Thankfully, the ten school friends Kirabo invited to the rites arrived at around four, after Giibwa had left. Had they been around, it would have been a different story.
Apart from Atim, who had supported Kirabo through her loss, the friends came not to mourn or celebrate her father but to escape their parents’ watchful eyes. There was no fun like last funeral rites. They brought booze and boyfriends. For those who did not have a partner, Kirabo had promised a steady supply of young uncles – Jjajja Doctor’s younger sons and Grandmother’s nephews – for two unsupervised days. They also wanted to see Sio for themselves and sort out Giibwa the slut. Kirabo had asked Miiro for a large traditional tent to be made specifically for her and her friends.
It was as if boys in the villages had sensed the girls’ arrival. Within no time, they started to whizz past Kirabo’s tent, throwing quick glances at the girls as they strutted by, greeting Kirabo with exaggerated enthusiasm: ‘Ki kati, Kirabo, long time no see,’ as if Nattetta was anglophone. As night closed in, more boys and girls descended on Miiro’s compound dressed as if there was a disco on. Word went around that if you had beer, wine or Uganda Waragi and were willing to share, you gained entrance to Kirabo’s tent. Within no time, it was heaving.
Ignoring Kirabo’s feelings, Atim found Sio and introduced herself as Kirabo’s best friend. When she brought him to the tent, she claimed to Kirabo that Sio could not resist the first woman president-to-be. Then she introduced him to the other boyfriends. Kirabo waved to him and carried on as if he was not there. Often she felt his gaze and was transported back to the time before Giibwa had become that Giibwa. There was so much bustle around Kirabo’s tent that the tents belonging to Uncle Ndiira and Aunt Abi, who had brought a lot of unmarried friends and booze with them, looked mediocre by comparison.
By eight, when girls and boys had settled in and the chatter was flowing as freely as the alcohol, Aunt YA arrived in Kirabo’s tent. She came nice and smiley to meet the ‘lovely’ girls and boys who had come to Kirabo’s dad’s last rites. ‘What wonderful friends you are!’ she exclaimed. Before long she was counting how many girls had come from Kampala and who their parents were (she chose to ignore the boys). And oh, she would sleep in the same tent because she had seen the wolves circling: ‘And you know how last funeral rites notoriously slacken people’s morals. And the parents of these good girls allowed them to come to our rites because they know Kirabo comes from a decent family.’
In the silence that ensued, Kirabo could hear the death throes of her party as Aunt YA chased away all traces of revelry.
The boys started to slink out as the girls glared at Kirabo. Kirabo wanted to scream. She was nineteen, most of her friends were eighteen and about to start university where they could sleep around if they wished, but Aunt YA was carrying on as if they were thirteen-year-olds. And then people wondered why girls at university were sexually liberal after being tethered on short leashes all their lives. By the time the drums started, even the girls had slipped away. Kirabo went and sat in the tent because Aunt YA had made it obvious she was keeping an eye on her.
An hour later Atim came to Kirabo breathless. ‘You did not tell me Sio has two cars.’
‘They belonged to his parents.’
‘Us, we are off to Kayunga to get more booze. And to see if there is a disco on.’
‘Come on, Atim, you cannot leave me here on my own.’
‘Then come along. Actually, I told Sio you are coming.’
‘Atim—’
‘It was your Aunt Mean who drove us away,’ she whispered with a glance at Aunt YA. ‘I will tell Sio you have been called by the elders to talk culture.’
‘Atim—’
‘It is okay,’ Atim said, starting to walk away, ‘he is safe with me.’
‘I don’t care about that.’
‘Of course you don’t.’
Midnight came and went, but Kirabo’s friends had not yet returned. She and Aunt YA were in the large canopy watching traditional dancers when they were called into the house for a clan meeting to discuss Tom’s successor and the distribution of his property. Kirabo was surprised. From what she had heard, women did not attend such meetings. If your father died without making a will and his children came from multiple mothers, it was for the sisters to meet to choose which of their brothers would inherit them and become their father. As for the distribution of Tom’s estate, everything would go to Tommy now there was no will. Besides, Tom’s only property was that unfinished house in Busega. Kirabo did not see why she needed to attend to hear little Tommy being given everything.
