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Azande warriors chose boys as wives

Why the Azande warriors of North Central Africa chose boys as wives in the 1800s

By Mildred Europa Taylor, June 1, 2018

Former Zimbabwean leader Robert Mugabe once described homosexuality as “un-African” and a “white disease.”

Other African leaders, plus several other people on the continent have shared in his view, and this has elicited homophobia, persecution and anti-gay laws in countries like Uganda, Tanzania, Morocco, Nigeria and Kenya.

In recent years, it has been made clear that same-sex sexual relations existed in traditional African societies even before the colonisers arrived.

From the 16th century, homosexuality has been recorded in Africa by European missionaries and anthropologists.

An example of this is the boy-wives’ tradition of the Azande ethnic group of North Central Africa.

Formed in the 19th century, the Azande people were a warrior tribe mostly found in Sudan and the Democratic Republic of Congo.

These warriors were not only practising homosexuality and bi-sexuality but actually married boys or young men.

According to anthropologist E.E. Evans-Pritchard, there was a scarcity of women for these warriors, particularly, the poorer ones at the time due to social traditions.

As such, men or warriors who were against masturbation were expected to marry boys and satisfy their sexual needs with them.

A warrior who is ready for this would select a boy between the ages of 12-20, go to his parents’ house and request the boy’s hand in marriage.

He would have to pay a bride price for the boy, usually in the form of spears or other items.

Once married, the husband would then have to take care of the boy's parents, who are now his in-laws.

The boy would also take on household duties like a woman, including collecting firewood, fetching water and holding the warrior shield when travelling.

"At night the boy slept with his lover, who had intercourse with him between his thighs (intercrural). (Azande expressed disgust at the suggestion of anal penetration). The boys got what pleasure they could by the friction of their organs on the husband’s belly or groin.

“However, even though there was this side to the relationship, it was clear from Zande accounts that there was also the comfort of a night sharing of the bed with a companion,” Evans-Pritchard wrote in his work published in early 20th century.

Note that, the warriors of the Zande people were not the only ones practising this; young princes were also involved. 

If a boy appealed to a Zande prince, the prince would take on the boy as a servant and a sexual outlet. The prince would also compensate the boy’s family.

There were men who had female wives but also married boys. During wars, they took the boys with them to perform duties at base camp.

One interesting fact is that unlike instances of homosexuality, sex between Azande men did not have much to do with love and longer unions. They only wanted sexual gratification, companionship and service.

Marriage to a woman was still what they hoped for. They just loved boys because women were scarce. 7

Besides, the husbands would eventually marry women, and the cycle would continue with the former boy-wife following the same direction.

This tradition ended in the early 20th. century, Evans-Pritchard noted.

Source: Why the Azande Warriors of North Central Africa Chose Boys as Wives in the 1800s

More details: The Boy Wives of the Azande of the Sudan

My own humble contribution at this point is that we cannot know for sure that there was no romance involved in every single case of same-sex marriage between Azande men. From what we know of human sexuality, this would have been highly unlikely. The Azande knew very well that some men preferred to have sex with other men. And although every man was expected to marry a woman, Azande customs provided a man with an excuse to have sex with another man whenever he wanted, throughout life. Marriage between warriors and recruits was only a part of the Azande accommodation to male homosexuality.

Addendum

"Sexual Inversion among the Azande" (1970)

Later in his career, Evans-Pritchard published a groundbreaking essay titled 'Sexual Inversion among the Azande", which documented the pre-colonial practices of institutionalised same-sex unions that had largely faded by the mid-20th century under colonial and missionary pressure.

Male Boy-Wives (Aparanga): He detailed how adult warriors in bachelor military companies legally married younger men (ages 12 to 20). The elder warrior paid a standard bride-price (in iron spears) to the boy's parents. The younger male partner performed domestic duties, kept house, and served as a sexual partner (via intercrural sex). These relationships were fully legal, carrying the same social status and protections against infidelity as heterosexual marriages. Once the boy came of age, he would transition to becoming a warrior himself and take his own boy-wife or marry a woman.

Female Relationships: Evans-Pritchard also documented reports of same-sex relationships between Azande women. Unlike male unions, female relationships were highly discouraged by the patriarchal society. They were reportedly most common in large, polygamous households where dozens of wives lived together with limited access to their shared husband.

