Shadows of a Forgotten Past: Unveiling the Truth of White Nanny, Black Child

White Nanny Black Child

Photo collage by Wale Lawal / The Republic; photo sourced from promotional posters of the ‘White Nanny, Black Child’ documentary.

THE MInISTRY OF ARTS / film dept.

Shadows of a Forgotten Past: Unveiling the Truth of White Nanny, Black Child

In the 1950s, white British families adopted numerous African children in a practice commonly known as ‘farming’. With outstanding depth, a documentary on farming by Andy Mundy-Castle explores how for some of those children, what appeared to be a well-meaning initiative resulted in significant harm and life-long scars.
White Nanny Black Child

Photo collage by Wale Lawal / The Republic; photo sourced from promotional posters of the ‘White Nanny, Black Child’ documentary.

THE MInISTRY OF ARTS / film dept.

Shadows of a Forgotten Past: Unveiling the Truth of White Nanny, Black Child

In the 1950s, white British families adopted numerous African children in a practice commonly known as ‘farming’. With outstanding depth, a documentary on farming by Andy Mundy-Castle explores how for some of those children, what appeared to be a well-meaning initiative resulted in significant harm and life-long scars.

When the Windrush was celebrated last year, marking its 75 years, it showed the need to equally highlight the cultural and social contributions of West Africans and their offspring to Britain and how Britain has moulded these relationships today. Despite sitting amongst the shadows of migration stories, fostering of Black, African children by white Britons was a common and normalized practice in the UK for almost 50 years. Over 70,000 West African children were taken into white, British, and most working-class families, on a practice known as ‘farming’. Once adopted, many African children were forced into silence while coping with the everlasting scars of such a problematic and contentious policy.

EXPLORING THE PAST

Shortly before the independence of many African nations, under British rule, the colonial office introduced a policy granting African married students the possibility to study in the UK—what they perceived as the ‘motherland’—alongside their spouses. Under the premise of a new life in the motherland, African students were often lured to the UK but instantly, fell in deep shock when understanding that their lives were heading to a foreign and unknown path.  

With the pressure of studying, maintaining a household, without any family support and the rise of white supremacist groups such as the National Front, the UK eventually became known as a place where distressed African immigrants, particularly Nigerians, who aimed to study, found themselves trusting white families to raise their children. By this, I mean privately fostered their children, as young as under-five, without adequate arrangements, while the students attended to lives that seemed somewhat difficult to pursue with a child under their belt.  

As soon as the first advert was released, created by a Nigerian family, in the Nursery World journal in 1955, the demand blew up and the practice became widely known in many British households. Not even a year later, the journal introduced a Homes Wanted section in their classified advertisements, which was predominantly dominated by Nigerian families, too.  

According to 1991 research by Laurie Joshua and Hale G. Longtep, from 1956 to 1988, roughly 15,971 adverts were placed under that section. Still, Joshua claims that these statistics were perhaps solely a glimpse of the private fostering arrangements and emerging trends. Consequently, it also makes us wonder about the high probability of informal arrangements being dealt with through word of mouth.  

Unexpectedly, many of these children grew up under a line of fire where racism, prejudice, abuse, extensive trauma and a sense of loss were all they came to know for a long time, without anywhere to turn to. Despite the belief that their parents had that British households could equate to the sense of ‘village’ they held dearly back home in West Africa.  

Nonetheless, not all stories resembled heartache and sorrow. While some experienced brief and joyful moments, now memories, under white foster families, others developed a wide and deep bond, almost impossible to cut, which unravelled a series of issues for the then-biological parents, who were often seen as strangers.  

So, even though most children did get to return to their biological parents, and relocate to Nigeria, Ghana or any other parts of the UK, many children adamantly failed to do so, leading to amendments in custody rights for foster parents on the Children’s Act 1975, such as the obligation to report if you intended to take someone under your care through the fostering route. Subsequently, many African parents never returned for their children, either.  

Today, it is reported that 70,000 West Africans underwent the informal fostering practice, including celebrities like Seal, Kris Akabussi, Florence Olajide, Gina Yashere, Nelson Abbey, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje, John Fashanu and Justin Fashanu. Although the practice wasn’t deemed unlawful, at the time, due to the lack of policies, definition of social work duties and obliviousness of the government to these unofficial caring arrangements, the practice was eventually brought to the public eye and widely scrutinized. Following the implementation of more safeguarding measures, it slowly died down by the 2000s.  