The family had gathered in the diiro. Only Luutu’s descendants from male lineages were eligible to attend. No Grandmother, no Tom’s widow, no Jjajja Doctor’s wife, certainly not Ndiira’s girlfriend, and no aunts’ children. A high clan leader, the Mutuba Head, presided. Kirabo and Aunt YA grabbed mats and sat on the floor.
Miiro had broken protocol and brought his daughters and granddaughters to the meeting. His sister Nsangi could not come because she was too drunk. The attendance of women was an irritation to the clan heads because they were not used to talking to women about clan issues. Besides, Miiro’s brothers, the priest and the doctor, were intimidating to the peasant clan heads, who felt they were being bullied. At first, they reminded Miiro that only his brothers, sons and grandsons should attend, but Miiro argued that it was his daughter who was looking after Tom’s family. It did not make sense to exclude her from making decisions. Father Dewo stepped in, explaining that their father, Luutu, never discriminated against Nsangi, their sister. She was included in all major family decisions and they were honouring that. The Mutuba Head pointed out that it was widely known that Luutu’s house not only flaunted cultural etiquette but was condescending to clan leaders. He stopped short of saying that Nsangi was drunk precisely because Luutu gave her too much leeway, but it was there in the air.
‘The problem with women is,’ another clan head explained, ‘you give them an inch, they demand an acre.’
But Miiro insisted that no meeting would start until all his daughters and granddaughters were present. In the end, the clan heads conceded: ‘Bring the women, but only if they will sit down and keep quiet.’
For a moment all was well. The men – clan heads, Miiro, Father Dewo, Jjajja Doctor and his sons, Uncle Ndiira and his little boy, and Tommy – sat up on the chairs. The women – both Miiro’s and Jjajja Doctor’s daughters, plus Kirabo and Mwagale, sat down on the floor. But if Jjajja Nsangi had been present, she would have pulled little Tommy down from the chair and taken it herself: You are not going to swing your legs above my head, little man. Kirabo gnashed her teeth, wondering where Jjajja Nsangi was when she needed her to shake things up a bit.
First, Miiro introduced the clan heads, then everyone else introduced themselves. Miiro told the Mutuba Head about Tom’s estate, the urban property in Busega and then the land Tom would have inherited from him. Then he elaborated on how he had distributed the properties. Tommy, being the only son and successor, would take half of the land which Tom would have inherited from Miiro. He would also inherit Tom’s house when he grew up. Kirabo and Mwagale would share the other half of the land. The widow could stay in her home, the annex, if she wished. It belonged to her if she stayed in the family. The large house, when completed, would be let out to generate an income for her and the children. For as long as she lived in it, Tommy did not fully own the house, which meant he could not throw out his mother or sell it. On the other hand, she did not own it enough to sell either. As soon as she found a man, Nnambi would move out. Then even the annex would be let out.
Jjajja Doctor was uneasy. ‘The wife does not inherit anything?’
‘Culturally, she inherits through her children. As long as she does not sell, she can do whatever she wishes on their land, because in the end the land would come back to her children and into the clan,’ a clan head explained.
Jjajja Doctor and his sons exchanged looks.
Then the Mutuba Head asked why Tommy was getting only half. Did Miiro not know that once you give land to daughters the clan loses it?
Miiro explained that he was aware, but that his father gave land to his sister Nsangi and he would follow his example. ‘It is to prevent women from falling into poverty and daughters from being trapped in bad marriages,’ he explained. However, Luutu had foreseen this loss and put a caveat in place. Children born to daughters would not inherit their mothers’ land. ‘It is passed on to their brothers’ daughters, who would be their successors anyway. So the land my father gave to our sister Nsangi will not go to her children, it will come back to either mine or Levi’s daughters; whoever Nsangi chooses to give it to. And then to their brothers’ daughters, like that and like that, through the generations. What we do not want to see are destitute daughters in our family.’
Aunt Abi put up her hand.
Miiro gave her permission to speak. She rose to her knees and addressed the clan heads. ‘I’m not telling you what to do, Sirs; I am only suggesting.’ She turned to Miiro. ‘Father, can I suggest that Tom’s house is not given to Tommy but remains available, especially the rent, to all his children, but especially the girls, in case their marriages do not work out? Little Tommy here has been given a lot of land. When he grows up, he should build his own house like his father did.’
