A Kikuyu Dowry

I'm a big fan of cultural immersion.  The idea is that when you go to a place, you actually experience that place. I know that there's really nothing I can do to stem the tide of globalization, but a pet peeve of mine is when Americans travel abroad and seek out American experiences. I really like McDonalds, I do, but if you are traveling in a new place, why would take one of your limited meal slots and give it to old Ronald McMakeYouFat? Granted, there isn't even a McDonalds in all of Kenya, but my point remains. When I am traveling, I like to experience life like the people who live there do. 

So, I felt pretty lucky to be invited to a Kikuyu dowry ceremony by a co-worker of mine. The Kikuyu are the largest ethnic group or tribe in Kenya, with some 6.6 million Kikuyus, about 23% of the total population here. They come from the central part of the country, centered around Mt. Kenya. Many of my co-workers are Kikuyu. The practice of dowry or the bride price is common throughout all the tribes of Kenya. A man can be expected to pay the equivalent of approximately five years of his projected salary to the family of his fiancé in order for the marriage to be culturally legitimate. However, the practice is a hot topic of debate among Kenyan young adults (20s/30s). Some see the practice as a part of Kenyan tradition, which honors the in-laws for raising a good wife. Others see the practice as an out-dated reflection of a male-dominated past, where women were considered property and daughters were traded for cows, goats and other items. In the few short conversations I've had on the subject, I found that the problem can be daunting for many young Kenyans preparing for marriage. The rising costs of education, plus inflation, make some dowry demands unreasonably burdensome on a man. Some men, for many reasons, would rather not pay the dowry, but they risk a life time of ostracization from their in-laws who may not recognize the marriage as valid. This is important because marriage law in Kenya recognizes cultural practices as part of the question of legal marriage. I'm not nearly an expert in Kenyan marriage law, so don't take this as legal advice, but because there are so many different tribes and ethnic groups in Kenya, the law allows for cultural considerations in the question of what is or is not a recognized marriage. 

Anyway, as with many other things, Kenyans specifically and Africans generally, are coming across many points of life where tradition and modernization clash. As an outsider, it's interesting to see this process first hand, although it's hard not to have an opinion, even a strong one, about some of the stuff. But, as always, it's important to be weary of cultural superiority complexes. Heck, more and more, Westerners are losing all of the moral high ground when it comes to marriage. Cultural relativity is a slough of confusion. 

So, here are the photos from the ceremony. I'll do my best to share the story, but since it was almost exclusively in Gĩkũyũ, I may be missing parts. Enjoy. 

This is my co-worker Samuel Karanja. Sam is not the one who is getting married. In fact, Samuel and his brothers are finishing off the payment of his father's dowry for Sam's mother. His father passed away before the final payments of the dowry were complete so Sam needs to finish his father's payment. Normally, I would be like, "Why would you pay for your dad's dowry?" But he explained to me that, culturally, he cannot marry until his father's dowry is complete. Now I see why he is so motivated to finish this thing.

Sam brought us to his family home in the rural part of Kenya which Kenyans refer to as "Up Country." Up Country can be anywhere in Kenya, and you use to phrase to indicate you are going home to see your family. Although Nairobi has 3.2 million inhabitants, most Kenyans do not refer to themselves as "from Nairobi." You are almost always from where your family is. Even if you were born in Nairobi and lived there your whole life, you would still go Up Country to visit home. 

Here's a look at Karanja's land. Oh, so for Kenyan males, after they reach adulthood, it is common for them to take on their father's name. So I switch from referring to Samuel between Sam and Karanja. 

Sam points out the limits of his family farm. He wonders if he will ever farm the land himself. He says he's not cut out for it, and will likely rent the land out to local farmers. Besides, as Sam tells me that in his culture, "Farming is women's work." 

Some local boys have that classic, "What is that mzungu doing here" look on their face. I'm pretty sure these boys don't get too many white folks out in these parts.  

Karanja is one of the most pleasant people I've ever met. He is warm, always smiling, confident, has a sharp legal mind, and pours himself into the work. He's a great guy. 

We pause for a group shot in one of his avocado trees. Unfortunately, it's not avocado season yet here. 

So this is like a rural village hub. The people own and live on farms in the surrounding area. They come here to buy and sell basic goods. There's a butcher, general stores, various tradesman, a few bars, and a church. 

