Assassin’s Creed’s Bayek is a Subversion of Traditional Masculinity
By Chris Li
Over the course of this past summer, I played through the entirety of 2017’s Assassin’s Creed Origins. It’s an excellent game – mechanically satisfying, with a solid story and gorgeous views of Ptolemaic Egypt (I’ve easily spent several hours in photo mode alone). But by far one of the best parts of Origins is its protagonist, Bayek of Siwa, who defies a lot of conventional ideals about how men should be portrayed in media. The result is, put simply, just a really good character.
Make no mistake, Origins is first and foremost an Assassin’s Creed game, which means that Bayek kills a lot of people. This is all done with righteous fury, as he’s after the nefarious Order of the Ancients, a shadowy group seeking to take control of Egypt. After the Order murders his son Khemu, Bayek swears vengeance against them, and the results are predictably grisly. In one of the first scenes of the game, a member of the Order hurls a knife at Bayek, who blocks it with a mask. Then, he slams the mask – with the knife still in it – into the other man’s face.
There’s no denying that Bayek’s first kill is a memorable scene. I frequently see people citing it as one of their favorite moments in the game, due in no small part to an incredible, seething performance by Abubakar Salim, Bayek’s voice actor.
Admittedly, it’s a badass introduction to our hero. In fact, given Bayek’s motivations, it wouldn’t be surprising if the game were to characterize him solely through more scenes of bloody violence. But while Bayek does get plenty of such moments, let’s be honest - tough men who are good at killing people are a dime a dozen when it comes to media protagonists. Origins isn’t content to keep it so simple.
One thing that quickly becomes evident is just how kind Bayek is. He’s a Medjay (sort of an ancient Egyptian police officer) and when he’s not stabbing his way through the Order, he’s usually helping everyday people with their relatively mundane troubles. In the game, these take the form of breezy side quests – collecting herbs for a local healer, for example, or helping a priest put on a show when the original performer is too drunk to show up. Not exactly world-changing, but Bayek never does any of it with resentment or displeasure. Instead – with the exception of the occasional local who is maybe just a little too annoying – he seems genuinely happy to assist others with their problems, no matter how small they might be.
In one side quest, Bayek comes across a woman standing at the edge of a cliff. Concerned, he goes to find out what’s going on, and discovers that the woman – Tuaa – is contemplating suicide after the death of her beloved husband.
Bayek: Tell me of your husband.
Tuaa: We used to come up here to watch the herons. Two of them built a nest together in that tree. We watched them bring fish for their young. We dreamed of our own children.
Bayek: And you're sad because you did not have any.
Tuaa: You're not very good at this, Medjay. You're not making me feel any better.
Bayek: There is no way to make you feel better. There is only tomorrow. And then the next day. One moment at a time.
I’ve heard that if you don’t approach the woman on the cliff, she will eventually jump. The responsibility, then, is on the player to act as Bayek would – an interesting decision on the part of the game designers.
There is no fighting or assassinating here, only Bayek trying to help someone who needs it. He’s no therapist, but he’s doing his best to balance honesty and sympathy. Eventually, Bayek talks the woman down from the cliff.
Tuaa: I'm sorry. I must seem childish to you.
Bayek: Believe me, no. I understand your grief.
Tuaa: That's why you knew what to say, isn't it? Did you lose someone too?...Does it get better?
Bayek: It gets better. But you will never be the same.
It’s a quiet moment, and a far cry from the grim anger Bayek exhibits when he’s hunting the bad guys. We see him struggle sometimes to reconcile these conflicting aspects of himself. Nevertheless, Bayek’s unabashed good nature is still frustratingly uncommon when it comes to men in media (and maybe even in real life). How many male protagonists have we seen who are caring or considerate, but only deep, deep down? Art imitates life, and in this case, fictional men reflect certain societal expectations of how actual men should behave. Those expectations imply that being kind is not necessarily bad, but to do so without some degree of reservation or hesitation perhaps implies weakness. So we get veritable armies of male characters who are rough around the edges, but have hidden hearts of gold – Geralt of Rivia, Cloud Strife, Joel Miller, the list goes on. That classic trope is hardly a bad thing, but Bayek bucks the trend. To hell with concealing the heart of gold, Origins seems to say. Kindness is a strength, not something to be covered up.