Miiro, then his brothers, then their sons agreed it was a sound idea, but clan heads shifted uncomfortably. One of them protested that since time immemorial the house had always gone to the successor, to protect the family seat, at which Jjajja Doctor pointed out that the family seat was Luutu’s house. Aunt Abi, perhaps buoyed by the support her suggestion had received, carried on: ‘I also propose that Kirabo, the eldest child, becomes Tom’s successor.’
Ho ho! A wave of consternation spread through the room. Scandalised clan heads clapped so hard their hands almost caught fire. Ndiira gave Aunt Abi a side glance that said You are bold. Father Dewo grinned. Jjajja Doctor coughed into his fist. Even little Tommy, who was only walking his eighth year, shook his head. Only Miiro remained impassive. Kirabo hid her face so as not to give away how much she approved of the idea.
‘Yes.’ Gayi’s head was hunched as if she was talking to the floor. ‘Why not Kirabo?’
‘What did I tell you?’ a clan head started. ‘Bring women to our meetings and you have brought chaos.’
‘They are like children. They speak faa – whatever pops on to their tongues.’
‘But what is wrong with you two?’ Aunt YA turned on her sisters. ‘Who does not know that men succeed men and women succeed women? How does a daughter start to succeed her father?’ Kirabo wanted to scream Stop it, Aunt YA, stop it and remind her that since men no longer sacrificed their lives hunting for protein or fighting alone in wars to protect their nations, because women were part of armies too, there was no need to elevate them any more. Instead, she made a silent click and looked down.
The clan heads, feeling vindicated, continued. ‘Abisaagi is clever,’ said one. ‘She is positioning herself to succeed Miiro, that one. Ndiira, watch out.’
‘Yes, why is Ndiira not in charge of Tom’s family?’
‘Don’t drag me into your argument,’ Uncle Ndiira snapped. ‘Abi’s suggestion has nothing to do with me. And if my father wills that Abi is his successor, I will honour his wishes. Have some respect for our father, who is here with us. And if he goes, this is our mother’s house.’
Silence fell. It was the type of hush that is brought about when someone who rarely speaks is made angry. There was a genuine sense of regret from the clan heads who had provoked him. Miiro looked proud but said nothing. However, Gayi, who could not protest outright because she was yet to wedge her man into the family fold, spoke into her armpit. ‘Shaa. There is nothing to inherit from aunts apart from land on peripheries, forests and swamps. Why should I develop land that is not going to my children?’
The clan heads reignited:
‘Have women started to head clans, hmm?’
‘Have children started to take after their mothers’ clans?’
‘You cannot blame the women. It is fathers like Luutu and Miiro here who have brought this trouble for us. They pump their daughters with energy, now women are running out of control, cultural systems are crumbling, and we are lost.’
‘Kdto!’ Kirabo realised too late that she had clicked loudly.
‘What?’ a clan head barked at her.
‘Nothing.’ Kirabo dropped her head.
‘Speak up,’ the elder said sarcastically. ‘After all, we came here to be scorned. Tell us if what we said is rubbish.’
‘It is not rubbish, it is just that…women don’t need their fathers to inject them with energy to ask for their rights.’
‘You see that?’ An elder pointed at Kirabo. ‘Even the grandchild is pissing on our heads.’
‘She is her Aunt Abisaagi, that one.’
‘Kdto, do you think these girls will last in marriage?’
‘Why would they? They can say to a husband, How much was my dowry; my father will write you a cheque.’
‘Did I not tell you? Give women chairs and they will make men kneel on the floor.’
Aunt Abi could not take it any longer; she burst into tears and turned to Miiro. ‘Father, in reality it is Kirabo who has inherited her siblings, not Tommy. Every day we drum it into her that as soon as she starts working, her siblings’ education will come first. Chances are that if she gets a home, they will live with her. Right now, she is the one who visits them at school. She takes them to school, does the shopping and picks them up when I am busy. Tommy, being the youngest, will never look after his sisters, apart from presiding over their marriage rituals. You may not be around in the future. All this love the children are getting is now, but after the shock of Tom’s passing has worn off, everyone else has the luxury of forgetting. But Kirabo here cannot forget. Why can the clan not honour the burden that has fallen on her shoulders?’
