Widowhood Rites: The Silent Pain of a Widow

Source: theleaderassumpta.com

(Kinda Delphine)--Few years ago, I was a radio presenter for a women rights program called ‘Every Woman’ (2006) Even though my co-presenter and I were still not very clear what women’s rights is, we somehow managed to hold inspiring discussions on air about gender inequality. On one edition, we got a call from a listener who was sharing her experiences about widowhood rights. She told us of the great love that she and her husband had once shared and how all of that was rub to the mud and she was abused and dehumanized by the traditional rites that her husband’s family put her through during the funeral.

You may not have heard it, but there is something called Widowhood rites in most parts of Africa and maybe in other parts of the world too. These are specific things that the wife of a deceased man has to fulfill but there is no such thing as widower rites. At least I have not heard of it!

When a WIFE dies, society sympathizes with the widower. When a HUSBAND dies, the community starts questioning the circumstances surrounding the death of the man and examine ‘invincible’ motives that his wife may have to kill him. Without any proof or trial, widows are accused of killing their husbands.

Growing My Hair Again, by Chika Unigwe

Source: vowinitiative.org

(Chika Unigwe)--"I am crouching beside the bed, my palms flat on the deep red rug that swallows my sobs. The rug is warm. It is a mother's hand. My posture is--I hope--appropriate to the occasion. My mother-in-law is watching me, her eyes hawk-like even through her own tears. She sniffs and says, 'You're not crying loud enough. Anyone would think you never loved him. Bee akwa!'

She never approved of me. I had an excess of everything. Education. Beauty. Relatives. Hair. Sure to bring any man down. At the thought of my hair, my palms go cold. By this time tomorrow, it will all be gone. I shall be taken to the backyard by group of widows, probably all of them strangers. One of them, the oldest, will lather my hair with a new tablet of soap (which will be thrown away once it's been used on me), and then shave all of is off with a razor blade. I shall be bathed in cold water. Strange women splashing water on me. Cleansing me to make my husband's passage easy on him: a ritual to make the break between us final so that he is not stuck halfway between this world and the next shouting himself hoarse calling for his wife to be at his side when he joins his ancestors.

'You should cry louder. You sound like you're mourning a family pet. You are a widow, nwanyi a! Cry as if you lost a husband! Bee akwa. Cry!'