Here's some of Karanja's family members. His mother is in the yellow jacket. 

Here's Sam's younger brother helping out to get the dowry ready. The father's family will stage the dowry on one side of the village, and all the women in the extended family will carry it to the home of the mother's family. Only the women can carry the items. I asked if there was anything I could do to help, but was told emphatically that it was the women's job to carry the dowry. Which was confusing, because Sam's younger brother was doing stuff. Then again, for males, birth order is a big deal here too, so maybe that has something to do with it. 

Here some of Karnaja's female relatives prepare a bundle of bananas to be carried. 

More staging. 

Here's a little less than half of the stuff for the dowry. How it was explained to me is that the female's family makes a list of all the things they want. On this list will be standard stuff, a bull, goats, or cash, but also, they will get into some pretty detailed stuff as well. They will ask for candles, pots and pans, soda, beer, homemade liquor, flour, sugar cane, and other items which hold a more symbolic meaning. When I was listening to this explanation, it was like the men only heard how much money they were spending, and the women saw the more nuanced details of the requests and the meaning behind them. The two families will negotiate on the list until they come to a mutual understanding of a fair price. The price, however, is based on the wealth of the man's family (and to a certain extent, the woman's too). 

More of the dowry. Again, this was just the final payment of the dowry for Karanja's mother. Often times the male will have to split the dowry up into several payments. This particular payment was the last one owed to Karanja's maternal relatives. I'll get into the finality of the dowry ceremony and it's impact on a woman later, but this part I found a bit confusing. I've heard conflicting accounts, perhaps from variations of practices between different tribes, but some Kenyan men tell me that these payments can go on and on and on. Other's say they are completed within the first few years of marriage. I guess it depends on the financial means of the husband and the demands of the maternal family. 

Here's a shot in the small village center where we gathered. 

Loading up for the walk from the staging area to the maternal family home. 

The women from Karanja's paternal family walk to his mother's home with the first part of the dowry payment. 

Caught some Africa Magic while we were waiting for the dowry to be staged. Africa Magic is a channel that plays African soap operas. They are usually set in "the bush" and are really popular. Well, I guess soap operas are popular everywhere. People must love cheesy romantic dramas that they can get all wrapped up in. 

One of Karanja's relatives sweats under the load of the dowry. 

After the first half was carried away, one of Karanja's uncles directs the women to get ready to carry the other half. 

We are now on the way with the second half and will begin the actual ceremony once we arrive at the maternal family's home. 

Two of my female-coworkers (and their friend) gave a helping hand to carry some sugar cane poles. It is common for people to invite their co-workers and other close friends to come with them to ceremonies like this. Kenyans put a high value on the relationship with co-workers. One of my colleagues explained to me that after you have worked with someone for two or more years, they become like your family. You will invite them to your family home for all kinds of things, and you are expected to go.   

This video explains part of the signing ceremony. 

Here the maternal family tells the paternal family that they cannot come in until the have brought the things that they requested. They sing about all the things they want them to bring. 

Karanja's father was a polygamist. Polygamy is still relatively common in Kenya. There are an estimated 2.5 million spouses in polygamous unions. When you start factoring in children, there are about 5.4 million Kenyans who come from polygamous households. Factor in in-laws, cousins, aunts, uncles and other relatives, and you have more than half of Kenya's 40 million citizens some how connected to the tradition. Here, Karanja's 'younger mother', the third wife of his father, knocks on the door announcing the arrival of the dowry party and requesting to be allowed in. She gives the maternal family a checklist/inventory of all the things they have brought with them. 

The maternal family women examine the list and after several minutes they will let the other women in. During this time you have the women from both families singing, and several people honking car horns. It was quite the scene.  

Having satisfied the maternal family that everything they asked for is there, the women open the door and the two families join for a meal, a ceremony, and a celebration. 

The maternal family stages the dowry. 

The first part of the ceremony is a traditional Kikuyu meal. Kikuyu food is composed mainly of starches and vegetables. Nearly all the dishes are mashed up combinations of potatoes, beans, and other starches. The vegetables are usually cooked as stews. This is all taken in with a flat bread called chapati, which is common and very popular all over Kenya. One of my Kikuyu co-workers told me that his people are not known for their ability to cook, that's why all their dishes are just mashed up combinations of stuff. 

