A Designer Q+A: Inside Archel Bernard’s Liberian Fashion Wonderland

This designer of wax-print dresses employs Liberian women in Bombchel, her ethical fashion initiative based in Monrovia.

DIASPORA—Archel Bernard is the Liberian-American designer and social entrepreneur behind “The Bombchel Factory,” an ethically produced fashion boutique based in Monrovia, Liberia.

Each item in the store is handcrafted by members of an all-women staff as part of Bernard’s mission to fuse stand-out fashion with social action. Her vibrant sense of style is reflected in each design—she models most of the line’s collection of skirts, dresses and matching sets, herself.

Bernard is her own fashion muse and after viewing some of her airy summertime looks, you’ll understand why. Read on for our conversation with Bernard about the inspiration behind her socially-conscious fashion, and view some of her brightest and boldest looks below.

OkayAfrica: How did you first start designing?

Archel Bernard: Well, I moved to Liberia to be the West African Oprah Winfrey.

I've always wanted to be a lifestyle journalist and I thought that Liberia would welcome me with open arms. But, I got to Liberia and people did not care about lifestyle journalism, because it’s not that comfortable of a place to live yet. Where people are still fighting for life, there is no lifestyle. But, I was still suiting, I was like rainbows in my beautiful Liberian dresses because West African Oprah has to wear West African clothing.

Photo Courtesy of Archel Bernard

I would put on my dresses and go out with a camera man into the slums and shoot videos, shoot market women, shoot whatever. I would post these videos online and my YouTube views didn't really go up like crazy, but people were always asking me "where can I get a dress like the one you wore?" Or "can you bring me one?" So, the business started out of necessity, less than it started out of wanting to be a designer.

Within a year I opened a store with a business partner, and we had to close down during the Ebola outbreak. I went to Atlanta and I didn't know what I was going to do with my life.

But after a while, I was like “okay I have to go back,” we have to do something bigger and better. I wanted to help other people break into fashion, similar to me. There are lots of women in Liberia who have goals like this, and maybe they don't have access.

So I decided to work with women, and build it up, in a way that's beneficial to the community around me. I had this boutique but, there was no end game, so it was like "what's the goal?"

That’s how I started. I decided “okay, we are going to take money, we are going to build this factory, and we are going to train disadvantaged women to sew.” For me, it was the mission of wanting to be an entrepreneur, not just wanting to make money and make clothing.

I recognize that as a Liberian of privilege I have to do more.

Photo Courtesy of Archel Bernard

OkayAfrica: You describe yourself as an African fashion, social entrepreneur. Can you expand more on the social entrepreneurship part? Why is that so important for you when it comes to fashion and design?

AB: Well, I love fashion, yes. But I recognize that I'm a Liberian woman who has been privileged to escape the war, escape Ebola, I've been able to escape everything, and the reason that I've had such a comfortable seat is so that I can come back and lift others.

That for me is so important because, if not that then what? It seems selfish, I can't even picture not helping.

OkayAfrica: What’s the inspiration behind your latest designs?

AB: I started to realize that you can't just sell dresses, you have to sell the lifestyle. And at first when I would come to the States I would try to get customers, or I would try to reach companies and a lot of them said "oh, this is too African," but I'm sitting on Instagram and there's this whole movement of beautiful African women. People want to see this, it's a new look. I'm trying to bring that fresh lifestyle to everyone. So, my [designs] are just what I'm wearing to make it easy. I'm trying to communicate that there's an opportunity for glamor, there's opportunity for all of it.

Most of the stuff is not one size fits all, or two sizes fit all. I'm trying to communicate that through the new styles. We are also making a lot of our textiles in Liberia, because I'm trying to be stationed in Liberia as much as possible, so that I can help benefit the local economy with my clothing.

Fashion is so wasteful, and I find that if we just take a second, we can really lift others, we can spread really great styles and we can do all of this without harming our environment. I want to do all of that.

Photo Courtesy of Archel Bernard

OkayAfrica: There are a lot of different designers using wax print, calling their styles African-inspired. What do you think sets your clothes apart?

