual servitude; the physical, socioeconomic, sexual, and psychological violence that arise from these practices perpetuated against women and girls; and the strategies they propose to help raise awareness and address the social injustices.The UN Declaration on the Elimination of Violence against Women defines violence against women as “any act of gender-based violence that results in or is likely to result in physical, sexual or psychological harm or suffering to women, including threats of such acts, coercion or arbitrary deprivation of liberty, whether occurring in public or private life.” African feminist theory engages discourses on gender and violence. In the attempts to understand the connection between gender and violence, there are discourses that privilege the notion that “becoming gendered ritualizes violence, predicting who will violate and who will be violated” (Bennett, “Rethinking Gender” 1). Researchers studying masculinity, conflict, and gender-based violence caution against sharp binaries of men-as-perpetrators and women-as-victims (Godwin Murunga 99), even though the process of gendering in its varying forms, according to Bennett, is violence (“Circles” 35).Bennett suggests that gender-based violence is the kind of violence people who are gendered as “women” suffer because of their gender (“Circles” 27). It is an elemental part of control over women to preserve male hegemony (Ayiera 12). Given their gender identity, women and girls are susceptible to rape, incest, sexual assault, abduction, beating, murder, and more (Bennett, “Circles” 27). Sexual violence, for instance, is “feminized since it happens to women because they are females” (Ayiera 12). Physical and sexual violence also violate women's and girls’ fundamental human rights (Williams 5). Bennett suggests that women and girls experience physical, economic, sexual, and psychological violence (“Circles” 27). While gender identity is a major factor responsible for VAWG, Maryam Quadri maintains that there are numerous factors that account for violence against women, “depending on the setting and context of occurrence” (3). As the analysis of The Witches of Gambaga and Like Cotton Twines will demonstrate, the filmmakers project the idea that despite the varying circumstances in which women are accused of witchcraft and girls forced into ritual enslavement, it seems gender, patriarchy, age, ethnicity, and religion are major intersecting determining factors that make condemnation possible.Mama explains that the harsh conditions within social and cultural environments make it possible for violence and abuse against women to thrive. Meanwhile, political and social structures maintain and overlook perpetrators (Mama 252–65). Moreover, women in many African societies account for most of the poor and are denied rights to land and inheritance, although men's entitlements are established by “legislative, customary, and statutory institutions” (Cornwall 13). While these are critical contributions to our understanding of the reasons witchcraft accusations and ritual servitude persist, through The Witches of Gambaga and Like Cotton Twines it is evident that society does not offer women and girls the support to contest their treatment, but rather forces them to tolerate and accept being ostracized as witches or atoning for crimes they have not committed.Williams shares the view that VAWG, which includes witchcraft accusation and ritual bondage, not only traumatizes and violates women's human rights but also undermines the resilience of individuals and the wider society (3). In view of these obstacles, education, economic independence, and control of resources are believed to be the tools women need to resist marginalization and transform gender inequality (Darkwah 1–13; Muhanguzi 1–16) as well as gender-based violence. African feminism encourages institutions that are of benefit to women and questions those that work to their disadvantage (Davies 9). It promotes the idea that women's emancipation must respond to the concerns and values of the times, particularly in the present era of human rights–based development. In this article's analysis, I will attempt to show not only the filmmakers’ desires to raise awareness but also the strategies they propose to help address witchcraft accusations of women and ritual enslavement of girls.Proposing an “Africanized” notion of equity and social justice for women, Tamale argues that the tradition of Ubuntu can be resourcefully employed to shape social relations that enhance gender justice. The philosophy of Ubuntu, which translates to “I am because you are,” thrives on the principles of gender complementarity, communitarianism, humanness, interconnectedness, and solidarity. Tamale is convinced that through deployment of the moral and ethical values of Ubuntu and its respect for human dignity, gender-based violence and African women's subordination and oppression can be addressed (211–34). By invoking the value of reciprocity, African feminism emphasizes cooperation between women and women and between men and women since through such relations women and men become collective agents for women's liberation (Nnaemeka, “Mapping African Feminisms” 36–37). These perspectives are particularly significant for understanding the importance of communitarianism and complementarity in the fight against gender-based violence, particularly witchcraft accusation and ritual servitude, as presented in the films. In The Witches of Gambaga and Like Cotton Twines, the filmmakers recognize a female sense of community and/or gender complementarity to access support for condemned “witches” and “slaves.”In what follows, I analyze in detail the ways the filmmakers highlight the menace and raise awareness for change. The emerging themes analyzed are the