Before Miiro could even put in a word, the clan head jumped in. ‘Because we inherit bloodlines, not just roles and property.’
‘Don’t waste time explaining our ways to her. If Abisaagi is unhappy with our culture, let her go and form her own, where women rule. But this is our world, our culture, and we shall uphold what our grandfathers have protected for time immemorial.’
‘If she does not like our systems, let her go and strangle herself.’
‘You do not tell my child to go and strangle herself in my house.’ Miiro turned to the elder. ‘In this place, she can speak her mind. What you do as a clan head is to explain or correct, but you don’t insult my children.’
Aunt Abi stood up to leave.
‘Sit down, Abisaagi. It is my land, it is my son who died, they are my children and my grandchildren. I will distribute my properties the way I please.’
‘Then why waste our time calling us to this meeting?’
‘Because I respect your offices and I would like my children to respect you when I am gone. But you must respect my views too. Now, Abisaagi’ – he looked at Aunt Abi – ‘Kirabo will not succeed her father, because she will marry out of the clan and leave. Even I cannot alter that.’
Kirabo rubbed her nose. She wished Nsuuta was here. Only Nsuuta would see the ancient struggle playing out in this room: men doing all they could to keep women as migrants on land. Now Kirabo understood why the Ganda considered the selling of family land an abomination. But then again, after Amin’s regime, which had left the Ganda desperately impoverished, things were changing. Some ‘despicable’ men were selling land. And because money knows no gender, women were buying it too.
Later, when the meeting was over, when the only law of traditional inheritance that had been broken was the fact that little Tommy was getting only half the share of land and no house, Grandfather called Kirabo into his bedroom. It was approaching four o’clock in the morning. Outside, the drums were mad. Most people were drunk. Kirabo’s friends and Sio were not yet back. She went to Grandfather’s bedroom.
‘Sit down, Kirabo,’ he said. ‘I have called you to explain why I did not mention that I gave you Luutu’s house as well.’
‘It is the family seat; they will not let you give it to me.’
‘Oh no, it is not that. Today you inherited your father’s estate. Luutu’s house was not going to be given to Tom. I wanted to tell you I have written it down in my will. However, it would be good if you started to do something with it as soon as you finish studying. You never know how people, the clan, and even my own children might turn when I am gone. Now don’t tell anyone about it yet. I will do the talking. Remember, it is your house. Even when you get married, your husband cannot co-own it or inherit it from you. It is your womanly house. Even your children, because they will belong to a different clan, cannot inherit it. This is why in the past we Ganda did not allow daughters to marry into a family poorer than their own. Imagine if YA’s children were poor but I, their grandfather, had all this land which I could not give to them.’ He whispered, ‘I would be tempted to give them some because no matter what the clan says, YA’s children are my blood too. So Luutu’s house must stay in the family. Repair it and let it out if you do not want to live in it. Put a matooke plantation on the land. When the time comes, I trust you to do the right thing.’
‘Thank you, Grandfather. I will use the place, but I will be buying my own land to build my own house, married or not.’
‘You will? Come here, let me give you a hug because you are my own.’ When he pulled away he said, ‘Now I don’t have to worry about you.’
The following day, during the heir installation rituals, Kirabo sat next to Nsuuta. Her friends, who had returned at six in the morning, were snoring in the tent. Grandmother sat with her Timiina family, Grandfather with his generation of family and friends. Mwagale sat with Nnambi and her family. Little Tommy was led out of the house dressed in a kanzu. The Mutuba Head introduced himself by reciting four of his forefathers. As he announced Tommy as Tom’s successor and heir, he draped the barkcloth knot on top of Tommy’s kanzu. Then he gave Tommy a shield and a spear (‘To protect your family with’) and a hoe (‘To feed the family with’). Finally, he recited four names of Tommy’s forefathers, including Miiro and Luutu, and told him to learn them by heart.
It was a ritual of men by men for men. For Kirabo, the idea of little Tommy inheriting her was so belittling, she leaned towards Nsuuta and whispered, ‘I’m not calling Tommy Father.’
Nsuuta laughed.