Legacy & Methodological Impact: Evans-Pritchard transformed the practice of anthropology itself. Rather than studying subjects from a distance, he advocated for intensive participant-observation fieldwork. He lived dynamically among the Azande, learned the Zande language fluently, and famously even tried to organise his own daily affairs in the field by consulting their oracles to better understand their psychological framework. His work successfully argued that human cultures cannot be ranked on a ladder of evolutionary progress, but must instead be evaluated based on how effectively their ideas function within their own unique cultural context.

Azande warriors — Pinterest

Evans-Pritchard with Azande boys during his field trip 1926-9

Kingsley's Crossing

"In the developed world illegal immigration is a hotly debated political issue. Form the eyes of the world's very poor, it is an excruciating personal decision, made to make life a little bit better for one's self and one's family.

Kingsley is 23 years old, and lives in a two-room house with his parents and seven siblings in a coastal village in Cameroon. He is raised with an image of Europe as a kind of promised land: if he can only get there, life for himself and his family will improve.

Photojournalist Olivier Jobard introduces us to Kingsley as he makes the difficult decision to embark on his "mission" and then accompanies him, documenting his perilous journey, Step by step, across desert and ocean, we come to see immigration through one man's eyes, and learn the rewards - and the costs - of such a dream."

MediaStorm February 21, 2014

On Talibés and Almajirai

The talibés in Senegal and almajirai (plural of almajiri) in Nigeria are remarkably similar. Both groups consist of young boys sent away from their rural families to live in urban residential Islamic schools, where traditional practices have increasingly devolved into systemic street begging and child exploitation.

Both are rooted in traditional Islamic boarding systems—called daaras in Senegal and tsangaya or almajiri schools in Northern Nigeria—where students focus intensely on memorising the Quran under a religious teacher (maramu or mallam).

Parents typically send their young sons (often starting at age 4 to 7) away from impoverished countryside villages to major cities, trusting they will receive a pious religious upbringing. Rather than being fully provided for by their teachers or communities, many of these children are mandated to spend hours each day roaming the streets to meet daily quotas for money or food.

International bodies and NGOs classify the systemic neglect, lack of formal secular education, malnutrition, and forced labour surrounding both groups as severe child protection and welfare crises.

The systems of both the Talibés in Senegal and the Almajirai in Nigeria began as highly respected, community-supported networks for higher Islamic education. Over centuries, economic pressures, colonisation, and rapid urbanisation transformed them from prestigious academic traditions into the marginalised systems seen today.

The Almajiri System in Nigeria, Pre-Colonial Prestige: The word almajiri comes from the Arabic al-Muhajirun, meaning "the emigrant." It historically referred to students who travelled to gain knowledge. In the pre-colonial Kanem-Bornu Empire and Sokoto Caliphate, these schools were elite institutions. They produced the region’s judges, clerks, and scholars. The traditional schools (tsangaya) were heavily subsidised by the ruling emirs, wealthy patrons, and the local community through zakat (charitable giving). Students did not need to beg because the community willingly fed and clothed them as a religious duty.

The British Disruption: In 1904, the British colonial administration conquered Northern Nigeria. They abolished state funding for Islamic schools and refused to recognise them legally. At the same time, they introduced a Western-style secular school system that required fees, which most poor Muslim families rejected. Deprived of state financial support, teachers (mallams) and their students lost their livelihoods. To survive, schools migrated to urban commercial centres, and students were forced to work or beg for food and charity, transforming a system of prestigious scholarship into a survival mechanism.

The Talibé System in Senegal, Pre-Colonial Integration: In Senegal, traditional Islamic schools (daaras) were deeply integrated into rural agrarian societies. Young boys (talibés, from the Arabic talib, meaning "student") studied the Quran under a religious teacher (marabout). Historically, talibés did not beg for money on city streets. Instead, they worked alongside their marabout on communal agricultural land, growing food to feed the school. This labour was viewed as character-building, teaching the boys humility, discipline, and the value of hard work.

