As I equivocally stated before, we the people of mulembe are a people of love. The spirit of mulembe is that of warmth. That of love. Of companionship. That of a man loving his woman. And of women finding joy in keeping their beds warm; making sure her man is tethered to her sheets. Therefore, inasmuch as polygamy is an accepted way of life among my people, the Babukusu, the largest of mulembe nation’s 18 houses, we still say: embalikha yarafua nga ekhilakhima.
Recently when details of the Kenya 2019 population statistics were released, I was taken back a bit. How do we have less than 10 million Bukusu children, men and women walking on the face of the earth? I was taken aback because my understanding of my people’s take on fertility and fecundity suggests differently. What do I talk of? Allow me to paint for you a typical scenario of a Bukusu home back in the village.
Family planning a Bukusu perspective
We the Bukusu don’t believe in family planning. In fact, if your mother in law came to learn that you were on some form of family planning, my friend, you will be in for it. For mothers in law with kumwoyo kwe lisa, FP use was the basis of her conspiring to get her son another wife.
This was because at a certain period in my people’s history, being on family planning was considered a sure sign that you were not ready sire enough children. As we love children, this was considered a grave mistake. For perspective, allow me to articulate the consequences of your sin as a Nairobian would: utalilia kwa choo.
That said, the concern over family planning use, believe it or not, stretched to genuine care for the woman’s own health. The Bukusu believed that if one used family planning, they would suffer serious health consequences. They believed the woman’s ova that would have been used to bring forth scions would get piled up. This together with disrupting Wele’s design of women ‘going to the moon’ every twelve times or so a year, would bring serious health consequences and eventually kill the woman.
The Catholic church’s inadvertent role
Further, the predominant presence of the catholic church among my people didn’t help either. Growing up I sat (and still sit through church services) where the priest condemns family planning. Needless to say, the catholic church is very powerful. This makes the priest a very respected figure in my community. His word is law. And when he says: “No artificial family planning,” we largely heed.
Admittedly, there’s nothing unique with the preaching of the Catholic church. Only that my Babukusu brethren offer that ‘withdrawal’ is a tough act; while my Babukusu sisters add that ‘properly breastfeeding a baby especially involves feeding it on demand anytime, all the time’. Thus, my sisters explain that keeping a Bukusu man satiated is at odds with rhythmic methods of family planning.
Of second, third helpings
Even in the midst of the generosity of second and third helpings between the sheets; for whatever reasons – bareness, low fecundity, famine in a neighboring land, a man’s own devils – it was not uncommon for a second, third or fourth woman to be quickly enjoined to help out with the role of birthing children. Polygamy was acceptable. However, recently with westernization, the practice has become not entirely desirable. In the days that Jarius my grandfather grew up in, the first wife had no choice but to collaborate in the inevitable.
Not so long after these days of Jarius, the denial of a certain man’s desire to be polygamous birthed a famous rebel movement: Dini ya Musambwa. Following intractable differences over demonizing of polygamy and other customs of my people, the Quaker church inadvertently made a rebel of its then foremost convert: Elijah Masinde.
Starting in the early 1940’s Prophet and freedom fighter Elijah Masinde and his Dini ya Musambwa resistance lasted to the early 10’s of the 2000’s. Along the way, it morphed form resistance against colonial rule to a fight for land freedoms and against authoritarian local rule. A pain to both colonial and post colonial Kenyan rule, this resistance was once described to be as powerful as a hydrogen bomb. It’s a euphemism that can as well work for that moment a wife learns of her husbands intention to marry as second wife. For the pain of embalikha (polygyny) is described as so.
The pain of embalikha
All that considered, allow me to state the obvious, with widespread polygamy, families have suffered. Before you shut down my argument, consider the following Bukusu saying: Embalikha elinga ekhilakhima, esiukha bichikhi! Translated as polygamy, polygyny, (embalikha) is as painful as a cobra bite, it can uproot tree stumps.
I once spoke to an elderly lady form my village and she explained that the pain of embalikha is the pain of any other relation. Her thoughts were human relations were designed to be so lest we turned away from Wele.