Kirabo drew closer. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Go on.’
‘Please don’t be offended.’
‘Go on.’
‘Did my grandmother’s possessiveness lead to the death of your unborn child?’
Nsuuta was horrified. ‘Who told you that?’
‘It has been pressing, Nsuuta. I know you lost a child and Grandfather gave you my father.’
‘Listen, Kirabo, be careful. Some people have fangs. They don’t talk, they bite. Alikisa has never raised her hand against me. Miiro did not even offer Tom to me – Alikisa did. I expected more sense from you, Kirabo. And before you ask, I fell. My house was new. It had rained. Because I knew I was going blind, I asked the doctors to stop me from getting pregnant again. There were no contraceptives back then. When Alikisa found out, she gave me Tom. She had promised to have children for me anyway. But people would not believe I could have given up my womb. So Alikisa must have attacked me, Miiro must have given me his son.’
‘I am sorry, Nsuuta.’
There was silence.
‘So why did she take him away?’
Nsuuta laughed. ‘Alikisa is moral and she found out I am not.’
‘You are not?’
Nsuuta sucked her teeth contemptuously. ‘When Miiro and I got back together, Alikisa presumed I would be with him only.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I had other men beside Miiro.’
‘Nsuuta…’
‘What? Miiro had Alikisa. What did I have?’
‘Nsuuta, you are too much.’
‘When Miiro’s family first found out that I had his pregnancy, Dewo and Levi ganged up on him: “How could you do this so soon after Father’s death? You are rolling the family name in dirt. How can you treat Alikisa like this?” Dewo would not even allow my child to be buried with Luutu. I said fine. I get to bury my child on my land.’
Kirabo clapped disbelief.
‘It was a big scandal. They held family meetings – “Can you imagine what Miiro has done?” Then there were church meetings – “Where did he learn such heathen behaviour?” Miiro gave in. He stopped seeing me publicly. We started to steal moments with each other, creeping about the village in the night. But me, I was not going to sit around waiting for him to steal a moment for me once a week, once a month. In the end,’ she said in English, ‘I supplemented him.’
‘You suppliwhat?’ Kirabo responded in English.
Nsuuta was cynical. ‘You know why you are shocked, Kirabo? Because women are brought up to treat sex as sacred while men treat it as a snack.’
‘Okay.’
‘Unfortunately, I did not tell Alikisa. One night a man came to spend the night. But Miiro came too.’
‘Two men in one night?’
‘Miiro saw the other man and ran. He must have told Alikisa when he got home. Next what do I see? Alikisa growling at my door. Apparently, the city had made me immoral; she would not have Tom watch me bring this man and that man to the house. Ahh, she took him. What could I do?’ Nsuuta dropped her head to hide the pain. Then she lifted it and smiled. ‘But for me that was not the problem. What brought strife between me and Alikisa was her suggestion that perhaps my child was not Miiro’s. That was cruel.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘But Miiro came back to you.’
‘On my terms. Why do you think I am called a witch?’
‘Ah, you make men do your bidding – ha!’
Nsuuta shushed Kirabo quiet. Kirabo looked up. Tommy now sat on a chair. On the floor sat a girl, the lubuga. In front of them was a basket. Most men had been up to congratulate him. Just a few elders and young men were left in the queue going up to introduce themselves: ‘My name… I live at… My relation to you is… We share this great-great-grandparent, you don’t call me uncle/grandfather any more, you call me brother/uncle. You are a father, an uncle now…’ and put money in the basket to help Tommy start his new roles.
Kirabo looked at him and wondered whether he was overwhelmed. ‘Poor Tommy,’ she whispered to Nsuuta.
‘He will get over it once he realises the immense power he has inherited. It is Nnambi you should worry about; the women trampled her.’
‘But that is not the problem, Nsuuta. Nnambi invested too much in her looks. Yes, they got her a good marriage, but now it is gone. She has two children and a widowhood – what now?’
Nsuuta made a helpless gesture with her hands.
‘Giibwa made the same mistake,’ Kirabo added. ‘She thought her looks would plant her in Kabuye’s house. And when she realised that they were inadequate, she came to shout at me.’
Nsuuta burst out laughing. When she stopped, she only managed a non-committal ‘Hmm’, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.