A victory for myself

“Let me explain everything that is taking place here Chihoro. Maybe this is not the culture of your people therefore you might be wondering why we are doing this.”

This was tete Marwei, my father in-law’s sister speaking irritatingly into my ear as we sat under the Mango tree that afternoon in my in-law’s yard. I had to muster all the patience I could to avoid shoving her away.

“In our culture, when a man passes on, the responsibility of his family’s welfare falls on his people. The wife and the children must never be in a situation of need. That is why one of his brothers must marry the surviving widow.

“But our elders were careful in their approach not to impose a man on the widow in order to protect her happiness, hence this cultural rite that we are performing today. You will be given an opportunity to select a husband of your liking who will care for you and the young children. I really want to believe you have been thinking about this for long enough to decide who your next husband will be.”

I could hear her words even though I was not paying attention. My ears could not close, but my heart could. I was analyzing the situation from my own point of view as I watched my prospective husbands arriving for the ceremony.

My husband of fifteen years Petros had died of cerebral malaria more than a year ago, and according to my in-laws, the mourning period was over and life had to move on. However it was them who were supposed to have a hand in how the future unfolded.

First to arrive was Petros’s elder brother Howard, leading his wife, children and friends. He looked very jovial in the checked jacket and an equally matching cap, clothes that I was sure he had borrowed from one of his friends, knowing very well his stinking poverty could not allow him to afford such luxury. Someone had made a poor attempt at grooming him because he held a small walking stick which was supposed to give him some aura of prominence.

Despite his poverty, he had a chain of children with his wife; everyone had stopped sympathizing with his family. It was astounding that they continued siring more children regardless of the fact they could not afford sending them to school, let alone feed them. His family was known for their begging bowl; hardly a day would pass without a child being dispatched to ask for mealie-meal, sugar, salt or even matches.

Of late he had been paying me discreet visits to seek my hand in marriage. “Mainini our elders say a single finger cannot crush lice. If you marry me we will succeed in raising the status of our clan. I’m the best man for you.”

His greatest joke was on his last visit when he made me laugh with pity. “I had a dream last night mainini. Behold we were herding cattle in the forest with my brother as little boys. My brother heard our grandfather calling his name, and he pleaded with me that I should take care of his cattle while he rushed to where he was wanted. I suddenly woke up. You know what that dream means mainini? It means he wants me to inherit his family because I can make you happy.”

I wondered how he was going to achieve that when his own wife was a hermit of paucity in the whole clan.

Hot on his heels was Pritchard, the most hopeless insolent drunkard of all time. All people had given up on him; it seems they looked forward to the day when he would drink himself to death. He was renowned for travelling long distances in search of free beer, it was his lifeline. He lived for nothing else other than alcohol. As a result his family lived in perpetual poverty, because even the little that his hard working wife earned from working in other people’s fields disappeared in his drinking escapades.

Although he was not inebriated on this particular day, it was clear from his mannerisms that he had taken some liquor on his way to this place. He vainly attempted to hide the wobble in his step.

I wonder where he left his family because he was by himself, conspicuous by his tattered dirty clothes from afar. Maybe he slept at some drinking place as he usually did. When he saw me, he stopped suddenly, smiled conspiratorially and walked away struggling to maintain his balance.

Lord have mercy, I whispered to myself at the same time as tete Marwei mumbled something about ignoring the lazy fool.

After some time, my third brother in-law Alois arrived, and I shook my head in sorrow as he took his place next to my other potential husbands seated on goat skin mats. Here is a man who had made it clear to the whole clan that he was the heir apparent to my husband’s homestead. For reasons known to himself, he moved around telling all people that come Saturday, he would be moving his family to his brother’s homestead to take over as the head of the new big united family.

This was coming from a man who was already battling to manage a polygamous family, with children more numerous than a football team. His two wives were also reported to be in favour of that arrangement, and sympathisers had informed me they had begun preparations to invade my homestead. I could not believe the confidence and the nerve characterizing such behavior.

“Chihoro, are you listening?”tete Marwei raised her voice slightly.

“Am listening tete, continue,” in truth I had totally forgotten there was someone speaking next to me.

“That is good mzukuru. I really mean what I say. You are such a well nurtured child, you have to take my advice seriously.”

As she was busy babbling, Petros’s last brother Chemist walked slowly from the gate towards his elder brothers who were gathered in the centre of the yard. My husband had told me this one had got this particular name because their father who sat among a group of elders leading the ritual, had got a job as a janitor in a chemist in town, on the day he was born.

His left eye had begun to heal, even though it was clear to everyone who saw him that a powerful fist had landed dangerously on his face. Chemist was a parody of the whole clan; it was surprising to see him unashamedly attending this function, after a severe fight with their cousin Twoboy.