Obviously, I was the only white person there. My presence was definitely not unnoticed. As I was eating, an elderly Kikuyu woman from the maternal family kept leaning over and speaking to me in Gĩkũyũ. As my co-workers translated, I came to find out that it was the first time this woman had ever seen a mzungu eat before. She said that seeing me there would add additional years to her life. It's hard to be humble when your very presence adds years of life to people.....ha.  She was really excited about me being there and kept telling me how welcome I was. In fact, all throughout the day, I was really blessed by how welcoming everyone was. It was a great experience to be allowed into an intimate family ceremony and to be welcomed so thoroughly 

Nearly 80% of Kenyans are Christian. They have no qualms about public displays of religion. In fact they are all very much open to the idea of beginning events with prayer and worship music. Here, after the meal, the first item on the agenda is a word from the pastor, who gives a sermon and a bible reading. It was in Gĩkũyũ, so I don't know exactly what the topic was. I'm guessing it had something to do with marriage. 

Preaching. 

Here are the wives of Karanja's father. Karanja's mother is the second wife and is standing in the middle. 

Karanja is joined by his brothers and sisters for introductions. 

Because his father had passed, Karanja's uncle (left) stands in for the ceremony. The Kikuyu use the shoulder and attached leg of a cow to symbolize the process of detachment from the maternal family and joining into the family of the husband. 

The wife will cut the meat around the leg and shoulder to symbolize her removal from the home of her father and mother. 

The husband will complete the cutting and tear the leg from the shoulder. 

A female Kikuyu co-worker of mine explained that the symbol of the leg bone has very literal connotation for the relationship of the wife to her birth family. Once the dowry is complete, she is cut off from her birth family and is now, 100% a part of her husband's family. Of course this plays out along a spectrum depending on how traditional a Kenyan family is. My co-worker told me of dowry ceremonies where female relatives of the wife were sobbing because they would never see the wife again, and that for the women, dowry ceremonies aren't very happy occasions. As with all traditions, the rapid development of Kenya is changing how these traditions play out in actual practice. It will be interesting to see how they hold up against the rising tide of globalization/modernization.  

After the meat cutting part of the ceremony, there was this series of mutual porridge feeding ceremonies. I found it very similar to when a husband and bride feed each other wedding cake at the reception. 

Karanja's uncle made his mother work for her chance to feed him. The whole crowd laughed as he insisted she remove his hat, and then his coat, before he was ready to drink. 

She then fed him the porridge and I was just waiting for her to give him too much and spill it on his face, ala a bride jamming some cake in her husband's face. I don't know if this ever happens, but the lighthearted air around this part of the ceremony led me to believe it was a possibility. 

I guess the key is to drink the whole cup of porridge without stopping. 

After Karanja's mother and uncle finished this part of the ceremony, many other family members partook in the same porridge sharing thing, although no one gave their partner a face full of porridge like I was expecting. Maybe I was reading American wedding custom into the whole thing a bit too much. 

With all the symbolic parts of the ceremony over, the cow that provided the shoulder and arm was promptly distributed and devoured by the guests. I was tricked into eating a bit of intestine, I did not find that part pleasant. If there's one thing I don't do, it's organ meat. 

Having to get back to Nairobi before it got too late, we departed under a near full moon. 

Overall, I really enjoyed the ceremony and a day spent learning more about the culture and customs of some of my colleagues. It was really interesting to there the debate on the topic of dowry from among them. It seems that the younger generations of Kenyans are not too pleased with this tradition. Many see it as demeaning to women, equalizing them with property and cutting them off from their own blood relatives. Other's see it as an important part of tradition and cultural identity. Ironically, Sam, who felt it very important to fulfill his father's obligation, does not wish to pay a dowry when the time comes for him to marry. He finds the practice out dated and out of touch with modern notions of gender equality. But tradition is strong, and the pressure on young Kenyans to honor their family and their history is nothing to be pooh-poohed. Sam said he couldn't imagine not assisting his brothers to pay his father's dowry. Still paying for college and establishing his own career, the expense had to be significant to him. Yet, honor and respect are highly valued in Kenyan families, and while Sam may not personally approve of the practice, it was important for him to respect his family and honor his father's good name.