Indeed, Bayek is incredibly open and vulnerable with his emotions. That’s unusual for a man headlining an action game, who generally tend to fit one of a couple of molds: stoic and reserved (Master Chief, Kratos), or witty and wisecracking (Nathan Drake, Assassin’s Creed’s own Ezio Auditore da Firenze). That’s certainly not to say those characters aren’t emotional – even Master Chief gets a decent arc in Halo 4 – but Bayek’s emotions are frequently placed front and center to an even greater extent. Rage is certainly among them, but that’s a pretty common one when it comes to male characters. Grief, however, is another story. Fictional or otherwise, men tend to not be the best at processing (or even admitting) their trauma. Bayek is a little different. He’s honest, both to himself and others, about the pain his son’s death has caused him. He frequently reflects on how he is coping with that pain, and the impact that might have on his life.
Bayek experiences a vision of his son Khemu, a manifestation of his grief and struggle to let go. Even weeks later, I remember Abubakar Salim’s agonized delivery (and the mocap artists) really knocking it out of the park with this scene.
That self-awareness is something we don’t see nearly enough, and not just in media. After all, boys are told not to cry, to “be a man” when what that really means is “being emotional makes you weak”. So they bottle up their anger or sadness or insecurity, and end up completely unable to express those emotions in a constructive way. I could go on about the huge impact media can have on our self-image, but I’ll put it this way: Bayek is tough, charismatic, and incredibly cool. He’s an accomplished fighter, and can cut down half a dozen mercenaries without breaking a sweat. At the same time, he’s not afraid to cry when someone close to him dies, nor is he ashamed to admit that the traumatic events he’s experienced have hurt him. A depiction of a character like Bayek makes it clear that traditional portrayals of masculinity do have their positive aspects – and more importantly, those positive aspects (well, maybe excepting the “cut down half a dozen mercenaries” part) can comfortably coexist alongside emotional honesty and healthy communication. That’s a truth more people need to realize.
Another way Bayek is presented as an unconventional male character is particularly unique, which is that he’s great with kids. The prevalence of patriarchal norms means that a lot of men lack the skills or sense of responsibility to take care of even their own children. On the other hand, even with men who aren’t like that, it’s an unfortunate reality that they are often viewed as out of place at best and suspicious at worst – a quick Google search will yield anecdotes about fathers being questioned when taking their kids to the park, or male elementary school teachers feeling stigmatized for their choice of profession. Sadly, the number of predatory men out there means that the reasoning behind this kind of stereotyping isn’t completely unjustified. In spite of that, it’s wonderful to see a character like Bayek who is genuinely warm and friendly to the many children he comes across. In fact, we rarely see him happier than when he is exchanging gentle banter with these children.
In one of my favorite side quests in the game, Bayek hears tell of a merchant in the local market selling valuable relics from Siwa, his homeland. He quickly discovers that the merchant in question is a little girl named Kenthap, and that the “valuable relics” are obvious fakes. Kenthap, however, isn’t willing to admit this…
Kenthap: It is not fake, it is real! Would you liiiiike?
Bayek: This is your stall?
Kenthap: Yes, mine! Many unique treasures from faraway Siwa! Not fake! Not fake!
Bayek: Have you got anything...real? I'm sure these are not your best pieces.
Kenthap: What do you mean? These are real! Hmm. More expensive ones at my camp. I can take you. Not far from here. You follow.
Despite being relatively short and quite simple in terms of gameplay, I loved this side quest because of how wholesome it was. Kenthap’s precocious personality (“Would you liiiiike?” instantly makes her endearing, and Bayek’s conversation with her is delightful.