The bone of contention was that Twoboy had demanded to join the parade as my potential husband because he was my husband’s brother as well, that is, according to their culture. He was the son of my father in-law’s brother, meaning they were all brothers. Chemist had however argued that this ceremony was reserved for the immediate family only. The argument had got so heated it degenerated into a fierce fist fight, leaving Chemist with a swollen eye.

Ever since the idea of staging this inheritance ceremony was mooted, Chemist’s wife had stopped paying me her usual visits, obviously fearing that I might dislodge her from her husband’s heart. That is why she had not accompanied him to this gathering.

I smiled to myself at the thought that two idiots had fought for a woman who was never theirs. But that light moment evanescently melted as horror struck at the entrance of this homestead.

Twoboy was announcing his arrival salutations. Twoboy? Twoboy was defying everyone. I couldn’t believe him as he pulled up his trousers at the waist, at the same time removing his straw hat that he clutched under his armpit and clapped hands in greetings.

Chemist gave him such an angry look, one of the elders had to alter their sitting arrangement. I feared another fight would erupt, but the intervention of the elder seemed to calm the situation.

So Twoboy wanted to inherit me as his wife? Really? Twoboy my dear? Are you serious? What happened to your first wife, how did she die? What is the ailment that claimed her life? And your second wife, how did she die as well? Why are your wives dying? Is it an act of sorcery as you claim? And your third wife? She is ill, what’s afflicting her? Her baby died immediately after birth, and she has never recovered. And according to your warped intelligence, I am supposed to join the queue? This is a joke at best, and an insult at worst.

I looked at the men lining up to get my hand in marriage and thought of my husband and the homestead we had built. Out of the whole clan, Petros is the only one who had worked hard enough to build a modern house with running water powered by solar electricity. It was not easy to build that house, but at the end we were glad we had done so. We had a big garden that supplied the whole village with green vegetables throughout the year. Recently I had begun selling some to nurses at the local clinic, and teachers at a nearby school.

The rains were becoming erratic but we managed to harvest enough to feed ourselves and spare some grain for the lazybones in my husband’s clan.

Our eldest son Indra had begun his secondary education immediately after his father’s death. The other two girls were still in primary school. For the whole year I had managed to send all of them to school without any problems using the meager earnings from our garden. I never borrowed from anyone to meet my expenses.

I had plans to plough our bigger fields during the rainy season, hoping that if we got enough rains I would sell some of the surplus grain to raise cash for my family needs.

Throughout the mourning period, none of my brother in-laws ever chipped in with assistance of any sort. They never bothered to check how the children, who culturally belonged to their clan, fared. It was clear they were just interested in taking over the house that we built with our own sweat.

I saw the elders bring Indra, and they made him seat next to his uncles. My heart felt pain at the sight of my son looking naïve and confused at the events. Of late he had started playing football and his teachers said he reminded them of Madinda the famous dribbling wizard. What made his situation sad though was that he had no football boots, always playing barefooted, and he always pestered me to buy him some. I was determined to save enough to buy him his own pair. Yet none of his uncles bothered to assist him in any way other than boasting that he resembled their great grandfather.

“Excuse me please!” the spokesman of the elders officially kick started the event. The whole assembly joined him in clapping with cupped hands as he addressed the senior elders of the elephant clan.

“Please don’t let me down mzukuru,” tete Marwei pleaded with me in my ear and I moved my head slightly to reduce the irritation.

The elder who had opened the process left the floor to my father in-law’s senior uncle.

“Our people. The death of our son Petros was a great loss to the clan because he died young, leaving behind a family that must be taken care of. According to our cultural customs, one of his surviving brothers must take over the responsibility of caring for the family. This is an age old custom meant to safeguard the interests of the widow and the orphans. In our culture there can never be orphans when the clan is still surviving, and there can be no widows either.

“Our muroora is still young and therefore will be given an opportunity to select her own husband who will provide her with conjugal rights and also fend for the children. Obviously she is a woman and consequently she needs a man in her life.

“This is not new to anyone. Even in the Bible, before Abraham was taken to heaven in a chariot of fire, he commanded the children of Israel that if a man died, his brother was supposed to take that wife and raise children for his deceased sibling.”

I turned around and looked at him in horror at such blasphemy and misinformation.

“Our esteemed aunt Marwei has obviously done her duty to teach her how this custom will be conducted. So we expect to have a smooth process.”

Ululations, whistling and handclapping punctuated this address. There was a big crowd made up of clan members and neighbours that had come to witness a new marriage taking place.

The uncle continued. “Vatete Marwei can you give muroora the dish and the sticks so she can select her new husband.”

Tete Marwei didn’t need to move as two ladies brought the metal dish full of water and two fighting sticks, which they placed in front of me.

“Remember what I said mzukuru. Don’t let that man down; he is the right husband for you. He will sire many more children with you.”

My prospective husbands sat in a semi-circle, with my son Indra at the edge. According to this custom, I was supposed to take the dish and the sticks to a man whom I had chosen as my new husband. If however I did not wish to remarry, I was supposed to hand over the dish to my son as a way of acknowledging that he is taking over as the new head of his father’s family. That is why Indra sat at the end of the semi-circle.

But I took the dish and sticks amid ululations from the crowd, and headed straight to my son’s side, walking slowly as I approached him. I felt the sudden silence with ears and saw the stunned faces with my chameleon eyes.

I came to my son and looked at his innocent face and walked slowly past him, approaching his uncle Howard who opened his eyes as he anticipated a handover of the dish. I however looked him in the eyes and moved past him to Twoboy the cousin from the extended family. He maintained a pale face, even though his body language spoke of his readiness to accept the dish. I quickly advanced towards Prichard who smiled like an intoxicated lunatic, unashamedly extending his hands towards me, almost touching the edges of the dish. I swiftly pulled the dish away from him and moved to the next person, Alois the self-assurant bigamist who had made preparations to move into my home. His eyes brimmed with buoyancy like a conman trying to swindle an ignorant person of their hard earned cash. I didn’t have time for him as I dashed past him as well.

I almost burst out in laughter as I approached Chemist whose swollen eye struggled to blink. I thought I saw some spittle drooling from his agape mouth, as he couldn’t believe his luck. He was literally trembling with joy. Bloody fool, I cursed in my heart as I strolled past him and turned back to face the elders who sat several metres away from my aspiring husbands.

I raised my head and looked at them. They were frozen in shocked silence. They stared at me as if I was a naked witch caught practicing my trade in broad daylight. I saw the conservative atmosphere solidify at the unexpected turn of events, it was so rigid for a moment I thought it would attack me. But I was ready; I had made up my mind.

My hands were trembling as I struggled to raise the water dish. It was a combination of anger and resoluteness that kept me upright. I moved one step towards the elders and the crowds, and threw all the water in their direction. People were caught off guard such that those at the front had to move back abruptly to avoid being splashed by water mixed with sand. I threw the empty dish away, took the fighting sticks, and hurled them towards the bemused crowd and walked back to my sitting position.

The commotion that followed my outburst could not be cooled down like a plate full of a baby’s porridge. The flare-up was a volcano of archaic old-fashioned cultural beliefs, caught in a storm of provoked anachronism.

The situation turned topsy turvey and suddenly everyone was up on their feet jostling all over the place like headless chickens. It was all about my unprecedented behavior, the anti-climax to a usually routine process. Nobody could have predicted this turn of events, and it was difficult to stomach.

“Mzukuru what kind of bad omen are you bringing on us? Are you crazy?” tete Marwei fumed where we sat.

“No tete I’m not crazy,” I snapped back.

“Then how do you explain your outrageous behavior?”

“This is my choice!”

“Your choice? What kind of choice is this?”

“I don’t want to get married anymore. That’s what I’m expressing here.”

“You had a way of expressing your choice within our norms. That is why Indra sat there with his uncles. If you didn’t want to get married you could have given him the dish!”

“That is your way tete! I had to use my way to express myself. Why was my son sitting there? Do you think I can ask my own child to be head over my family? No matter how much he will succeed in life, he will always be my child. I refuse to give him a position above myself.”

“And who will be the father to that son of yours?”

“Who has been his father ever since Petros died? Who has been feeding him? Who has been paying for his fees? How much have they contributed to my children’s welfare?”

“Do you know that in our culture we can send you back to your family of origin?”

“Tete I came to this family of my own volition. My parents never chased me away. If ever you are going to do anything, just do it now please! Who says I need a man to fend for myself and children? Can’t I make it in life as a woman?”

Her lower lip dropped in shock. She froze on her mat without a word to say. I left her in that state as I walked past hordes of people who moved off my way as if they feared I would harm them.

On my way home, I felt a relief, a sense of victory at rebelling against an antiquated customary rite. It was a victory for myself, a victory for women who had faced similar circumstances, a victory for Alois’s two wives caught in a situation they thought was normal for women, a victory for Twoboy’s chain of wives, both living and dead, and a victory for Chemist’s wife who had boycotted this nonsense draped up in a deceiving package called culture.

By throwing the water in the direction of the elders, I felt I was sending back their backward tradition which has no place in a civilized world. I felt I was shattering the stubborn attitude that serves to oppress women and keep them in a lower position in society. I was breaking new grounds for women.

I expected the elders of the clan to come and evict me from my homestead, but they did not. Instead they chose to ostracise me and I was not moved. If they expected me to crack at some point, then they were mistaken, because I was determined to prove them wrong as a woman.

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