Bridal red

 Dear reader,

 

Kenya is highly patriarchal in the rural areas of the country.  Girls and boys will have fairly separate upbringings with each being taught the duties and obligations specific to their gender.  Women are often expected to be obedient to their husbands as well as not to challenge or disagree with their views. 

Women and adolescent girls are the most vulnerable group in Kenya.  The are particularly vulnerable to poverty especially in the household and the community which is exacerbated by gender-base violence, harmful cultural attitudes and beliefs around roles, norms and female empowerment.

Gender based violence remains pervasive and women are still underrepresented in decision-making processes at al levels.  Women and girls still spend long hours collecting water and firewood.

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From Dorothy Wordsworth   November 8th 1800 in Westmorland

'A rainy morning.  A whirlwind came that tossed about the leaves , and tore off the still green leave of the ashes....the whole face of the country in a winter covering.  We went early to bed.'

From Dorothy Wordsworth   November 10th 1800 in Westmorland

'I baked bread.  A fine clear frosty morning.  We walked after dinner to Rydale village.  Jupiter over the hilltops, the only star, like a sun, flashed out at intervals from behind a black cloud.'

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Bridal Red

 I saw

a young girl smiling,

laughing, threading beads, minding goats,

chasing chickens, pulling feathers from their tails,

holding hands with sisters, friends,

chattering, gossiping, rough and tumbling

in bright sunlight.

 

I saw

scrub-plains, white rocks and blue,

blue mountains,  straw huts,

men on haunches, chewing,

and thin dogs, fat babies,

loving families, happiness.

 

I saw

men, suddenly, appear from a distant village,

offering cows and sheep as an exchange

for a shepherd in need of a woman, a wife.

The girl was chosen,

a bargain was struck

 

I saw

her stand silently, acquiescent,

red ochre paste and mud

mixed in a wooden bucket,

plastered on her shaven head,

necklaces of golden wire

wound tightly round her neck,

ankle bracelets in profusion.

 

I saw

her sisters, her friends, not laughing now,

not smiling, offering presents,

a carved stick,  a beaded purse.

At dawn she would leave as the sun rose,

to walk over the mountain pass

to an unknown bridegroom,

an unknown life.

 

I saw

as she left 

her grief, her tears trickling,

then flooding through the paste and mud.

I saw her sorrow as the colour red,

and a crown of thorns her maidenhead.

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia