The names below have been changed…but the story is as it took place…

Culture – Patriarchal Ways and Education of Women

Matthew had invited me to dinner at his house.  I was pacing the courtyard of my house in Nairobi in the Hurlingham district just off of Ngong Street.  Five o’clock was the appointed hour, it came and went and no Matthew.  Six o’clock came; I could hear my Ghanaian neighbors turn on the TV to watch the Australian soap opera “neighbors.”  I certainly would never watch it, though some of my co-workers never missed an episode.  I went inside of the house and picked up a copy of book that I purchased that morning at the Yaya center, amazingly I could not find a copy of one African writer, so I settled for “The Flaming Trees of Thika” by Elsbeth Huxley.  A sort of nostalgic look at colonial Kenya, I still could not believe that there was not a copy of an African writer’s book in that store but then the store was not owned by Africans, but was this not Africa?

I sat on the veranda until 7 and then moved inside as it got dark and the Luyah Guard cast a worried look at me from the gate.  At eight I made some chicken and ate thinking that Matthew had forgotten and typed some faxes to various places.  Nine o’clock I heard the honk of a car’s horn at the gate.  I heard the gate open and the car pull in.  It was Matthew all smiles and ready to go.  “I am here to pick you for dinner.”  No apology, no why this late, no sorry, he was here to pick me up.  The main thing was, “he had arrived and now we were leaving.”

Matthew was a Southern Sudanese refugee living in Kenya.  He had several degrees from the university of Juba and a doctorate in Veterinarian Studies with emphasis animal husbandry.  He ran a relief agency and was a close associate of John Garang the leader of the SPLA Rebel Movement in the South of Sudan.  He was a caring and compassionate person and had started his relief agency on a shoestring. His offices were filled with people looking for help.  He came from one of the smaller tribes of South Sudan and unlike most African Sudanese he was short and not the usual six to seven foot height found amongst the Dinkas and Nuers.

Matthew had a most wonderful sense of humor which he let loose as we drove along and I even forgot the hours I had waited for him, timing, punctuality was never something that was religiously observed in Africa, one went with the flow, one went with the moment, something I adapted too - forgoing my Germanic upbringing and allowing the Mudagavu attitude to permeate my ways.

We reached his home, his family came out and greeted us, wife, mother, sons and daughters and Matthew’s mother.  He lived in a comfortable townhouse in a  middle-class section of Nairobi.  Inside were all the comforts of home, a spacious living room with plain and but appropriate furniture, one could smell the food being cooked in the kitchen. 

We sat in the living room.  Matthew’s two sons were there, and two friends, both school teachers from South Sudan now living as refugees in Nairobi.  The women and Matthews’s daughters remained in the kitchen.  As usual we talked about life in South Sudan and the struggle that had been going on for years.  The plight of the Africans under Islamic Sharia law (most were non-Muslims) and the merciless rule of the Khartoum government and the silence of the world.

Matthew and I schemed how he could get more funding for schools and start cooperatives amongst the women refugees in Nairobi and how to enroll Sudanese children in Kenyan schools and receive funding for it from various organizations including my own.

The Southern Sudanese have some wonderful ways and every time they agreed with me there was a clicking sound coming from them created by the tongue against the roof of the mouth.  (It takes some practice to do)  When we told a joke or made light of something, they would extend their hand and shake and laugh at the same time.  Something I found delightful and sadly no longer practice back here in the USA.

Food was being served and the women brought it in.  I joking turned to Matthew and said, “Ah we do get to meet your whole family and not just the men.”  The women smiled and departed and we proceeded to eat.  I broke the silence and asked, “When do the women and your daughter’s eat.”  He smiled, saying, “When we are done, they will eat what is left.” 

Here was an educated man, who had traveled in the West.  He had visited my home and met my children.  He had met my daughters and listened to them as they spoke about their aspirations and dreams.  Now were back on his turf and the women got leftovers.  Amazing, my mind started to go into another gear.  I asked him about his children and schooling and he told me about his sons and how well they were doing in Kenyan schools.  “What about your daughter’s –how are they doing in school?”  There was a silence and then…”In our culture it is the boys that have to have an education and the girls they need to learn the ways around the house and yard, in the village they need to learn how to farm and other women’s work.  After all their marriages will be arranged when they become women and then schooling would be useless.”  The girls seemed still quite young to me to speak of arranging marriages and all of that.  “Besides, I only have so much money for school fees and it is best invested in those that will carry my name and tradition, my boys.”

What Matthew told me I had heard before in different ways in different manners, from people of different tribes but all had the same effect on the lives of young women. (60% of which do not attend school of any kind)  Their dreams, gifts, talents, aspirations were cut at the very root of the tree. A system that kept young girls from becoming, an amputation of their very future.  Locked into a system that treated women with leftovers, second-class citizens.  Yes, there are many exceptions, yes, Africa’s women have come a long way, but the mindset of a patriarchal society rules in every aspect of East African life. 

Munching on a piece of chicken I asked Matthew where he met his wife.  (I knew the answer and wanted to drive home a point)  “At the university in Juba,” was his reply.  I then smiled, a drumstick in my hand, “If her father would have had the same ideas as you, you would have never met her.”  He clicked in agreement and then shook my hand in laughter. 

The rest is history, both of Matthew’s daughters went to school and excelled beyond anyone’s dreams opening up the doors to secondary school and further.  Just last week a dear friend of mine who is working on some projects in Guinea-Bissau asked me how I would help Africa.  My answer was simple, forget all the aid that only lines the pockets of corrupt politicians and ensure an educational opportunity for every child and make sure that no girl gets left out.  The second part was – economic empowerment of women, but that is another story.