Curious to see if Kenthap really has anything from his homeland, Bayek follows her out of the market.
Kenthap: That Medjay badge not very good you know. We have better ones. Would you liiiiike?
Bayek: I like this one. These other treasures of yours, are they fake as well?
Kenthap: I told you, not fake! Aw, how did you know? My treasures aren't really real, but not fake!...
Bayek: Hey, I have a secret. I was once a Medjay in Siwa. I have seen the real treasures.
Kenthap: Aw, not fair! I made them all myself, you know. No one else can tell!
Bayek: Do not worry, they're very good fakes. I won't tell anyone.
Kenthap: I said not fake! Were you really Medjay? Maybe you are fake!
Bayek: You're a very cheeky child.
Kenthap might be naïve and silly in that way little kids often are, but Bayek still treats her with respect and humors her without being condescending. And presumably knowing how children love being privy to secrets, he tells her about his position as a Medjay.
Nor is Kenthap the only child Bayek comes across in his travels. There’s also a side quest where Bayek meets a little boy named Esio and his gang of street kids, and performs some impressive leaps off of tall buildings to entertain them. Between those leaps, he chats with Esio about very important topics.
Esio: I hate getting my hair wet, don't you, Bayek?
Bayek: It is why I shaved it off, Esio. And washing behind the ears, I bet?
Esio: Ha! Yes!...When I grow up, I am going to have a wife who'll never make me wash.
Bayek: Wives like that are hard to find, Esio.
Just like with Kenthap, Bayek makes an effort to have a conversation with Esio, even if the conversation comes across as pretty trivial for an adult. All of this is to say that when you look at how Bayek interacts with kids, it’s hard to think of many characters – especially male ones – that would do the same. Maybe Spider-Man, but even he isn’t at Bayek’s level. Instead, when we look at the few male protagonists who actually do manage to build some sort of positive relationship with children, they almost always fall into the archetype of initial aloofness that only slowly gives way to a grudging affection towards whatever children are in question. I mentioned Kratos and Joel Miller earlier, both of whom exemplify this trend. Outside of video games, to name a more recent example, The Mandalorian’s titular character also fits this description perfectly.
At one point, Bayek plays hide and seek with the children of his friend, a local priest. Upon finding them, he gives each child advice on how to hide better next time. It’s an adorable and amusing sequence.
In the same vein as depictions of kindness, it feels like there’s hesitation when it comes to portraying men as openly caring for children, reinforced by patriarchal ideals that maintain the stereotype of this being a task that should be relegated solely to women. So in order to preserve these ideals, a male character must be standoffish and reluctant to engage with kids at first before slowly changing his ways. Admittedly, we all know how satisfying the slow development from emotional detachment to affection can be to watch. On the other hand, exceptions to this trope are so rare that Bayek’s lack of this development is refreshing. He doesn’t need to go through a character arc to be nice to kids – that’s just how he is. And it serves a powerful purpose in terms of storytelling as well. Plenty of parallels can be drawn between the children Bayek comes across and his beloved son – but rather than using that to dwell on his grief, a reminder of what he’s lost, Bayek finds joy and catharsis in spending time with those children, and making their day just a little better. How many action heroes, male or otherwise, can you say that for?
One final way that Bayek defies established portrayals of masculinity is through his relationship with his wife Aya, arguably the most prominent supporting character in Origins. Khemu was her son as much as he was Bayek’s, so like her husband, Aya is also on a mission of revenge. But while Bayek cuts and assassinates his way through his enemies, Aya plays politics, determined to root out the puppet masters behind the Order. She’s a powerful character – fiery and intense in demeanor, in contrast to Bayek’s more easygoing personality, and a deadly fighter, even killing the Order’s most powerful warrior in single combat near the end of the game. She’s also keenly intelligent, wading knee-deep in political intrigue over the course of the game’s story and building alliances with powerful historical figures such as Cleopatra and Julius Caesar.