politics of witchcraft accusation and ritual servitude; forms of violence against women and girls that stem from these practices, including physical, socioeconomic, sexual, and psychological violence; and proposed strategies toward addressing the menace.Women and girls in Africa confront varying degrees and forms of violence, some of which are justified in the name of culture and religion. Witchcraft accusation of women and ritual enslavement of girls are widespread, criminalized religio-cultural practices predominantly found in the northern regions12 and the Volta Region of Ghana, respectively. Badoe's The Witches of Gambaga and Djansi's Like Cotton Twines expose the various layers of violence the practices unleash on women and girls. The filmmakers, like other African female filmmakers in Africa and in the diaspora who make films about African women, understand that gender inequality and social injustices in African societies emanate from various forms of domination that relate to patriarchy, culture, gender inequality, gender norms, and entrenched beliefs that obliterate fundamental female independence (see Bisschoff 11–239). Consequently, Badoe's and Djansi's films foreground these realities, unveiling the politics that fuel the practices of witchcraft accusation and ritual bondage, the kinds of violence they perpetrate, and their impact on lives, to help expedite efforts toward social justice and transformation.The documentary The Witches of Gambaga chronicles the testimonies of women condemned and ostracized by their communities to live as witches in the oldest witches’ sanctuary in Gambaga.13 From the perspective of African feminism, which suggests that gender-based violence is an intrinsic part of male control over women (Ayiera 12), a close reading of Badoe's film positions witchcraft accusation as a gross gendered social injustice committed against women and perpetrated largely through oppressive practices of patriarchy and religious traditions. Patriarchy, according to Ayiera, “as a social-political order is based on male hegemony through dominance and denigration of other experiences,” which implies the subordination of women (12–13). Customarily, communities in Ghana and specifically those in the northern regions are highly patriarchal, and decision-making power resides with men (Adinkrah 332).Moreover, as in other parts of Ghana, the regions are deeply religious, and as a result, many aspects of life are intrinsically linked to the supernatural. Witchcraft is one of the supernatural forces that generate fear since witches’ modi operandi are not clearly understood (Nukunya 75). Nukunya explains: Witches are people, male and female, who are believed to possess inherent supernatural powers which they use (knowingly or otherwise) to harm others or benefit themselves. . . . [W]itchcraft accusations are motivated by jealousy, hatred, and envy as well as fear. They are also caused by the necessity to account for unexpected or underserved misfortune where it is not recognized that such misfortunes can happen by chance or natural causes. (75)Since witchcraft may be used beneficently or maleficently, amid spiritual insecurity, when patriarchs must determine who practices maleficent witchcraft, the potential malefactor becomes the woman. The filmmaker does not ridicule the religious beliefs that shape the practice but rather focuses on the way it disadvantages women and the effects it has on them (Luttig 33). Roxburgh shares the view that the gendered power relations through which witchcraft beliefs are enacted are the fundamental causes of gendered violence surrounding witchcraft (898). The Witches of Gambaga emphasizes the idea that “to be born a woman is to be born under a shadow of suspicion.” African feminists’ observations that violence and abuse against women are gendered and that female inferiority is embedded in gender norms are relevant to the situation (Bennett, “Circles” 27). In one scene, a twenty-year resident at the camp, Ma Hawa, recounts the circumstance that led to her condemnation and subsequent banishment. In an interview presentation and through a series of medium close-up and close-up shots of her hands, face, and foot accompanied by voice-over, the filmmaker presents a woman who has been physically robbed of her “youth” because her rival's young son who was under her care accused her of witchcraft. Traditionally, because women are seen to be inferior, a boy's utterance is valued over that of a woman. Notably, through the interviews, Badoe establishes that accusations made by fellow women became noteworthy only when they were supported by men. Drucker-Brown observes that “if accusations of witchcraft are to become significant, they must be supported by men” (546). From Ma Hawa, the oldest woman in the camp, to young Salmata, the decisions to confirm their guilt, punishment, and banishment were made by the patriarchs in their various communities. Certainly, since Badoe reports that there were over three thousand women living in witches’ camps scattered in the northern regions of Ghana, she exposes not only the ways gendering and patriarchal domination influence witchcraft-related violence against women, but also the ways they normalize and make the practice acceptable.In addition, Badoe argues that witchcraft accusations against women are “rooted in a visceral terror of women's procreative power and sexuality” (“What Makes?” 