Online Reporter
Alphina Ndlovu
I recently stood in a field in the United Kingdom, surrounded by carefully reconstructed tents, uniforms, and re enacted scenes from the past. It was the International Living History Festival — a celebration of memory, preservation, and storytelling.
The atmosphere was vibrant and immersive; history was not confined to textbooks, it was embodied through people, performance, and presence. There was pride in the detail, intention in the presentation, and a clear commitment to ensuring that the past remained visible and accessible to present and future generations.
Yet, as I walked through this living museum, one question quietly followed me: whose history is being remembered… and whose is missing?
Events such as these play an important role in preserving heritage; they create meaningful connections between generations and offer an engaging way to experience the past. In many ways, they are a testament to the power of collective memory.
They also reveal something deeper — that history is not merely recorded. It is curated.
What is remembered, what is emphasised, and what is omitted often reflects broader structures of power. These decisions, whether conscious or not, shape how societies understand themselves and others.
As a Zimbabwean woman, born in Bulawayo — the City of Kings — I did not enter that space as a neutral observer. I carried with me a different historical inheritance, one shaped by colonial encounters, cultural resilience, and the lived experiences of communities whose voices have not always been fully represented in global narratives.
Bulawayo itself is a city of memory; it holds within it the legacy of kings, migration, resistance, and survival. It is a place where history is not distant, but lived — carried in language, tradition, and identity.
To move from such a space into one where history is carefully staged and interpreted invites reflection.
Walking through the festival, I saw discipline and attention to detail in the portrayal of British military history. The uniforms were precise, the narratives were structured, and the experience was cohesive.
However, there was an absence — not necessarily intentional, but significant.
The African perspective.
This absence is not unique to one festival; it reflects a broader global pattern in which African experiences are often positioned at the margins, particularly in spaces where colonial histories are revisited. Colonial encounters were not one sided stories; they were complex, layered, and deeply consequential for all involved. And yet, in many historical representations, the African voice remains understated, simplified, or entirely absent.
This matters because history, in its fullest sense, is not singular; it is interconnected.
To understand it more completely, we must be willing to engage with multiple perspectives — including those that have historically been overlooked. It is not about discrediting existing narratives; it is about expanding them — adding depth, adding balance, and adding the truth.
This is where diaspora voices become particularly important. Those of us who carry African histories while living in Western contexts occupy a unique position. We navigate multiple worlds; we engage with different interpretations of the past. In doing so, we begin to see both the presence and the absence within historical narratives.
We are not just observers, we are participants in an ongoing conversation about memory, identity, and representation — and that conversation is evolving. Across the world, there is a growing awareness of the need to revisit history more critically. Conversations around decolonisation, cultural identity, and historical accountability are becoming more visible in academic, social, and public spaces.
Within this context, there is an opportunity — and perhaps a responsibility — for African voices to contribute more actively, not through confrontation, but through presence, through storytelling, and through thoughtful engagement.
History is not only about preservation; it is also about representation, and representation shapes identity. How people see themselves is deeply influenced by how their stories are told — or not told.
For African communities, both on the continent and in the diaspora, reclaiming narrative space is not simply about revisiting the past. It is about shaping the future. It is about ensuring that future generations inherit a fuller, more balanced understanding of who they are and where they come from.
Platforms such as cultural groups, storytelling initiatives, and community led historical engagements play an important role in this process. They create space for voices that may not always be present in mainstream narratives; they remind us that history is not fixed — it is living, and it is evolving.
In addition, it is something we continue to interpret, question, and understand in new ways.
My experience at the festival did not diminish its value. If anything, it deepened my appreciation for the importance of preserving history. It also highlighted the need for broader inclusion in how that history is told. To remember is important; to remember fully — that is power.
Perhaps the work of our generation is not to reject history, but to engage with it more critically, more inclusively, and more honestly.
To contribute our voices, share our perspectives, and, in doing so, to move closer to a history that reflects not just one narrative — but many.
In the end, history is not only what is performed; it is also what is remembered, what is questioned, and what is reclaimed.
*Alphina Ndlovu is a Zimbabwean writer, cultural commentator, and a PhD researcher with a focus on African business ecosystems, identity and narrative.
