The Egyptian queen Cleopatra VII has captivated my attention since childhood, but when I tried to study her from historical archives, I found only ancient rumors and Roman propaganda. Fantasy was the way to free her from the misogynistic myth.
Witch, prostitute, deceiver – few women have been so discredited throughout history as Cleopatra. The disdain of ancient sources, which portrayed her as exotic and seductive, has corrupted her legacy. But there is joy in the fact that her name has survived and is known more than those men who wrote about her. Ask a 10-year-old child who Plutarch is – he will frown, but ask about Cleopatra, his eyes will light up with joy.
That's what happened to me when my teacher asked me to draw Cleopatra. My little hands searched for the colors in the box. I chose brown, an unused color, the loneliest color in the box, used only for clay or wood skin. The portrait I drew reflected my own face, in color and features.
Years later, studying for a master's in African studies at SOAS, as someone of Ghanaian, Sudanese and British descent, I was eager to find a name for my feelings of displacement and to understand why the new version of myself felt connected to Cleopatra.
My interest wasn't in debating the color of her skin—that's been talked about a lot—but why I felt connected to her. Although the times separated us, they weren't as far apart as I thought. Cleopatra lived closer to my time than the pyramids, which to her were ancient relics, now covered in graffiti.
I learned – with my nose in my books – that Cleopatra was also a scholar. She spoke at least eight languages and had an interest in alchemy and medicine. Later texts suggest that she published her own research.
Tracing the myths of Cleopatra through history led me to try to reconstruct her life. Say “myth,” because her legacy has been passed down through poetry, plays, films, and video games. Her story has transcended what history taught us. Elizabeth Taylor’s sexualized portrayal of her has reinforced her myth as a bewitching woman—a wealthy woman willing to dissolve a precious pearl in vinegar for the entertainment of her guests.
But the more I learned about Cleopatra, the more I realized that we know nothing. Primary sources from her time are almost nonexistent. Even Plutarch, who chronicled the lives of Antony and Caesar, wrote his stories more than 100 years after Cleopatra's death. The sources I had followed had been corrupted or destroyed.
Suetonius, Appian and Dio also wrote after her death, but they were Romans and men, who gave them greater reasons to vilify Cleopatra than to recognize her intelligence and strategic ability. Their misogyny was their strongest weapon. It was easier to label her as a “meretrix regina” than to admit that she was worthy of the love of Caesar or Antony.
This inspired me to write a historical novel about the great queen. But what I thought would be a wealth of sources was a waste of propaganda and ancient gossip. Cleopatra was the antithesis of the Roman world: luxurious, feminine, carefree. Even the story of the dissolved pearl, told a century later by Pliny the Elder, served to glorify the Roman masses over Egyptian luxury.
Few other sources outside the Greek and Roman worlds existed. To add complexity to her multicultural life, I had to look beyond the eyes of the men who tried to discredit her. This left me in a quandary – where do you look for history beyond the written word?
I realized that “pure” history doesn’t exist; like fiction, there’s always a narrative. This gave me an idea: could I use my own experiences and those of the women around me to fill in the gaps in Cleopatra’s story? The search took me inward, and I realized that the book I wanted to write would no longer be a historical novel, but a memoir.
The novel was built quickly. It wasn’t until I was editing that I realized my own experiences were reflected on the page. Her struggle with early motherhood was connected to my own experience after the birth of my son. Although I’ve never known the weight of governing a country, I know what it’s like to walk into a room full of men who ignore my voice.
My Cleopatra is not silent. She is thoughtful and strategic, with a sharper mind than she is given credit for. But she was not always confident; the path from uncertainty to courage is one I know. She is a queen trying to do her best in a world where men listen more to her 5-year-old son than to her. Even her success can feel like failure. My Cleopatra is allowed to make mistakes—it makes her human.
The story of Cleopatra was a story I longed to tell: of a woman marginalized, misunderstood, and mistreated. Unfortunately, it is a story that many women know, making her legacy more relevant today than ever. Although thousands of years separate us, our worlds are not so different. Day after day I see our governments approaching the authoritarian brutality of ancient kingdoms. Women's rights are being trampled on, democracy is being challenged.
But one thing Cleopatra has taught me – persistence is eternal. The victors may write history, but they cannot take our memories. We will remember. We will survive. /GazetaExpress/
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