Sometimes There Are Rainclouds

The story I am about to tell is really two stories in one that spans from the end of August until last week. A note of caution that it is not the most uplifting post, but I feel compelled to share these stories with you all because I think part of this experience is sharing all aspects of my new life, not just the good parts.

At the end of August, I returned to site after being at the Peace Corps Training center for a 3 week training for new volunteers. I went around the village to greet people because I had been gone for so long. At a few different houses, people asked me when my sister Manyael’s (Man-yi-el) wedding was going to be held. I chuckled and brushed off their comments because, one, there had been no talk of my sister getting married before I left, and two, she is only about 14-15…

My host sister Manyael

Most girls that age already have a husband identified, someone that they will marry once they reach marriage age and the man has enough money for the wedding. This was the case with Manyael, but there had been no recent discussions about a wedding.

I went home and asked a couple of my sisters about the questions I’d received in the village, and they seemed to know more than they were willing to share. I finally cornered my sister-in-law who confirmed that there would in fact be a wedding in just a few days. I was shocked! I pressed the issue and asked why the wedding was happening so fast – normally, once a girl gets married, she drops out (or is forced to drop out) of school to do work around the home, and I certainly didn’t want this for my 15 year old sister.

The answer I got was not at all what I was expecting. It turns out, my 15 year old sister is pregnant, and her betrothed husband is not the father. My host dad found this out and decided it was time to marry her off because having a child out of wedlock is extremely taboo. I might have pushed it a bit far with my questions, but I felt comfortable with my sister-in-law so I just kept asking. Who was the father? To whom was my sister getting married? And did that person know about the pregnancy?

Answers: The father of the child is another young man in our village, but the marriage would be between my sister and her original betrothed just as was always intended. I was told that he is unaware she is pregnant…now of course when she gives birth in 5 months and that’s the length of time they have been married, I have to believe he will figure it out??!!

My host dad did eventually call me over and tell me that a wedding was happening, but the reason he gave for the rapid sequence of events was that it was “just time”. I attended the wedding, but compared to the wedding of my other host sister that happened back in June, this was much more low key. Usually, after the wedding, the daughter comes back and stays at her dad’s house for a visit for about 2 weeks, but my sister has yet to return. (A shout out to Project TRUST and my volunteer days at Planned Parenthood, there is of course a need for sexual health education everywhere!) She did marry a first cousin and they live in the next village over which is only about 1K away, so we will get to see her from time to time, but only time will tell how her life will change as a result of this wedding.

This daughter belongs to host mom #3, Tako Sow, so when the wedding was scheduled, Tako’s two other daughters who live in other villages came to visit. Because any distance is considered kind of far here, people tend to stay a while when they come to visit.

Mom #3 Tako Sow

About 3 weeks after the wedding, Tako’s daughters were still staying with our family. One evening, I noticed that mom #1 confronted the oldest visiting daughter, Suna, about something. A heated discussion quickly followed, which then escalated into my host dad and Tako yelling at each other. It ended with Tako storming off and wandering around the village late at night venting out loud to anyone who could hear.

I didn’t think much of it but the next morning the events were far from over. It had rained the night before, so my host dad, my 18-year old cousin, and I were all sitting in the one main building we have in our compound listening to the radio and making tea. Tako came out of her room (in the same building) and turned her radio up full blast. I asked her to turn her radio down, and she responded with a silent gesture that pretty much meant “He can ask me himself if he wants me to turn it down!” My host dad then asked me to tell Tako to turn down the radio, to which I replied that she refused.

My host dad got up and crossed in front of me to where Tako was standing. She started arguing with him and saying what I’m sure were very offensive things, though my language is not strong enough to understand what was said. It obviously had an impact on my host dad because he raised his hand and slapped her across the face. In training, we had been taught that violence against women is still an issue in some areas, and that culturally it is inappropriate for us to intervene and the best thing we should do is remove ourselves from the situation. So when my host dad slapped Tako a 2^nd time, I got up and walked out of the room shaking with fear.

I crossed our yard to the cooking hut where most of the other women in my family were gathered. I then saw my host dad come out of the building, go into his hut, and come out with a rope made from strands of the plastic rice sacks we have here. I knew what that meant but didn’t want to believe it. When the rope cracked down on Tako’s body for the first time and this high-pitched scream emanated from her mouth, I started crying and instantly went to my room. I stayed there for a while crying by myself until my cousin came in to use my phone and call another relative to help calm down my host dad. Eventually the situation diffused enough that my host dad left to go into town for the day. Tako stayed in her room almost exclusively for the next 4 days, threatening to leave the village and take her kids with her. But after those 4 days, she started to resume her normal activities again. There is still tension between the two of them, but on the surface it could seem normal if you didn’t know what had happened.

It would be extremely culturally inappropriate for me to talk to my host dad about the situation, but I did talk about it with a few of my male cousins who are close to my age. They justified the situation by saying that Tako made really hurtful offensive comments, and that women here and women in the USA are just different. I did my best to explain that it’s the cultural expectations of women that are different, but I’m not sure the message really got across. What stung the most was hearing other older women in the village talking about it in the days that followed the incident – “Tako is crazy”, “I can’t believe she would say things like that”, their comments justifying the actions taken by my host dad.

I guess I have 2 main emotions right now. The first is pity. I pity these other women for thinking that what Tako said justified any act of physical violence. I want them to know they never deserve that. The second is a lot of residual guilt. I know I did what I was supposed to do by leaving the room, but I just keep thinking that maybe I could have diffused the situation by telling him to stop or getting in the way.

And when I found out what the argument was about, my heart sank even more. Two buckets of water. Mom #1 was upset that Suna, Tako’s oldest daughter, had started to use 2 buckets of water to take a shower and confronted her about it, which caused the initial escalation. I just kept thinking, people in America are doing an ice bucket challenge and dumping water on each other, and my host mom just got beat over an argument that started from 2 buckets of water.

NOW, I tell you this story not to make you worry about me or to make you hate my host family. They are good people and this is just culturally what they know right now.

I tell you this story because I think a big part of sharing my Peace Corps experience is not just sharing the amazing high-on-life moments, but sharing the down-in-the-dumps moments as well to give you an accurate picture of what life in other places is like.

This was by far the toughest day I’ve had in my 7 months in country. I am still processing it, and will continue to do so, but every moment also presents a challenge or call to action. So to all the men in my life reading this, thank you for respecting women and for the things many of you do to support gender equality. You are the examples that inspire me to pursue positive change here.

Phew – I know this was a long post, barely any pictures, and pretty emotionally heavy. But it was a story I sat on for a while and decided I really wanted to share.

Thanks for reading. Peace & love,

Lindsay