A newly married woman in my language, Lubukusu, is known as omwea. Any of us can imagine just what it took for her to set up a nest for herself in the communal living homestead of our forebearers.
Growing up, my mother was always preparing us girls for a future with a no nonsense mother in law later in life when we got married. As a matter of personal repute, she expected us to grow up well behaved; so much so that our husbands-to-be would feel obligated to add extra animals as bride price ‘nyongesa’ during enganana negotiations. These extra animals were to be symbolic of the good work she had done to bring us up.
To make her dream of a overflowing mwitala (cow pen) alive, she harped on (as only mothers can do) a certain tale of a girl that she named Nabwile. In her broken record of a story, Nabwile got espoused to one young man named Wekesa. Since Nabwile didn’t come from very near Wekesa’s home, it was imperative that Wekesa’s family find ways to know the true person of Nabwile. What follows is an important part of my community’s marriage customs, though rarely openly discussed.
A day in the life of omwea
Those days, she regaled, a newly married woman (omwea) was expected to wake up very early in the morning and clean the cowshed, milk all cows then fetch water from the river. These tasks were supposed to be completed before daybreak, subuyi, for the omwea to be seen as a hard working woman worthy of a nest among her new relations.
But that was not enough. The true test of omwea lay ahead as her in-laws observed whether she could cook for the household and basically do everything she could lay her hands on. As if this was not enough, omwea was not supposed to get gloomy or moody. The more humble she appeared, the more love she drew to herself and the higher her chances of solidifying her stay.
Omwea was supposed to cook in her mother-in-laws pot for one year. During this time, she would hunt and cook. This meant that she decided what the household ate. If there was no food, she tilled the land, planted, harvested and then cooked. Woe unto her if she became pregnant in her first year. She was still expected to carry on with the duties till her final month of her pregnancy.
Nabwile and simsim, a homiletic
All that done, still, another test awaited her. This final test was administered only by her mother in law. It was a test of character designed to determine if she was a greedy and/or undisciplined. Worse, this test would especially come at undetermined time and in unexpected ways.
Mum told us how one day, Nabwile was given simsim to roast by her mother in law (mayi masalawe). Mayi masalawe then went to fetch water from the river. On returning home, mayi masalawe of Nabwile asked her to help her offload the water pot from her head.
Nabwile came to remove the pot. However, mayi masalawe was not after being assisted to offload the pot. Her real intentions were sinister: she wanted to know if Nabwile was a girl disciplined as she had made everyone believe. The story hoes that when Nabwile steped close to help masalawe offload the water pot, her masalawe smelled simsim in her breath.
Simsim in her breath
Nabwile had failed the test. She had eaten some simsim while roasting them. Maayi masalawe was not pleased. She called her son Wekesa and gave him Nabwile’s average score despite her outstanding performance in all the other areas. This report was meant to help Wekesa aware of Nabwile’s possible greed and mild indiscipline.
The small seeds of simsim just like the proverb of the mustard seed has brought down many good women in Bukusuland. It is said that some families would send a girl away for failing this test. To date, this simsim homiletic continues to shape how women cook in Bukusuland. To this day, you will rarely see a Bukusu woman tasting food when cooking. The misfortune that befell Nabwile still stalks us. Of course mum never desired to ever hear of any such stories concerning her daughters.
