Reading Feminine Silence, I felt those silences come alive on the page. Nthanda Manduwi captures what so many women across Africa and the world quietly endure: the weight of carrying communities while being told to take up less space, the demand to be both strong and soft, and the impossible task of navigating power without appearing “too much.”
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H.E. Dr. Agnes Mary Chimbiri–Molande, Permanent Representative of Malawi to the United Nations, in partnership with the African Studies Center at the Michigan State University warmly invite you to the official launch of Feminine Silence: Walking on Glass Shells by Nthanda Manduwi.
When we talk about women’s empowerment, I think we often imagine it as a finish line. The moment when women finally get a seat at the table, step into leadership, and claim spaces once denied. But what happens after empowerment?
On Thursday, September 11th, 2025, we gathered in Lansing for the exclusive pre-launch cocktail of Feminine Silence.
Blending memoir, social commentary, and rigorous analysis, Manduwi dismantles the subtle and overt structures that seek to confine women’s voices—particularly African women’s—in leadership, education, and cultural narratives.
This work – every word, every page – is not mine alone. It stands on the shoulders of love, sacrifice, and belief.
To me, breaking feminine silence means shattering glass ceilings and the expectations that come with them, playing by our own rules and using the very voices that have long been silenced to reclaim our power and write our own stories.
A call to reimagine a world where women’s empowerment is not exceptional, but expected. The book draws on decades of global data, lived realities, and cross-cultural lessons to confront the quiet systems that limit women — and to amplify the voices that can transform our societies.
My mother was a force. A woman so fiery and determined that she became Africa’s first female inland marine captain, shattering barriers before I even understood that they existed. But even as she navigated spaces not built for her, she was never alone. My father was the kind of husband that society would deem “good” – a provider, a steady presence, a man who fulfilled every role expected of him. And yet, for all his goodness, my mother was not always fulfilled.
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