Challenges of Polygamy

We went to our third funeral Saturday after we held our leadership training. Fortunately this funeral was less than an hour from Kisumu. A sweet member’s father had passed away. Here is the story as best I understand. J’s mother is the first wife. When J was growing up, the father was a drunkard and drank away all the school fee money and so J’s mom kicked him out. He went and found wife #2. After the children were grown, she took back the husband and he spent his time between his shamba where wife #1 lived and where wife #2 lived—someplace within 10 km of wife #1. But I think mostly with wife #2.

Husband sickens and dies. He goes to the morgue. The unbreakable tradition is that the husband is buried at the home of wife #1. Wife #2 contested. She wanted him buried on her property. The village elders said no. She came again. No. They were about to bury him, and learned wife #2 planned on hijacking the body after Wife #1 took it from the morgue. So they went to court. Again wife #2 insisted the body be buried on her property. She tried to bribe the morgue to release the body to her. Her sons threatened death to the first family. The burial was postponed.

Finally the court ruled in favor of wife #1, but allowed wife #2 to have the body rest at her place for a few hours the day before the burial. Rumor had it that they would prevent the body from from being taken to wife#1’s house. But the law was there and the removal went okay.

When I heard of all the problems and the threats on J’s life, I said, “Why not let wife #2 bury the father? J was shocked. No! Our tradition is the husband is always buried at the first wife’s house.

So if you want the body. You’d better be the first wife!

In spite of repeated questions, we’d gotten remarkably poor directions to the funeral. After a frustrating interchange, it would end with, “Just come to Lela and I’ll pick you there.” Well, that might be a good idea if we knew where Lela was.

So we turned onto Bro. P's road—a narrow dirt road and while she said just wait there…. there was no town there. Alas, Bro P's road has two entrances. So we drove on this dirt road about 4 km, back to the main road where we discovered: Lela…and Bro. P waiting to pick us. However, the discussion of where we were, where we should be, and how to get there, reached the dimension that Elder Fox decided he would call for directions and I would drive. Yuck! Mud, narrow roads, gullies to cross. I was most uncomfortable driving it, but bless his heart, he did not complain.Once there we were served a meal near this house.We then listened to the funeral service in native tongue for a while. Then people gathered to donate something to help out. Note the 'battery pack' for the PA system in the foreground. Then they moved the casket to a nice cement lined hole. This time, they did not fill it with dirt. Rather they laid poles across the top, then corigated tin, then wire mesh, and then a heap of cement which they mixed at the spot. It was a true crypt.
We learned that when the husband dies, the wife can no longer stay in that house. She needs to abandon it or destroy it. Now, maybe if the children had built a house for the father… then the mother could stay in the original??? I’m not sure. Anyhow, in this case, a new house had to be be built for her before the funeral could take place. I’m not sure if all the belongings must also be abandoned, or just the house. So here is the newly made house.

Note the storm clouds. It didn't start raining until after the burial. We headed for home as I was concerned about the roads. But it only sprinkled on us. When we got to Kisumu, however, we found evidence of a torrential rain storm. Glad it avoided us. Another tender mercy of the Lord.