Widow's humiliation and the shame of our deeply patriarchal society

The sun rose in the Gusii highlands, but with it did not come warmth, only the cold shadow of oppression. The air was thick with grief, yet it was not the widow’s grief alone. It belonged to a society that has, for centuries, mistaken tradition for justice, obedience for dignity, and silence for respect. A widow stood before her husband’s grave, burdened not only by loss but by expectation. She did not pour soil. She did not follow the script. And for that, she was beaten and flogged into submission by those who still believe that a woman’s mourning must be choreographed by the men around her.

Kenya claims to be a land of justice, the home of equity, the bastion of human dignity. Yet here we are, in 2025, flogging widows for grieving ‘incorrectly.’ The past is not dead. It is not even past. It lurks in the corners of our society, hiding in the crevices of patriarchy, waiting to pounce the moment a woman dares to define herself outside the framework of male expectation. Many years ago, in 1987, SM Otieno’s widow, Wambui Otieno, learned this lesson the hard way. She fought not for power, not for privilege, but for the simple right to bury her husband, a right that in any just society, would be unquestionable.

But the elders, the courts, and the men of Kenya spoke in one voice: No. A woman’s grief, it seems, is not hers to define. A woman’s duty, it appears, is to obey, even in the depths of sorrow. Yet, in 2010, a new dawn was declared. The new Constitution arrived, heralded as the document that would finally dismantle these invisible shackles. It promised dignity. It promised equality. It promised justice. But promises, like clouds in the dry season, often vanish before the rain falls. But not with this living document that keeps reordering our society. And so, as the widow in Nyamira felt the sting of the cane against her back, she did not just feel pain but she felt betrayal as well.

The Nyamira widow’s humiliation is not an isolated tragedy. It is a reflection of the deeply entrenched patriarchal character of our nation. We claim to have moved forward, yet women are still seen through the lens of men, their existence validated only when attached to a husband, a father, or a brother. Look no further than when Chebukati’s wife was recently appointed as chairperson of the Commission on Revenue Allocation (CRA). When the news broke, what was the headline? ‘Mary Chebukati gets appointed as CRA Chair.’ Not Mary Chebukati, a seasoned finance expert, a woman of experience, a leader in her own right. No. She was introduced to Kenyans through the shadow of her husband, the late Wafula Chebukati, the former IEBC chair.

Even at the highest levels of leadership, women are not allowed to stand alone in their right. They are seen as satellites orbiting the planets of their husbands or just the ‘male defined order.’ This is not just a matter of wording, it is a matter of perception, a subconscious yet systematic erasure of female agency. When a man ascends to power, he is a leader. When a woman does, she is someone’s wife. When a man grieves, his sorrow is respected. When a woman grieves, her sorrow is scrutinised.

The Constitution, in its lofty language, enshrines gender equality. Article 27 explicitly guarantees women the right to equal treatment, to freedom from discrimination, and to human dignity. Yet, legal ink does not erase cultural ink. The Constitution may be progressive, but society remains regressive. The law may promise liberation, but tradition tightens its grip, reminding women that their autonomy is conditional—conditional on compliance, conditional on silence, conditional on not challenging the order of things.

But what is this order of things? What logic dictates that a widow must grieve in a certain way? What ancient decree commands that a woman’s success must be tied to a man’s name? If we are a modern nation, then why do we still walk backward, our feet chained to the ghosts of our forefathers? The answer to these questions will determine the Kenya we leave behind. And let it be clear, a nation that does not honour the dignity of its women has no dignity at all.