AB: It's so funny because a popular market place started around the same time as I started, and they are like eight times what my sales are. You're going to compete with other people who are making similar things as you. But, it's like "okay, I'm over maxi skirts—everyone has their African print maxi skirt now. What else can we do?" I feel like we are limiting ourselves to just "I know that a maxi skirt can sell." But, what would you want to live in? What are the colors, and prints, and patterns that you would want to live in? That's what I'm trying to bring to the table.

I can wear the same dress if I wanted to be very glam and go for drinks, and I can wear that same dress to a wedding, or something like that and I can still breathe and eat, and it's not my grandmother’s suit where I'm so stiff that I gain a pound because I can't move around with this thick lining.

Even while we were talking, this woman stopped me and told me: "I worked in fashion, I love your batik. "A man, who is forty-five years old in Liberia, who has never left the country really—he made this batik. A woman who is an Ebola widow, who just learned how to write her name, she made the dress. These are the things that are important to me about fashion, not what Italian I can get my leather from. That doesn't matter.

Photo Courtesy of Archel Bernard

OkayAfrica: Why do you choose to model your own clothes?

AB: I'm a size twelve or fourteen, if I'm honest, and I want everyone to know that they can look good in all these clothes. For me, it is so important to put myself out there and say "hey I'm not selling you anything that I wouldn't wear myself."

OkayAfrica: Why do you think that everyone is clinging to African-inspired styles? Do you think that some people see it as just a trend?

AB: Well, I just really think that people think that it's a trend. When I first got into it people were like "African print is a trend right now, what are you going to do when it’s not?” I'm just saying that people have not reached to Africa enough. In Liberia alone, there's not just wax print, there's the batiking, there's different things. We have country cloth, we have mud cloth that's imported, we have all sorts of different things that are made.

People are just now starting to see Africa as a place to go for something fresh in fashion. So, we are going to take advantage of that. It's not just a matter of only doing what's hot right now—what are these designers going to do with it? I'm not saying that I don't see competition, but I'm saying that we are a formidable force. Because, I want to see what these maxi skirts people are going to do in ten years from now.

How are we going to evolve? Because we can't just say "okay I'll make this and I'll make it forever." No, people are going to want something fresh or you're going to die out. But, lucky for us, the continent offers so much inspiration that we shouldn't have a problem.

Shop Bombchel clothing via their website, and follow Archel Bernard on Instagram and Facebook

Photo courtesy of Sam Soko.

Interview: Sam Soko is the Kenyan Director Behind Sundance Hit, 'Softie'

We meet filmmaker Sam Soko who has made a stirring documentary about the Kenyan protest leader Boniface Mwangi

Filmmaker Sam Soko didn't intend on making a documentary about Kenyan photojournalist-turned-politician Boniface Mwangi.

The original idea he had was to make a manual of sorts, a short video guide, on how to protest, the do's and don't's. Soko, himself an activist artist who cut his teeth convincing friends to let him create political music videos for their apolitical songs, knew Mwangi's experience on the streets both photographing protests and staging them meant he had a lot to share with others.

But then came the blood. A thousand litres of it, to be precise. And the pigs. Dozens of them, with words like MPigs written on them. Like the graphic photos Mwangi had become known for taking—it was a sight you couldn't look away from. It was a protest Mwangi organized, in 2013, to decry corrupt members of the Kenyan parliament who had decided to increase their salaries, 2 months after taking office. And at his side, through the thick red liquid of it all, was Mwangi's wife, Njere, ready to be arrested with him.

"Once I was witness to his relationship, I started seeing him as a family man," Soko tells OkayAfrica. "Because he's planning a protest and all, but when you look at the footage, you start seeing the kids and you start seeing Njere. That's when it started hitting me, in the sense, that she was with him in such a crazy space."

Soko formed a creative and activist hub, called PAWA 254, with Mwangi, as they became part of the groundswell demanding democratic reforms in a country still left scarred from the division sewed between Kikuyu and Luo people by British colonizers. "We had a new Constitution at the time, and there was this hope that we finally could picket without being tear-gassed or being beaten, Like, our civil liberties could be held up." Instead, the government strengthened its police force into a notorious organization condemned by human rights activists. "That's very salient in the film," says Soko. "If you see how the police dress, for instance, at the beginning, it's very different; they become more militant towards the end."

