The calm in my paternal grandmother’s home, Mariam, stands unperturbed by the tumultuous events of the past that rendered her a young widow and almost landless. The coffee bushes boast of dominance upon other crops including maize, beans and potatoes that are less privileged in space occupancy. Avocado trees reign the space behind the cow shed, looking down upon the shorter members of the crop family as they siphon nutrients from the endless flow of the cow’s waste.
Though not wide, Mariam’s piece is fairly long.
It touches a narrow murram road on the upper side while the tips of its tail touch
the small salty spring that acts as a border between two separate villages on
either side. On this land, there is no marked grave or a designated space indicating
that my grandfather ever existed. This is because wherever the man is resting
only the one above knows. The story goes that he left home one day armed with
bows, arrows, and other home-made weapons to join other young Kenyans in the
bush as they struggled to rescue our independence from those that had snatched
it.
He bid goodbye to his young wife and only child,
the fruit of this marriage, a boy then just learning how to find his way around
on his two’s. He did not return home
that night or the night after. In fact, many nights have passed without his
return. It has now been 65 years of his absence and of my grandmother fighting fiercely
to conquer grief and other downs that life cast upon her path. It is a past
that almost no one talks about and especially my grandmother Mariam.
Despite the grief, Mariam possesses one of the
most precious documents to any Kenyan, especially those from central, A title
deed that indicates that she owns the small piece of land which she has tilled
tirelessly over the years to feed and bring up her children- How she got six
more after the disappearance of her husband is a story for another day…😊
How she came to possess this document defines
the struggles for women across many parts of the sub-Saharan Africa and more so
in Kenya.
A young widow and a mother of one is not so bad
in the ‘marriage market’. You could still attract a man of good standing and
attract a decent dowry. But this woman was unwilling to move. She lived with
the hope that one day or night, her husband would knock on her door smelling of
the bush and oozing the perseverance of a fighter with eyes fixed on the prize
of independence.
None of this happened, however. Her man did not
return, and neither did she ever remarry. Then begun the long battle to retain ‘her
husbands’ piece of land.
In those days, only men were privileged enough to
inherit soil from their fathers. Like any other man, my grandfather had
inherited his from his father my great grandfather, and so had his brothers. If
one for whatever reason like death was not present, the land naturally passed
to the rest of the brothers. So, it was not unusual that my grandfather’s
siblings hoped they would own his piece as well when it became apparent that
their brother was not coming back home.
Mariam was not going to give it up without a
fight. There were endless family deliberations, Village elders’ interventions
and finally the involvement of the court.
After many years of visiting the Nyeri Law
courts, many days and nights of prayers accompanied by songs from her favorite
hymn book “Nyimbi Cia Kiroho”, the judgement was finally delivered in the
favour of my grandmother. She finally got her name printed on the document that
gave her the legal claim over the piece of land left behind by her late
husband.
On this piece of land, she has tilled to feed
and educate her children. Like most small-scale farmers. She has grown a
variety of crops and kept a variety of animals. She has further subdivided it
among her five sons including my father. It is this land that we now call home.
Like Mariam, many women have endured similar
struggles in a bid to secure a space where they can build homes, get food for
their families and income to cover home
expenses, medical bills and school fees.
Such struggles have highlighted the need to
have the law reflect the realities in various corners of the country. Today, as
the law continues to evolve, it is getting more cognizant of various
intricacies associated with women and possession of land and property. In Kenya, the Marriage
Act calls for registering all marriages--effectively granting women a
legal basis for land ownership claims. The Matrimonial
Property Act protects women’s rights to property acquired during
marriage, and the Land Registration Act defers
to it. The Land
Act provides spouses protection from having their home or land leased
or sold without their knowledge. The Law
of Succession Act gives both male and female children the same
inheritance rights.
While the pit has not been
completely sealed, and as women continue to face a myriad social and cultural
problems trying to enforce their rights to use, own, manage, and dispose of
land, there have been significant strides made to remedy the injustices of the
past regarding women and ownership/possession of land.
On this day, I celebrate women like my grandmother, and other strong spirited, good willed fellow humans who continue to fight to ensure that women enjoy reasonable rights in possessing and utilising land.
As a woman, I challenge you to familiarise
yourself with the various laws that pertains land and property ownership. This
way, we will yield a better shield against associated forms of injustices
for our sake and for the sake of those who look upon us.
Happy International Women’s Day!