Another khukhu offered that the pain of embalikha was like that and then some more. On further prodding, she looked away and preferred not to delve into the details. Ninety years plus on this earth; facing her sunset and thus at a point in her life where she needed to make her peace; her husband long deceased, and still time was yet to heal her wounds.
Yet another khukhu termed embalikha as a marriage like any other full of love and laughter, and not immune to the sorrows of life. This one cautioned me that embalikha wasn’t just suited for the ones loved by rain: the jealous type.
Forget the small stuff she said. Stuff like how many more nights he spends at his new wife. Or that he seems to have forgotten your shoe size thus the reason why he keeps gifting only your rival new shoes. She said nothing, absolutely nothing was as choking as your rival ‘beating you’ in that which both of you have a fair chance: bringing forth children.
Sisals and frogs
What this last khukhu was saying is that a woman who brought forth many girls was in trouble. My people believed that a boy child was the real deal. They even referred to boys as sisal plants. Unlike the Maragoli who use still use kinagosi to demarcate boundaries, my people have come to prefer the sisal plant. Thus, once a woman brings forth a boy, she is assured of long life in her matrimonial home. This is because she is now entitled to getting a share of the family land. Girls on the other hand would be referred to as frogs…. Story for another day.
In a nutshell, these cultural influences had it that the average Bukusu family size in the 20th century was between 9-11 members. Your average Bukusu woman could comfortably give birth to 12 children! A whole dozen. Twelve kids popped and this woman will be just fine. One of the joys with a big family, I heard, was the opportunity to honor ancestors by naming them. Thus, with her 12 children, a mother had the leeway to name everyone from her side and that of her husbands.
How naming customs contribute to embalikha
I know of a family that named everyone they thought of in their lineage. Out of names but not children, the parents got inspired to name the last born boy after the then powerful area chief. This is after another one of the last born siblings had been named after a headmaster of a local well performing secondary school. Hahaha!
Their situation wasn’t unique because it was a polygamous home. It was unique because the second wife was seemingly in some sort of competition with the first. The first wife had popped 8 out, she stopped at 12. The younger wife had been inherited and it was rumored that she determined to hit the family size she had desired with her late husband. Her husband had left her with a toddler when he suffered an unnatural death plunging to death in a fatal accident.
Wife inheritance, a common route to embalikha
Yes, you read that right, my people practice wife inheritance as part of our marriage customs. Wife inheritance is thus was a common route to embalikha. Moreover wife inheritance served as social safety net as described in the customs of khukona mwikhokho. True Bukusu men also know that mukha rarao omutiti obeya busa. However, unlike mama bringing home another wife, the dance to seduce a widow is spiritedly fought and peacock-like elaborate.
When a woman loses a spouse, as expected, the widow is consumed with mourning her deceased lover. However, her late husbands’ cousins and brothers will be busy trying to get her attention. I tell you, if ever there is a time that Bukusu men put up a show, fewer instances are as imaginative.
Wooing a widow: The curious antics of Bukusu men
One of the suitors would for example offer to cater for all the food that will be cooked during the morning period. Another one would get dehydrated, almost to the point of death, as they split firewood to be used to cook for the mourners. Another one will fetch water in such copious amounts that he would be lucky not the break the oxen that ferry it from the river.
The widow will be gently made aware of these acts of kindness. She is made aware of the cast after her heart. However, it remind her prerogative if the acts were enough to make her forget her husband. This is to say, the choice of who would replace her fallen husband when the time came was a secret she held dear. Moreover, widow inheritance would take place only after elaborate widow rituals had been performed. These rites that we will cover in another article were designed to first help the widow find closure; and secondly, to empower her sexually.
Kamafuku sokafula ta!
Yes, the mourning period for a widow among the Bukusu ended when she was sexually liberated. By this, I mean she was free to consummate with whomever she pleased. There are many altruistic reasons as to why such a hard-fought seduction dance for a widow’s attention, but a more practical reason supersedes all. My people call bluff the notion of celibacy. To this effect, there is a succinct pungent Bukusu saying: Kamafuki sokafula ta! Translated as ‘you cannot cook for blood’.
Everyone needs to have their sexual needs taken care of in one way or the other. There is no substitute. However, as expected of such a sexually liberal people, some have used this saying to get away with their philandering. Oh, my people! Those with hot blood flowing in their veins.
