Golden Ruins: Sun of the Soil Film Review
On Jan. 19th, 2022 the Albert Lepage Center for History in the Public Interest at Villanova University presented a virtual screening of Sun of the Soil (2019). The film creators, Abdou Ouologuem, Joe Penney, Ladan Osman, discussed with Prof. Hilary Whitham Sánchez the significance of the documentary and fielded questions from the audience. Watch the recording here.
Sun of the Soil is a short film that follows acclaimed Malian artist Abdou Ouologuem as he delves into the legend and legacy of Mansa Musa, the richest person in the history of the world. Directed by Joe Penney, and written and produced by Ladan Osman, the film opens with a series of clips depicting the discovery of buried gold in the village of Niono, Mali. Speculators posited that the gold could have once belonged to Mansa Musa, the unimaginably wealthy 14th-century king whose empire had once stretched across West Africa. Musa’s ostentatious pilgrimage to Mecca is credited with changing the course of global history, but he remains a figure shrouded in mystery, even in the land he once ruled.
We follow Ouologuem as he journeys around Bamako, Mali’s capital, in a bid to glean new information about Musa and bring his story into the public consciousness. Interspersed with this principal narrative are conversations with various historians from around the globe, each introducing a new wrinkle to the canvas the film is building. The documentary illustrates the potency of erasure in shaping historical narratives, delving into the deleterious effects that said erasure has had on self-image within the African diaspora. It also conveys the pain and bewilderment that appear at the junction of history and identity, bringing into question the true significance of uncovering a past that was never meant to be remembered.
One of the most potent facets of the film is its audiovisual juxtaposition of regal Malian history and contemporary Malian imagery. The history we are being told is one of opulence and prosperity, but the Mali that we see on the screen holds none of this. The latter half of the film shows us some scenes from the gold mines at Yanfolila, a town in the southernmost region of the country. Dozens of workers float across a lake on rickety rafts, panning for the precious substance in the sediment below. An intensive labor process produces a minuscule yield of gold, which passes from the workers’ hands into a refinery that will melt it down into ingots. These ingots will never reach the hands of the laborers whose toil allowed for their creation. A heritage steeped in gold is not enough to raise the people of Yanfolila from their lowly position on the proverbial totem pole.
The shroud of mystery around the King has a melancholic tinge: he was a Black man, the richest man in history, but his incredible wealth was not enough to save his people from the centuries of oppression that lay beyond the horizon
The opening sequence in Niono is meant to introduce Mansa Musa to the audience, but I find it hard to overlook the painful irony of impoverished Malians tearing into the earth to uncover a treasure that should have always been in their hands. The shroud of mystery around the King has a melancholic tinge: he was a Black man, the richest man in history, but his incredible wealth was not enough to save his people from the centuries of oppression that lay beyond the horizon. The film has spawned a bout of personal questions in my mind, chief among them being how much pride can I, a Black American, take in the legacy of Mansa Musa knowing that his riches perished alongside him? How much value can I derive from a history that can be so abruptly erased?
“He put Mali on the map, even though for me, he was dangerous. He told the whole world we have gold and then we were invaded. And we continue to be invaded today.” — Abdou Ouologuem
The film itself seems to wrestle with the legacy of the great King. Ouologuem is eager to uncover and propagate Musa’s grand history, but he too shares his belief that the ruler’s gold-laden life may have led to Mali’s demise: “He put Mali on the map, even though for me, he was dangerous. He told the whole world we have gold and then we were invaded. And we continue to be invaded today.” Musa was Mali’s greatest king, but it is possible that his greatness was his nation’s very undoing. Musa’s gold fed the far-flung European economies that would eventually conquer his homeland, robbing the kingdom of its riches and the people of their past.
In a way, Ouologuem feels betrayed by the very legacy he is attempting to reclaim. As I listen to Ouologuem’s narration I cannot help but wonder if things would be different had Musa kept his riches hidden. Would the Europeans have invaded all the same? Would the people of Niono still root through the soil to find riches that were always meant to be theirs? Would Black children across the world still be told that their history begins in slavery?
The film gives us a window into Ouologuem’s inner dialogue as he attempts to translate pieces of history into meaningful conclusions for the present, but few firm conclusions can be gleaned from the messy collage of materials at his disposal. His search for Mansa Musa is a deeply personal endeavor driven by the need to bathe his soul in the golden legacy that lays beneath his feet. He knows that the sun lies in the soil, but he has not found it yet.
Sun of the Soil: The Story of Mansa Musa is set to be released this spring. Follow the film’s Twitter account @mansamusafilm to stay up to date with the film’s progress.
See the Lepage Center’s discussion and Q+A with the filmmakers here.
