IT sounds strange doesn’t it? “My husband is dead and so are my brains” One might think that I am referring to the psychological trauma of losing one’s husband that brings about temporary bewilderment and confusion.
That at least would make some sense. But it’s not what I mean.I have taken this title from my sharing with other women on our experiences of widowhood.What we all have in common is that we have been treated as if we do not have any brains after the death of our spouses; as if we, adult women, cannot think for ourselves and others, including our own children, are in a better position to make decisions about our lives.A friend explained that during family discussions after the burial of her husband, her relatives appointed her youngest son to be the administrator of the estate.It was in reaction to this that we asked: does it mean that once our husbands die, our brains also die? In Zambia, widows experience the initial period after the death of their husbands differently.However, many of us go through a period were people around us feel that they have the right to make decisions on our behalf.In some tribes we cannot even talk to the people who have come to sympathise with us without the permission of our late husband’s relatives.I am sharing my experiences, which may be far better than most widows, to bring to attention the plight of widows in my country.Dealing with the emotional and mental stress, which in most cases is compounded by extreme economic violence, most widows find themselves with nothing, other than watching those around them grab their property.My story begins with my friend, companion and husband Pascal falling sick in the third week of June 2004.By June 28 he had been hospitalised in the University Teaching Hospital where a series of tests had to be done; some of which costly by Zambian standards.A single test could cost 100 US dollars, as they had to be done at private clinics.You can imagine the economic burden I had to bear during this time.Pascal was in hospital for two weeks before we lost him.During these two weeks my family and his relatives gave me constant support.However, immediately after he died I felt a sense of alienation as none of my husband’s relatives came near me; despite the fact that a few minutes before we had been talking to and encouraging each other.After ensuring that all the administrative issues had been attended to, we all proceeded to the funeral house.I did not go to the funeral house immediately as I wanted to break the news to my children, who were not at the hospital.When I eventually got home and entered the house, I found that I had been positioned in one corner while my mother-in-law, my sisters-in-law and my sisters in marriage were all on the other side of the room.This gave me a sense of being dislocated from the family, which I had believed had been a part of.We buried my husband and the reality started to sink in.First, his clothes had to be put together and brought to a combined family meeting.I come from the Bemba tribe and one of our customs when someone dies is ‘Isambo lya nfwa’ or the narration of what led to death.In this same meeting – at which the family of the dead person and the surviving spouse meet – issues of inheritance are also discussed.My husband’s clothes were brought to the meeting, where they were divided amongst his relatives.Usually relatives do not even leave anything for the children.I was lucky in that one of my brothers-in-law said that I was to pick some clothes, as there were two sons who could fit into my late husband’s clothes.I was then asked to tabulate how much I had spent on hospital bills.The question was asked because some were under the impression that I had money from the company where my husband worked.As a woman, I was not deemed capable of bearing the expenses that were incurred.After some deliberations, they came to the conclusion that I had to be the administrator because of the law.They did not want to run into trouble.However, I was not to go anywhere without an escort.I felt that I was not trusted to deal with our estate without supervision; that I had to report my actions to self-appointed “authorities.”What is the big deal, you may ask? There are a number of issues: Firstly, the issue of being psychologically disarmed as you are distanced from your family when they do not want to have anything to do with you after your husband’s death.Secondly, the assets of husband and wife are so acquired without help from other members of the family – be it the husband’s or the wife’s – and as such there is no one better to look after them than the one who helped get them in the first place.Thirdly, there are often children who are left behind, who still need to be taken care of and educated.In circumstances like this, the provisions of the law become critical to protect widows and their children.My husband’s family were very aware of what the state had to say about inheritance.This certainly helped to reduce any conflicts that might have arisen – conflict that I know other widows have had to deal with.I would like to believe that apart from my husband’s family respecting the law and recognising that I had the responsibility of bringing up the children, my education also helped in that everyone knew that I knew my rights.Many women do not know theirs.They have decisions made for them and because they do not know what they are entitled to, end up nowhere and with their property being taken away from them.In Zambia, the Intestate Act of 1989 stipulates how property should be distributed when there is no will and it is enforced by the Victim Support Unit of the Zambian Police.Despite this, there are still cases of property grabbing, as most women and men are not aware of the provisions and the institutions that can help.It is important that government puts resources into simplifying the law and translates it into local languages.In addition, it would be helpful for different experiences to be documented so that women know that they are not alone and that they should stand up for their inheritance.