By all accounts, Aya is a more conventional protagonist than Bayek. In fact, she was supposed to be the lead of the game at one point, before studio executives decided that a female main character wouldn’t sell well – but there’s a whole other conversation to be had there.
The presence of strong women in media is often played for laughs when it comes to their relationships with male characters. They’re overbearing, or shrewish, or otherwise emasculating in some way, with their personalities taken to the extreme. Aya—and by extension, how Bayek interacts with her—fulfills none of these tired stereotypes. There’s no denying that she’s boldly outspoken and incredibly competent, in many ways more so than her husband. But Bayek is never shown as feeling threatened or insecure because of this. Instead, he recognizes that there are things Aya is better at than him, such as politics – and more importantly, he’s confident enough in his own masculinity to admit this. As a result, when Aya does make a mistake, she’s comfortable about asking Bayek for advice without fear of being mocked or belittled. There’s a strong sense of mutual trust and communication between the two, and they have a surprisingly healthy relationship for a couple who spends their days brutally killing the people who murdered their son.
Around the end of the game’s second act, Bayek and Aya ally with Julius Caesar as a civil war rages between Cleopatra and her brother Ptolemy XIII. It all comes to a head in a siege of the city of Alexandria (a real historical event, although significantly simplified in the game). As the enemy approaches, Caesar entrusts Bayek with a bag of green gunpowder, to be thrown into the brazier of the legendary Lighthouse of Alexandria as a signal to the Roman fleet. All the while, he ignores Aya—and neither she nor Bayek is going to take that lying down…
Aya: Give me the powder. Caesar thinks a woman cannot do this job.
Bayek: Prove Caesar wrong, my love.
Bayek gives the bag of gunpowder to Aya, and at this point, Aya becomes the playable character for an exciting sequence in which she leaps across the masts of burning ships and scales the massive Lighthouse. Meanwhile, watching from a distance, Caesar angrily berates Bayek.
Caesar: I can't believe you trusted a woman to do something of such importance. How are the fleet to receive their orders?!
Bayek: Patience, Caesar.
A moment later, the flames of the Lighthouse turn green. Aya has done her job. Bayek laughs and says to Caesar –
Bayek: Many men have doubted Aya. All have found themselves dead by her blade.
That last bit of dialogue in particular is a fun bit of foreshadowing, because in the game’s alternate history, Caesar turns out to be sympathetic to the Order – and Aya is the one who strikes the final blow to Caesar during his famous assassination.
Bayek’s faith in his wife is totally unwavering. How many times have we seen the classic trope of a female character wanting to participate in some kind of quest or mission, only to be stopped from doing so by an overprotective male character? There’s nothing inherently wrong with that trope, of course, but women are disproportionately put in the helpless role, fulfilling the longstanding idea that they must be protected or saved – almost always by a man – as opposed to having their own agency in a storyline.
There’s none of this in Origins. In the scene with the gunpowder, Bayek has absolute confidence in Aya’s ability to carry out her task, and maintains that confidence even when Caesar is shouting at him, with no hesitation whatsoever. It’s important to note that he does this not out of some sense of personal pride, but simply out of respect for his wife. This characterization of Bayek is consistent throughout the game – he trusts his wife completely, and conversely, she does the same for him. Honestly, assassinations and fictional conspiracies aside, there are probably more than a few men in real life who could take some pointers from Bayek and Aya’s relationship.
It has to be said that at first glance, Bayek seems like he wouldn’t break the mold of a conventional male action hero. Origins, after all, is a game about killing lots of people in lots of ways, and that’s exactly what Bayek does. Look a little closer, though, and it becomes clear that he isn’t limited solely to traditional conceptualizations of masculinity. It’s an admirable change of pace in a world where male protagonists are too often defined only by how serious and badass and classically masculine they are. Don’t get me wrong – those depictions absolutely have their place, and can serve a powerful role in a variety of stories. But at the same time, the world could use more characters like Bayek of Siwa.