40). Subduing this power means finding reasons to blame women and suppress them into submission. The Witches of Gambaga reveals that all manner of women can be accused. However, middle-aged and postmenopausal elderly women are the most accused, as presented in the film's female subjects Asara, Alima, Ma Hawa, Agruba, and old Salmata. Bisi Adeleye-Fayemi points out that women of this age often “feel they have paid their dues to their patriarchal communities” and therefore do not “feel bound by conventions of obedience or deference to male authority” (108). Several of the women Badoe interviewed were widows or separated from their husbands; they controlled their own households and lived without the obvious authority of men, which predisposed them to being targeted with violence.Like Cotton Twines, Djansi's feature film, represents the experiences of Tuigi, a fourteen-year-old schoolgirl who is forced to become a Trokosi—“a slave/wife of the gods.” The film presents several forces that culminate to enforce the enslavement of girls. Like Badoe, Djansi seeks to raise awareness of how patriarchal dominance and pseudo-religious ideologies are used as weapons of VAWG. Since Trokosi is a system of traditional religion, the central points of power are deities with earthly representative priests, who are often respected and revered (Gedzi 6–7). The Trokosi religious doctrines privilege male authority over women, and Djansi reveals to the viewer that male absolute power allows men to head the shrines and demand that girls atone for crimes committed by family members. It is important to note that boys are reportedly not kept as Trokosiwo (Gedzi 13).14 Meanwhile, crimes including rape, theft, and murder, predominantly committed by male members of families, are the reasons girls are enslaved (Bilyeu 475–77). For the viewer, these revelations demonstrate that the gender system of patriarchy forces girls to become slaves.In the film, Tuigi is forced to become a Trokosi because her father accidently killed a man in the forest during his hunting expedition. Djansi criticizes the rationale that makes it possible to force an innocent girl to atone for a crime she did not commit and exposes the patriarchal forces that suppress and violate her rights. The filmmaker portrays Tuigi as a teenager who has just menstruated and has been circumcised—a perfect candidate not only because she is female, but also because she is chaste and likely to satisfy the sexual pleasures of a priest, as the practice demands. The film positions this unwanted responsibility imposed on Tuigi as a burden she is helpless to escape. Given entrenched gender-inequitable practices and VAWG in society as established in African feminist discourse (Bennett, “Circles” 26–27), toward the end of an emotionally driven scene, Djansi uses shot/reverse shots of Tuigi and her mother not only to establish dialogue but also to establish the suppression of mother and daughter. While Tuigi blames her mother for not standing up for her against FGM and ritual enslavement, her mother states, “Tuigi . . . that pain you feel. I understand, and I feel it too. But I am helpless.” This is a clear demonstration of the deep suppression the mother feels. For Djansi, it is evident that by virtue of their gender, mother and daughter are unable to reject FGM and Trokosi because of female subordination and social orientation.To further expose the causes of ritual servitude, Djansi explores why the practice persists. It is evident that families and communities adhere to this practice for fear of reprisal from the gods (Gedzi 5–7). In an emotionally charged scene rendered predominantly in handheld shots, Tuigi's father confronts Micah, an African American volunteer, for helping his daughter to escape. The Christian priest who is also the headmaster avoids defending Tuigi but rather instructs Micah to stay away from interfering with traditional religious processes. Using Micah and the Christian priest, Djansi interrogates the lack of agency and community responsibility toward fighting for girls (daughters, sisters, nieces, etc.) who have nothing to do with crimes for which they are enslaved. Through split screen–like shots symbolizing the binary positions of the two characters accompanied by two-shots and shot/reverse shots, it becomes evident that for the Christian priest, inaction is not so much about endorsement but about maintaining peace between Christianity and traditional religion at the expense of girls.The wish to maintain peace underscores why in Badoe's The Witches of Gambaga, the only intervention the Presbyterian Go Project team could offer was to assist women in paying to leave the camp after they had been cleared of witchcraft by the chief of Gambaga and overseer of the camp, the Gambarrana. As an age-old practice, Trokosi, like witchcraft accusation, has assumed an aura of normalization, and hence the community views it as legitimate. While there is a general assumption that Trokosi is a system to control crime, the film suggests that it is a system that controls girls, women, and community. Evidently, crimes have not ceased, and girls continually atone for crimes they have rarely committed (Botchway 373). By virtue of what happens to Tuigi, the conclusion the viewer arrives at is that the practice rather promotes crime since real offenders, like Tuigi's father, escape punishment, thus protecting patriarchy from accountability.An important part of centering gender-based violence in cinematic discourses is to understand not only the causes but also the violence's effects on women and society. In The Witches of Gambaga and Like Cotton Twines, the filmmakers, besides interrogating the causes and politics that give rise to witchcraft accusation of women and ritual enslavement of girls, bring attention to the consequences of the practices. They present various forms of violence that result from these practices and their long-term effects on their victims. African feminist discourses on gender-based violence understand that African women are vulnerable to physical, economic, psychological, and sexual violence perpetrated by men in their families, men in authority, and m