Soko's debut feature-length documentary, Softie, which became the first Kenyan film to ever premiere at the Sundance Film Festival, earlier this year, is at once a love story between Mwangi and his wife and their three children, but also between Mwangi and his beloved Kenya, under president Uhuru Kenyatta. Central to the film is the tussle between how these different loves bump up against each other: what comes first — love of country or love of family?

We spoke to the Nairobi-based director about making the film, which opens in virtual cinemas, starting this Friday, September 18th.

Boniface Mwangi with his wife Photo courtesy of Sam Soko

OA: Early on in the film, we learn how steadfast Boniface Mwangi is — he talks about being willing to die for the ideals he believes in, which made me think of Nelson Mandela and his Rivonia Treason Trial speech. Boniface is someone in the present day who still shares this belief?

When we were working on the edit, and kind of crafting and thinking about what the story was going to be, something that we found that was really, really interesting is, with a lot of the stories, like the story of Nelson Mandela, you'd never see the other side. That's something we see later, up ahead, as a retrospective. We'd hear about Martin Luther King and then we'd read about Coretta Scott in, I think, 1990, like, 'Oh, this his was her struggle.' That sort of thing. But for me, Boniface and Njere represented a present day reality struggle that showcases what Mandela was going through, what Martin Luther was going through. That was kind of like unravelling the curtain; when you see Martin Luther marching, Coretta's at home, trying to help their kids do their homework. And this is the reality.

OA: And the film poses that question of love for your country versus love for your family, and which one should come first?

Exactly. They see it in different ways. Boniface sees it that if you improve the country, you improve the lives of those who you love. Njere's like, you have to have your family's back first. And that means everything else comes second. And she's right; she's not wrong. And he's not wrong.

OA: The film really is privy to some really private moments in Mwangi's life — how did you gain his trust?

When we started filming the short video, he was really involved with the protests, and we started doing the protests with him. So we were—quote, unquote—in the trenches with him in the protests, and somehow that's how he kind of welcomed us to his home. When you've been with someone in the streets, and you're tear-gassed together more than once, you already have a common bond. But then I started developing a relationship with him that was beyond the streets. Just checking up on him and asking, what's going on, what's taking place? That sort of thing. I think it took a while. And I think even from Njere, we kind of developed a kind of camaraderie that was separate from my relationship with Boniface, because I would actually be like, 'Hey, he said that, how does that make you feel?' And not necessarily on camera. But over time, he kind of accepted us to be there with a camera. At some point, I kind of felt like they were talking to me, and not necessarily the camera; like, the camera is kind of this thing that's there, but not there. That kind of trust, again, was built on a respect that I have for them and their values and what they're doing. I think that's something they saw. It made them trust me with their story and trust me with their family.

You're the director of the film, but you're also producer, writer and cinematographer. Did Boniface's own style as a photojournalist influence you in any way?

The film has three cinematographers, and a lot of my cinematography is within the intimate moments, because that's when they would only engage with someone they trust. But him being a photographer actually, to a point, made the work a bit hard because he's constantly looking at how you're doing it. He's in your face about the angle. He's like, 'Hey, why are you standing there, you should be there.' But in some places he did help 'cause he's been filming in the streets and filming protests for a very long time. So when you're there filming, he'll easily tell you, 'Dude, don't stand there. They're about to start tear-gassing. Go to the other side.' And it's weird, when you're on the other side and you're filming, and all of a sudden you see tear gas, you wonder, 'How the hell did he know?' You do that 234 times and you start knowing yourself, 'Oh, this is how,' and he was really helpful in that sense.

I can imagine that filming during the protests must have been one of the big challenges of making this film but what else did you struggle with? There were death threats for Mwangi, did that happen to you as well?

It's so funny, when you're filming and when you're in the protests, it's adrenaline talking. So you're not really thinking about whether you're going to be okay. This one time, I got arrested because the cop said I was a spy for the protesters. [We had everything] from cameras breaking to sound equipment messing up, but when it became a more political story, with death threats, it became scary even for editing the film. Because you don't know who's watching you. This one time, I was with him in the car, filming, and we were being followed. So we kind of had to be very careful who we are telling about the story. It was a very deep secret that we were making this film and there are people who are watching it now asking, 'How could you keep this from us from all these years?' Because we had to do that. Especially when the family was in the US. We had to do that for the sake of safety for him, Boniface, for his family but also the film team. I remember doing the pitches with different names. But then we were also lucky that we had our co-producing partner in Canada, Eye Steel Film, so they were able to house the edit there. I went to Canada to edit and that kind of also gives you a kind of freedom to think and work and create. That was the reality, and now I think we have PTSD from the film. I can't film another protest. I'm sorry. I'm out. Like, it tapped me out.

