‘We are both freedom fighters’: Africa exhibition at war-ravaged Kiev gallery strikes a chord | Ukraine

HeyOn a quiet street in central Kiev, where relics are covered with sandbags and shrapnel shields, the Khanenko Museum has opened an exhibition on Africa. Its title, Africa Direct, is a manifesto and a method: a call to approach the continent not through inherited filters (Soviet, colonial or Western) but through direct engagement with its histories, philosophies and living cultures.

The museum, which houses one of the most distinguished 19th-century private collections in Eastern Europe, was severely damaged when a Russian missile struck nearby in October 2022. Windows and display cabinets were shattered and the glass ceiling collapsed. However, the museum’s collections are unharmed: Byzantine icons, Islamic artworks and ancient paintings have already been secured, and some have been safely evacuated to partner institutions in Paris, Vilnius, Warsaw and The Hague.

The museum has not closed. Its staff kept the institution open, empty but active, and organized lectures, readings and mental health workshops with the neighboring hospital. Some of the glass shards were later turned into brooches by a local jeweler, and presented as a sign of endurance to guests and friends.

And now, on the third anniversary of the attack, Africa Direct has opened in the same building, this time filled with objects and sounds from another continent. Curated by Yulia Feil and Daria Sukhostavets, and on the initiative of Deputy Director Hanna Rudik, the exhibition brings together 40 works from 18 African countries, collected over two decades by the Ukrainian couple Tetyana Dyshko and Andrey Klepikov, who have worked extensively in the field of African public health. Historical artefacts sit alongside works by contemporary artists such as Ghanaian-British artist Adelaide Damoah, Christian Nyambita (Rwanda/Netherlands/USA), Seni Awa Kamara (Senegal), and Esther Mahlangu (South Africa).

No attempt has been made to emulate the encyclopedic ethnographic offerings of other European museums. Instead, the choice privileges sensory engagement with African art and material culture: objects made to be touched, held, and embraced. At the heart of the exhibition is a collection of exquisite ceramic vessels, some of which in their living worlds serve as temporary dwellings for ancestors. As in all museums, one can’t help but wonder what these objects are doing here, far from the environment and relationships that once gave them meaning. However, the curator chose to resist the usual distance imposed by glass, placing the works on simple wooden boxes, an act of humility that suggests fragility and protection.

A large piece of clay from northwestern Nigeria is particularly striking in this Ukrainian context. Between alertness and fear, he is half a bowl and half a plant, and bears the outlines of a face prominently on his body. His wide, deeply sculpted eyes stared into an invisible distance with a hallucination-like intensity. The slightly open mouth hovers between screaming and breathing, as if it were about to speak or exhale forever. The incised shapes radiating from this face, such as arms, horns, or antennae, give it a cosmic presence. It was made by the women of the Dhakkari people for funerary purposes, and carries in its clay a memory of care, mourning and continuity.

Nearby, an angel is depicted on the parchment of an early 20th-century Ethiopian Christian healing manuscript, also staring out with wide eyes, the catalog explains, to protect the body and soul of all who look upon him from evil. In Ukraine today, Be patient with things It seems less historical than human.

The exhibition also reflects a crucial shift in cultural thinking in Ukraine: the recognition that decolonization is not only a geopolitical struggle, but also an epistemological one.

At the opening, Annika Johnson, a long-time resident of Ukraine and representative of the African community there, compared African and Ukrainian experiences of repression and resistance. “We are freedom fighters,” he said. “Africa fought colonialism, and Ukraine is now fighting for its freedom.” The words resonated beyond diplomacy or solidarity. They expressed a shared vocabulary of independence that linked two histories often viewed as separate.

The exhibition is seen as an experiment in intellectual reorganization, and a reflection of how museums have redefined their role in times of resistance. As Rudik said in the catalogue, Ukraine has long looked westward and inward; Turning south now is a way to reject isolation and enter into a global dialogue on its own terms. She argues that decolonizing the museum means not only revising narratives of art and empire, but also addressing issues of racism and rethinking how knowledge itself is produced and shared.

But this cultural initiative is unfolding against a background that further complicates any easy idealization. In August 2024, Mali’s military government suddenly severed diplomatic relations with Ukraine after it accused it of secret involvement in fighting in the north of the country, an allegation denied by Kiev but widely reported in the media. This incident revealed the fragility of the politically charged relations between Ukraine and many African countries, especially where Russian influence is strong. In the face of this reality, Africa Direct stands out as an independent gesture by art historians, researchers and curators searching for a different, more reciprocal language of exchange.

The fact that this process is unfolding under bombardment makes it particularly dangerous. Most of the museum staff are in their twenties and thirties. Many return from abroad because of their commitment to their organization, their city, and their sense of purpose. In their hands and eyes, culture is not a luxury of peace, but a form of civic resilience and critical thinking.

The night after the opening, the sirens sounded again. Messages appeared on phones: “Ballistic,” “Take cover.” “Now it’s drones.” Hours later: “All is clear.” By morning, half of Kyiv was without electricity and water. However, the rhythm of the city resumed: coffee, children, emails, plans, reconstruction. Life continues in overlapping layers, and so does culture. Between darkness and daylight, between war and work, the Khanenko Museum insists on a principle that is neither tragic nor heroic but necessary: ​​continuity, intelligence, and a critical engagement with inherited narratives.