FINALLY, UNDER BROAD DAYLIGHT

Now, intending to explore the depths of this practice, Andy Mundy-Castle brings us White Nanny, Black Child, a documentary widely acclaimed since its debut in 2023. Alongside Mundy-Castle, we meet nine contributors who’ve gone through their memories, experiences or wounds regarding farming. This film reiterates the need to have difficult conversations and recognize the complex relationship between Britain and its former colonies. It also unravels itself slowly into a moving, deep, and wholesome introspection where belonging, identity, and culture are heartfeltly shared within every story. Marking then, for some, the first time they’ve shared this experience with others who grew up into adulthood in identical circumstances.  

As I scrolled through my social media, last year, on a late night in June, a particular post caught my eye. The release of a documentary announcement that until a couple of years ago would’ve not meant much to me: White Nanny, Black Child, a documentary about farming, an unusual practice of fostering, involving West Africans, most commonly Ghanaians and Nigerians, often hidden on the outskirts of British lives. Although I hesitated at first, it wasn’t before long I pushed myself to convince a friend to accompany me, and we bought tickets to the Sheffield Documentary Festival. Upon our arrival, a sudden warmth took over as I embraced the immense melanin that surrounded the showroom.  

Still, it was only until the documentary started that I took a minute to digest that the majority weren’t simple spectators enjoying the documentary with me. They were also the storytellers and participants throughout the documentary. So, as the documentary unfolded, it was impossible to keep myself calm and collected. Naturally, emotions and tears felt part of the script for everyone present and an accessory to the documentary, too. By sitting still and taking in bit by bit the stories that every single participant shared, a sense of honour rose as well. The honour to wander my eyes across the room and be able to share that moment and my feelings with the participants and others who felt as privileged as me to be in that space. An emotional moment where a search for humanity and empathy took over the room.

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Contrary to the mainstream documentaries, we’re often used to, White Nanny, Black Child brought us a heart-stopping, nuanced and extremely detailed notion of how farming branded these once-children and what would come to be their troubled adulthood as they juggled with all aspects of intersectionality and identity within their lives. Beyond its open wounds, broken hearts, or its scars. A story which felt as genuine and raw as it could because the story was told and unravelled by those who lived it, with full agency. Dismantling then the silence built around this matter.  

Moreover, the beautifully shot scenes across the documentary didn’t only tell us the story of children who went through a poor and faulty fostering system. It also told us that as a country, Britain still has a lot of digging to do within its history and owes a lot to its African communities, beyond monetary value. Justice and accountability seem to be far more valuable in these circumstances but simply out of reach for all these survivors. So, although this documentary brings history and truth back to life, how will a journey towards mutual healing be granted to the survivors, if the state itself turns a blind eye to their experiences?  

I decided to interview both the director, Mundy-Castle, the editor, Zeb Achonu and one of the participants, Ade Anifowose, for a deeper and more insightful overview of how this documentary came to be and its long-term mission.  

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‘YOUR AUTHENTIC STORY WILL SET YOU FREE’

Through wholesome giggles, Mundy-Castle, director, filmmaker and producer, and Achonu, film and TV editor, both of Nigerian-British heritage, take their time to consider what White Nanny, Black Child truly means to them. Almost in unison, they both establish that the perfect words would be ‘enlightening’ and ‘healing’. Mundy-Castle explains: 

Not only because of the feedback we’re getting but also through the widespread impact that it has had on an industry perspective and for the people who endured private fostering. There’s been a lot of feedback focused on how much of a catalyst this film has been for people’s discovery of self-identity. Hence, many are going on their journey after watching the film. And when you set out to make a film, you never expect that kind of feedback. It’s been healing for other filmmakers, but apparently for people who’ve also watched it. 

On the other hand, Achonu reminds us of its enlightening power due to its life-affirming result, enhanced by these experiences and journeys and the situation everyone has been in. ‘But also a sort of enlightenment for yourself while you identify yourself, your upbringing and your sense of belonging,’ she explained. ‘I find it very life-affirming, and people I speak to have had several conversations with their friends with themselves about all of it, too.’ 