* Edwidge Mutale is a gender consultant and trainer in Zambia.This article is part of the Gender Links Opinion and Commentary Service that provides fresh views on everyday news.But it’s not what I mean.I have taken this title from my sharing with other women on our experiences of widowhood.What we all have in common is that we have been treated as if we do not have any brains after the death of our spouses; as if we, adult women, cannot think for ourselves and others, including our own children, are in a better position to make decisions about our lives.A friend explained that during family discussions after the burial of her husband, her relatives appointed her youngest son to be the administrator of the estate.It was in reaction to this that we asked: does it mean that once our husbands die, our brains also die? In Zambia, widows experience the initial period after the death of their husbands differently.However, many of us go through a period were people around us feel that they have the right to make decisions on our behalf.In some tribes we cannot even talk to the people who have come to sympathise with us without the permission of our late husband’s relatives. I am sharing my experiences, which may be far better than most widows, to bring to attention the plight of widows in my country.Dealing with the emotional and mental stress, which in most cases is compounded by extreme economic violence, most widows find themselves with nothing, other than watching those around them grab their property.My story begins with my friend, companion and husband Pascal falling sick in the third week of June 2004.By June 28 he had been hospitalised in the University Teaching Hospital where a series of tests had to be done; some of which costly by Zambian standards.A single test could cost 100 US dollars, as they had to be done at private clinics.You can imagine the economic burden I had to bear during this time.Pascal was in hospital for two weeks before we lost him.During these two weeks my family and his rela
tives gave me constant support.However, immediately after he died I felt a sense of alienation as none of my husband’s relatives came near me; despite the fact that a few minutes before we had been talking to and encouraging each other.After ensuring that all the administrative issues had been attended to, we all proceeded to the funeral house.I did not go to the funeral house immediately as I wanted to break the news to my children, who were not at the hospital.When I eventually got home and entered the house, I found that I had been positioned in one corner while my mother-in-law, my sisters-in-law and my sisters in marriage were all on the other side of the room.This gave me a sense of being dislocated from the family, which I had believed had been a part of.We buried my husband and the reality started to sink in.First, his clothes had to be put together and brought to a combined family meeting.I come from the Bemba tribe and one of our customs when someone dies is ‘Isambo lya nfwa’ or the narration of what led to death.In this same meeting – at which the family of the dead person and the surviving spouse meet – issues of inheritance are also discussed.My husband’s clothes were brought to the meeting, where they were divided amongst his relatives.Usually relatives do not even leave anything for the children.I was lucky in that one of my brothers-in-law said that I was to pick some clothes, as there were two sons who could fit into my late husband’s clothes.I was then asked to tabulate how much I had spent on hospital bills.The question was asked because some were under the impression that I had money from the company where my husband worked.As a woman, I was not deemed capable of bearing the expenses that were incurred.After some deliberations, they came to the conclusion that I had to be the administrator because of the law.They did not want to run into trouble.However, I was not to go anywhere without an escort.I felt that I was not trusted to deal with our estate without supervision; that I had to report my actions to self-appointed “authorities.”What is the big deal, you may ask? There are a number of issues: Firstly, the issue of being psychologically disarmed as you are distanced from your family when they do not want to have anything to do with you after your husband’s death.Secondly, the assets of husband and wife are so acquired without help from other members of the family – be it the husband’s or the wife’s – and as such there is no one better to look after them than the one who helped get them in the first place.Thirdly, there are often children who are left behind, who still need to be taken care of and educated.In circumstances like this, the provisions of the law become critical to protect widows and their children.My husband’s family were very aware of what the state had to say about inheritance.This certainly helped to reduce any conflicts that might have arisen – conflict that I know other widows have had to deal with.I would like to believe that apart from my husband’s family respecting the law and recognising that I had the responsibility of bringing up the children, my education also helped in that everyone knew that I knew my rights.Many women do not know theirs.They have decisions made for them and because they do not know what they are entitled to, end up nowhere and with their property being taken away from them.In Zambia, the Intestate Act of 1989 stipulates how property should be distributed when there is no will and it is enforced by the Victim Support Unit of the Zambian Police.Despite this, there are still cases of property grabbing, as most women and men are not aware of the provisions and the institutions that can help.It is important that government puts resources into simplifying the law and translates it into local languages.In addition, it would be helpful for different experiences to be documented so that women know that they are not alone and that they should stand up for their inheritance. * Edwidge Mutale is a gender consultant and trainer in Zambia.This article is part of the Gender Links Opinion and Commentary Service that provides fresh views on everyday news.
Stay informed with The Namibian – your source for credible journalism. Get in-depth reporting and opinions for
only N$85 a month. Invest in journalism, invest in democracy –
Subscribe Now!