The French colonial administration in Senegal marginalised traditional daaras, choosing to fund and promote French secular schools instead. This isolated the Islamic schools economically, restricting them to rural areas. During the 1970s and 1980s, severe droughts devastated West African agriculture, making rural farming unsustainable. Desperate marabouts moved their daaras into large cities like Dakar to survive. Lacking land to farm and unable to afford city life, the teachers adapted the traditional labour model, sending children onto urban streets to beg for daily cash and food quotas.

Equivalent systems and student populations are found in Niger, Chad, Mali, Burkina Faso, Benin, Togo, Ghana, and Côte d'Ivoire.

While colonial education policies are a major historical catalyst, they are not the sole ultimate cause for the widespread street begging associated with almajirai (in Nigeria) and talibés (in Senegal/West Africa). Widespread rural poverty leads many families to send children away to daaras or tsangaya schools because they cannot afford to feed them at home. In addition, secular post-colonial governments often failed to integrate or properly regulate traditional religious schools, leaving a legal vacuum where abusive teachers can exploit children for economic gain. What was historically a minor or non-systemic practice of enduring hardship or seeking alms has morphed in urban environments into commercialised, forced begging managed by exploitative networks.

Both Senegal and Nigeria have introduced several legal reforms, modern curriculum integrations, and bans on street begging to address these crises. However, enforcing these laws remains incredibly difficult due to political pressure, deep-rooted cultural traditions, and severe enforcement gaps. In Nigeria particularly, the federal government launched major initiatives to build "Model Islamic Schools" (Tsangaya schools). These schools fuse traditional Quranic memorisation with basic English, mathematics, and vocational training, funded by the state, to eliminate the financial need for begging. But neither government has the budget or infrastructure to house, feed, and formally educate the millions of children who rely on these systems for shelter. Also, many rural, conservative parents still distrust state-run secular schools, viewing them as elite institutions that do not teach moral values.

In Northern Nigeria, the almajiri system is deeply scrutinised as a critical national security concern. Security analysts and organisations like the International Centre for Counter-Terrorism (ICCT) highlight how the system functions as a vulnerability pipeline. With an estimated 30 million out-of-school and almajiri children in Nigeria, violent non-state actors like Boko Haram, ISWAP (Islamic State West Africa Province), and northern bandit groups look to these children as prime recruitment pools.

While the system itself does not inherently teach violent extremism, it produces hundreds of thousands of boys who grow up experiencing severe poverty, isolation, and a lack of parental love or state support. When they outgrow the schools, they often have no secular education, no literacy, or job skills, leaving them economically desperate and susceptible to the financial and ideological promises of insurgent groups.

Also, because almajiri children are highly visible begging on city streets, they face intense societal stigmatisation, sometimes being pejoratively labelled by the public as "urchins" or future criminals. This social exclusion deepens their detachment from the state, making anti-government insurgent narratives more appealing.

Ref: Exploring Youth Radicalisation Within the Almajiri System in Northern Nigeria

Talibés beg in Senegal's St Louis's main market. The boys can spend up to 10 hours on the streets in search of food and money, with severe beatings awaiting some. Photo by Pete Pattison/The Guardian

Grok said this

According to Grok: The X post shares a personal blog entry reflecting on the author's solo 1992 trip to Rio de Janeiro, capturing the thrill of first-time experiences like flying across the Atlantic from Nigeria and navigating a non-English-speaking city amid Carnival preparations.

It emphasises Afro-Atlantic cultural connections, such as Yoruba religious influences in Brazilian Candomblé and the mesmerising Capoeira performances, blending historical slave trade legacies with vibrant street life in favelas and beaches like Copacabana.

The narrative highlights transformative encounters, including an impromptu friendship with a local capoeirista despite language barriers, evoking lasting nostalgia and a sense of leaving "a part of me behind" in Rio after two frenetic weeks.

Grok once more

 What Grok said:

"Anengiyefa's post promotes part 3 of a personal blog series on a September 2025 road trip through Botswana, focusing on a brief stay at Flame of Africa lodge with river fishing outings and wildlife sightings like elephants and hippos.

The entry critiques commercial safari tourism, emphasizing a traditional African ethic of respecting wildlife from afar—observing without intrusion—over entertainment-driven encounters, informed by the author's reflections on ancestral perspectives, underscoring its niche appeal as introspective travel writing rather than broad social media fare."