There are similarities to the Black Lives Matter protests here in the US, against police brutality and violence but the slogan takes on a different resonance in places like Kenya, where the police force is particularly heavy-handed. How do you see these protests as being similar but also different?

There are two things that you learn with the film. One, our voices can never be silenced. They will try, but I think humanity is like a pressure cooker. The more you boil us, the more you put that heat, the more explosive we become. And through people like Boniface's life, you see that there are human beings who exist, who do extraordinary things.

The other thing is the idea of activism doesn't necessarily just speak to the person who's on the street. It doesn't necessarily speak to the person who's holding the placard. An activist is someone like Njere and her life, and her family. And Khadija [Mohamed, Mwangi's campaign manager]. She's such a strong and powerful activist in her own right. She was Boniface's campaign manager for free. The work they did was so powerful. And you have these other people in the background who are doing such incredible things. The sum total of what they've done is [to] instigate… We have an election next year, but I am so sure that we are going to have so many candidates who are going to be like, 'We want you to donate to our campaign. We have these values and beliefs; this is what we want to do.' That is how we need to go about change or add on to the conversations of change.

The same thing that's happening with the Black Lives Matters movement. Yes, there are people going to the street and we should keep going to the street. But we need to push people to engage in policy and make sure these policy changes are made.

We need to stand for what we believe in, as filmmakers in spaces where we feel oppression exists. Like the rules that have come out with the Academy Awards, these are rules that should be celebrated because they add on to that conversation of diversity and representation. All these things—that sum total—is what makes the difference. It's going beyond the streets and going beyond our Tweets, going beyond our Facebook messages, making films and sharing films. We just need to keep pumping up the volume, keeping the heat up, keep pushing. It's gonna take a while, but we'll get there.

Photojournalist-turned-politician Boniface Mwangi during a protest in Nairobi, Kenya Photo courtesy of Sam Soko

That's where you as a filmmaker come in—this film was the first Kenyan film to get into Sundance, where it won a special editing prize.

There's another film I'm producing and, and, yes, I had my film at Sundance, that's great. But there's this other filmmaker who's making another film, and it's so cool, and this is the thing—we need to keep bouncing off this energy and this light and this vibe, and just keep pushing and making sure that the wheels keep turning. That's what we're all about.

How do you renew your strength, as a filmmaker but also as a Kenyan and as an African?

Being a Kenyan is hard. I think being an African is hard. Like, it's hard. There's a line I heard Boniface say once: 'I love my country, but I am afraid of my government.' But the way in which, personally, I find energy is when I meet new filmmakers, or you know, people who are like starting out and they want to make films that sound totally crazy. And they believe that they can do it. And I'm like, 'yes, yes, keep going!' We are planning to do a premiere. We have not confirmed the date yet but we're thinking it's around going to be early October in Kenya, because Kenyans haven't watched it. The government gave us an adult rating. They're putting us on the same level as porn.

This is the same government that banned Wanuri Kahiu's Rafiki because of its homosexual theme…

Exactly, that's what we're getting but the lemonade that we've made out of all this is, 'Guess what? This is cinema!' We're going to take it to a cinema. People are going to come to watch it in a cinema or watch it at home or watch it in the best way possible. And the people who've watched it have appreciated it as a film and a story, and their story. They've seen a reflection of themselves. That gives me so much joy because the Kenyans who've watched it, when they give you feedback, they say, this is truth; this is our truth. And they don't see just an activist. They see a couple struggling with love. They see our history in the last 10 years. And they're like, 'What the hell, we lived this?' and they see the things that are unresolved — and many things are unresolved. Seeing that reaction gives me so much strength and hope. But it's hard. It's very hard. Because, you know, you have to wake up and see the policeman getting a bribe. And you're like, 'Homie??'

"SOFTIE" Movie Poster

Watch the trailer for Softie here.

Softie | Official Trailer | A film by Sam Soko

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