Sisterhood of the Traveling Husband

On Saturday I went with Yoko to a party that took place in a bairro of Chibuto called Samora Machele. I’d never been in that area before, but it’s where Yoko works. She’s pretty well known in that community because she passes by so many houses on the 45-minute walk to and from work and, though she won’t admit it, she’s really good at speaking Changana.
Samora Machele is a bit more rural than my neighborhood, Setenta Casas (70 Houses aka the suburbia of Chimundo). Most of the homes in Samora Machele are made of caniço and fewer people speak Portuguese. Polygamy is also very common.
The party was held in honor of two young widows who had shared the same husband. On this day, one year after his death, they were to shed their black clothes and exit the period of mourning.
The party took all day, as is typical of all Mozambican events, with whole lot of waiting around in between proceedings. The widows had gone to the cemetery in the morning to pay their respects and were returning just as the guests arrived. (Of course, everyone was several hours late, but that’s just Mozambican schedule for ya.) In the meantime, I was watching a group of men carve up the meat of a giant cow that had been slaughtered the night before. I was impressed at how much meat there was, and also very thankful that I’ll never be expected to prepare beef like that, as handling raw meat is just not my cup of tea.
The ceremony began with a quick Mass-like service in which everyone crowded inside the house and sang church songs, before moving outside to sit under the shade of a tree. One common practice I’ve noticed at all Mozambican gatherings I’ve been to, is that women usually sit on straw mats on the ground while men always sit in chairs. Women prepare all the food, but men are served first. Men drink excessive amounts of beer and cheap red wine, but women are typically only served soft drinks. This traditional event was no exception- when we arrived to the party at 10am, many of the men seemed already drunk. Yoko and I sat on straw mats with the other women while a few men preached and gave lengthy speeches in Changana. It reminded me very much of the church services I attended in Namaacha, especially when people started getting up and lining up at the front to offer their presents to the two widows, because they did so in groups while singing.
Meanwhile, the widows sat with their heads bowed and eyes lowered, wearing matching capulanas and looking extremely solemn. If I were to guess, I would have suspected they were at a funeral instead of their “welcome back to normal life” party. I suppose it’s because, like posing for photos, Mozambicans want to express that they are taking the occasion seriously, by putting on their somber faces. Birthday and wedding photos also tend to show Mozambicans looking very gravely at the camera, which seems contradictory in our culture because we consider these such festive events. I was also shocked to see how young the widows are. Yoko told me that they’re my age, in their early or mid 20’s, and the husband was only 24 as well. If Mozambique received as much money for improving roads as they do for HIV/AIDS work, a lot of car accidents and deaths would be prevented.
At this point of the party, everyone took turns presenting their gifts (mostly beautifully colored capulanas) to the girls, who did not look up even once. The gifter would place the capulana around the shoulders of each widow, and a relative on either side would then remove the capulana and fold it up and the next person would go. If the gift was a lenço (and often they came as matching sets), which is a handkerchief-sized piece of capulana that women wrap their head up in, the gifter would place the lenço either folded or unfolded on top of the widow’s head. I thought it was slightly amusing because as the ceremony proceeded and people became less attentive about carefully cloaking the widows in capulanas and lenços, the cloths were practically getting tossed onto the girls and then instantly snatched away by the relatives collecting. Additional gifts included party donations such as crates of soda, ceramic plates and mugs, and a comforter set.
In American culture, it can be rude or awkward to open up gifts in front of everyone. Here, that is definitely not the case. (In Namaacha, I once went to a party with my host family in which our present was some money in an envelope. At my host mom’s urging, I presented the envelope to the host who promptly ripped it open and held up the money for the party to see. I felt rather awkward about it but I could see that they didn’t.)
At the end of this gift-giving session, the relatives tallied up all the gifts and called out the final count. Each widow had received 35 capulanas!! I’m sure I have mentioned, I absolutely love capulanas. I didn’t even hear the rest of the gift count. 35 capulanas!! was what I was thinking. That’s a whole new wardrobe here.
When I met the widows after the ceremony, I was surprised that they talked with me normally considering they seemed so melancholy throughout the thing. “You’re very pretty,” One of them said. “I want to be your friend.” Awesome. They invited me to sit down with them to eat so I did. We had a ton of rice, xima, meat, and beans and it was all very delicious. Afterwards, it was time for tea but it was about 3:30pm by then so Yoko and I bid everyone goodbye and caught a chapa back home. As we left, the widows clutched my hand and demanded, “When will we see you next?” which is always a bit awkward because the answer “I’ll see you when I see you” is apparently not good enough. I mumbled something about “next week” and they seemed satisfied and let me go.
I still can’t really wrap my mind around the whole polygamy thing. It just seems so… foreign and forbidden in our culture. (To be honest, I think I tend to associate it with religious cults.) First of all, sharing my husband with other women sounds absolutely terrible and a recipe for jealous disaster. Here, when men have several wives or lovers, their second is called “Casa Dois” (House #2) and their third “Casa Tres” (House #3), etc. However, I was surprised to see that Casa Um and Casa Dois seemed to get along really well, to be best friends even. They sat together even after the ceremony, whispered to each other, questioned me about America and if I’m single, served each other food.
Yoko tells me that another of her other married coworkers is always insisting, “You should marry my husband.” (Ever heard that one??) So I’m left wondering, what is it like for young women growing up here in this culture? I mean, in America little girls share best friend necklaces but here? Do they grow up wanting to share a husband? I’m half kidding, but the point is, it’s different. There’s no assurance that the one you marry will only be married to you.
I wanted to ask if women are legally or socially allowed to have several husbands. The gender inequality is such that women have to wear black and not take on another lover for one year after their husband’s death but I can’t imagine that it’s the other way around.
I’ve also heard that women wearing black actually attract men like magnets because in this culture it’s such a negative thing to be “alone.” So while technically the widow is not allowed to date or have sexual relations with anyone for a year, this may not be the case.
A lot of Mozambican men work in the mines in South Africa so there is a large population of migrant workers. When, for example, a man has two wives back home and yet another lover while he’s away, this whole Multiple Concurrent Partnership thing is just seething with potential for...well, complications, to say the least.