Due to the mainstream conversations surrounding the other diaspora stories within the UK, Mundy-Castle always found it quite interesting that one of the largest cohorts of the African diaspora, the Nigerians in the UK, is almost unheard of. ‘The vision was to bring about a connection between Nigerian and British history. I wanted to discuss that as someone of mixed heritage, specifically Nigerian-British. The journey of Nigerians coming here and what it meant,’ Mundy-Castle shares. And inherently, that reflects on ‘why many don’t know how they got here. There’s a blessing and curse in that because Nigerians have made such an imprint within British society, making them almost part of that same fabric.’  

Inevitably, as we discuss the topic, Anifowose, one of the survivors, who is now 55 and based in the UK, confesses that up until 2022, he was unaware that he had been a part of this particular fostering system. ‘Before that, I didn’t know it was a thing. [Additionally], I actually don’t like that term, [farming]. We aren’t animals,’ he explains. Regarding how the fostering system affected his sense of identity, he emphasized that, for a long time, he had felt a sense of displacement and longing. ‘I believe it left me feeling like an imposter,’ he said. ‘I struggled with being comfortable in my own skin, with belonging, especially to myself, and with my identity,’ on a constant search for ‘home’. Meanwhile, he also questioned if he was Nigerian enough: ‘It wasn’t until I moved to America, specifically Atlanta, Georgia, that I started to feel that sense of home. A Nigerian born in the UK, who feels more at home, in America.’ 

As a result, Mundy-Castle emphasizes that he’s always seeking to acquire more knowledge concerning the untold stories within this colonial relationship. ‘There were two films Farming and The Last Tree,’ he said, ‘which dealt with this issue and brought it into the public consciousness. And there have been other sort of small newsie-type stories that have been told, but nothing ever substantial, especially not from the viewpoint of the children that endured that element of private fostering.’ So, Mundy-Castle wanted to make a film that brought some TV sensibilities to a featured documentary, using the retreat as a framework while allowing people to unpack many stories within one specific space about a particular thing they had endured. And in this case, the unifying fact was private fostering.  

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Mundy-Castle shared that ‘it was tricky a process,’ when gathering the contributors because it involved many elements. ‘If you’re going about your daily life, and someone says, “Do you want to be part of a film? not only do you want to be part of a film, but also a therapeutic wellness retreat? And you’re going to be with nine other strangers.” It’s almost like placing people through something unnatural.’ But overall, his team just wanted to ensure that all the contributors were prepared to give what the process needed.  

When I asked about his editing techniques and how his team was able to keep themselves motivated while ensuring that the film flowed well and was as cohesive as possible, Achonu candidly replied that she was, ‘really feeling honoured by the stories being shared here and the experiences that were also shared with us.’ It just meant they were constantly motivated to present everybody with their truth, lives, and ups and downs. She said:  

Not all of it was good, not all of it was bad. But everything we were given was just so honest, open and genuine that you just want to tell these stories as truthfully as possible and let viewers or audiences be able to feel those stories, [just like you did], and see where all these journeys cross over. You don’t only feel gratitude for them sharing their stories but also a real sense of protection over everybody that was involved. Wishing they can continue their healing journey without fear or uncertainty.  

While considering their journey through funding, especially under such a sensitive topic that aimed to decolonize and disrupt the notions of fostering, Mundy-Castle clarified that ‘when we got going, it was good, but to jumpstart it was tricky.’ It took roughly a five-year period, including the pandemic, to pull all the finances together, and even now, the team is still dealing with the remanence of the financial package. Fortunately, seed money was provided through a development process with the BFI Doc-Society Fund. Regarding production, they also supported probably about 55 per cent of their funding, alongside Mundy-Castle, who also personally invested. On top of that, after reaching out to some contacts within Channel 5, where the film debuted recently and is available for viewers, they also saw value in the idea. Above all else, the filmmaker revealed:  

I didn’t sell it as a Black story. This British story considers the empire, the tentacles, and the fallout of what happens due to the empire’s wrongdoings. Nigerians are here because you were there, and they believed this was the mother country. And that Britain was a place paved with gold and much more because that was what was sold to you throughout the continent. Hence, why so many people, even today, cross deadly seas to be here. And I think that, as a filmmaker, like the authors of this story, you’re constantly looking at ways to have that very delicate conversation to make it as relevant now as it was then. 

