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Njinga Mbande and Elizabeth I

How culture, misogyny and duty defined the lives and legacies of two extraordinary queens

Date: 23 February 2026

Author:

Luke Pepera

Reading time: 4 minutes

Njinga Mbande of the Ndongo kingdom (now the west-central African country of Angola) and Elizabeth I of England were both exceptional monarchs whose lives in the 16th and 17th centuries overlapped. They were highly competent, devoted to their people and remain profoundly impactful.

However, there was one big difference between them.

Because Ndongo culture was relatively gender equal, Njinga never faced discrimination from her own subjects for being female. Conversely, in patriarchal Tudor England, Elizabeth, despite her capability, was always discriminated against.  

Here, Africanist historian, anthropologist and author Luke Pepera explores how this difference influenced the lives, reigns and legacies of the two rulers.

A Black woman dressed in brightly coloured, rich clothing and jewels. She looks to the left with a calm, assured smile

Image: A 19th-century depiction of Queen Nzinga Mbande. © National Portrait Gallery, London

A difference as queens

Njinga was born in 1582. She became queen of Ndongo in 1625, aged 43. 

Njinga’s father had died in 1617, assassinated by some of his closest supporters because he’d failed to stop the Portuguese conquering parts of his kingdom. The Portuguese had been in Ndongo since the 1560s – the time of Njinga’s grandfather – when they were the kingdom's trade and diplomatic partners. By the 1570s, they were attempting to seize and traffic Ndongo’s people to the sugar plantations they’d established in the Americas.

After Njinga’s father died, her brother, Ngola Mbande, seized the throne, ordering the execution of Njinga’s infant son (she’d had him with her favourite male concubine) and exiling Njinga herself, as well as their sisters (Kambu and Funji). 

But, also unable to stop the Portuguese, Mbande became depressed and took his own life in 1624. The throne passed to his young son, and Njinga returned to Ndongo, positioning herself as regent. It wasn’t long before she had her nephew killed in revenge, and took the throne for herself.

No-one in Ndongo ever suggested that Njinga was incapable of ruling as a woman. Thus, they never pressured her to marry and co-rule with a man or to have a male heir If Njinga received even the slightest unintentional hint of misogyny from a male subordinate, she meted out punishment by dressing him in women’s clothing.

The Ndongo people followed Njinga unquestioningly. In 1625, when she announced that she was going to war against the Portuguese because they’d reneged on a peace agreement, whole towns became deserted as her subjects rushed to her side. Njinga fought the Portuguese for 30 years, when the latter sued for peace because the war was bankrupting them. They agreed to recognise Ndongo’s sovereignty and Njinga as its queen.

A woman wearing a crown and holding an orb and scepter. She wears cloth of gold.

Image: Queen Elizabeth I at the start of her reign. © National Portrait Gallery, London

On the other hand, after Elizabeth ascended the English throne in 1559, her ministers constantly beset her with questions on when she’d marry and produce a son. They even discussed the matter in parliament and threatened to stop giving Elizabeth money until she settled down. Having witnessed the unjust treatment many women around her had suffered at the hands of their husbands – most of all, her mother, Anne Boleyn – Elizabeth harboured a deep-seated aversion to marriage.

Instead, Elizabeth I cultivated an image of being married to her country. Her portraits emphasised the message that she had sacrificed personal pleasure and romantic fulfilment to give her absolute all to England. They often used symbolism associated with chastity, virginity and selflessness – for example, those which referred to the Virgin Mary and the chaste Roman goddess Diana. In one painting from the mid-1570s, Elizabeth wears a pelican brooch because it was believed that, in times of food scarcity, the mother pelican fed her offspring her blood.

A difference from birth

The differential treatment Njinga and Elizabeth received can be traced right to the moments of their births.

Njinga had been born with her mother’s umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. In Ndongo, this was a good omen. Those who were present at Njinga’s birth gazed at her and cried, ‘Oh! My mother!’ – a traditional exclamation denoting surprise and wonder. Njinga’s arrival was met with copious celebrations, including feasts, singing and dancing.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s birth at Greenwich Palace in 1533 to Henry VIII and his second queen Anne Boleyn was disappointing to the King.

In Tudor England, custom dictated that the first-born son inherited the throne. With Anne, and with his first queen Katherine of Aragon, Henry had had only daughters. He was desperate for a boy to secure his succession. He’d annulled his marriage to Katherine, broke Catholic England’s connection with the Papacy and alienated half of Europe – all in pursuit of a son.

[Anne] was delivered of a daughter, to the great regret both of [the king] and [Anne herself], and to the great reproach of the physicians, astrologers, sorcerers, and sorceresses, who affirmed that it would be a male child.

Eustace Chapuys, ambassador of the Holy Roman Empire to England

A difference in childhood

Njinga was clever and athletic, able to throw a battle-axe further than her brother or either of her sisters. Her talents made her the favourite of her father. He happily invited the teenage Njinga to council meetings with his advisors, diplomats and generals. He even had her accompany him on military campaigns. Njinga developed a reputation as a skilled strategist and warrior.

Elizabeth was also extremely intelligent, excelling in her studies. She learned history, philosophy, music and an additional five languages (Latin, French, Spanish, Italian and Flemish). But, intelligent though she was, Henry felt he had little need of daughters. 

After Anne was cast aside and executed, Elizabeth was declared illegitimate and essentially banished to her residence in Hertfordshire, north of London, where she lived with a modest entourage.

Deaths and legacies

Interestingly enough, both Njinga and Elizabeth died from the same ailment – a throat infection. Njinga died in 1663, aged 81 and Elizabeth in 1603, aged 69.

For both queens, commitment is at the heart of their legacies. In Njinga’s case, that commitment comes out of her unceasing warfare in defiance of colonialism. In Elizabeth’s, it emerges from the self-perpetuated image of her as the Virgin Queen, Gloriana.

Given their impressive characters, all that they achieved in their lifetimes and the impactful legacies they’ve left behind them, it’s no surprise that in their respective cultures, Njinga and Elizabeth remain the most popular leaders.

Luke Pepera, Africanist historian and anthropologist, and author of Motherland: A Journey Through African History, Culture and Identity

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