Consequently, Anifowose shares that his healing journey since embarking on the documentary project has brought a range of worthy feelings and emotions. ‘I’ve reconciled what it means to be a Nigerian for me. I feel like a proud multicultural Nigerian,’ Anifowose said. ‘No more split identities. I know who I am. I am who I am. The narrative that I’m not Nigerian enough has been transformed. My people are Nigerian; I belong to my people. I have a new love for myself as a Nigerian, and I have a new appreciation for my heritage, culture, and tradition,’ he added.  

In a world where the trauma and nightmares of marginalized communities, especially Black people, are easily marketized and commodified for communities, Achonu makes clear that due to their viewpoints not falling into those stereotypical pits, it was a question of keeping the honesty and keeping it about the people and their real lives, ‘so that you’re not trying to pander to any preconceived notions of what everybody expects these stories to be, or what everybody wants these stories to be.’ The film and TV editor remarked that the goal is to constantly remain true to those generous people who’ve come forward to share their stories. She said: 

And if that crosses into what people expect, it’s good for them. And if it doesn’t, they learn something new. As a British-Nigerian myself, there were things that, until then, I didn’t know, and I found myself questioning it. And working on this film highlighted the changes I had gone through and still had to go through in my life. But being open and constantly ready to receive as long as you stay truthful [is the key]. Be reminded that you’re continually unravelling years of opinions that have been imposed onto you. 

Unsurprisingly, Ade says that this entire process, including the documentary, was a crucial learning curb for him. ‘I learned that my story and journey matter. My pain matters and my struggle matters. I get to call anywhere I want ‘Home.’ The most important ‘Home’ is in my heart. And that means, wherever I am, I am home. Home isn’t limited to a physical location.’  

As filmmakers who’ve dealt with being on the fringes or questioning themselves in the industry and suffering from imposter syndrome, Mundy-Castle emphasizes that both himself and Achonu are in a place where they’re two decades into their careers, which inherently requires them to question ‘what it’s that you’re doing and what do you want to be a part of’.  

Nonetheless, we envision their upcoming projects as a cycle of burning, re-owning the narratives and planting new seeds, mainly due to particular scenes within the healing circle in the film, which spring a mix of feelings among the viewers due to their honesty and rawness, Achonu faithfully opens up, ‘the journey seems to be continued, this isn’t the end of the road for healing. It’s not something traumatic that will be tucked away. Because even though we’re heading to the next project, the healing process will constantly be there for ourselves and the contributors while we’re part of their journey. You get to live with it, and although we move on, it sticks with us because nothing will be left hanging to dry; we’ll keep going and talking.’ 

Moreover, while contemplating the final result of their documentary, Achonu says, bursting instantly into a loud and lively laugh, that as an editor, she always wishes she had more time. On the other hand, Mundy-Castle firmly believes that ‘once something is out there and living, it is what it is.’ As both reimagine a different time where their contributors stand before them in younger versions of themselves, Achonu solemnly voices the struggles of considering any possibly adequate advice ‘because knowing the journeys that they had, for some of them, I just want to give them all a big hug. It feels flippant to say, “It’ll all be okay” because it’s not necessarily all okay.’ In a slight contrast, Mundy-Castle notes, ‘Most of them are in their fifties now, so when we talk about their younger selves, I always have various stages in my mind. But because every step requires a different part of us, [different advice], and I got to know all of them, I’d say, ‘It’s going to be ok.’  

Lastly, as a valuable form of advice, for other children who were brought up under this practice, Anifowose suggested committing to their healing, because things will get better, [eventually]. ‘You have what it takes to transform your trauma and pain into power. You can do hard things. You don’t have to do it alone,’ he firmly said. ‘Let go of the unforgiveness. Be willing to tell your story. Tell the truth about what it feels and looks like to you. [Whether] there’s anger, hate or rage tell the whole truth to someone, who can hold space for your healing. [Find your person]. It’s your story, and you’ve permission to tell [it], a liberating story. Sing, write, speak, and pray about it. Your authentic story will set you free.’

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