Breaking the Chains of Psychologically Traumatising Customs and Traditions

Breaking the Chains of Psychologically Traumatising Customs and Traditions

When I was a child it didn’t bother me much when my kid brother was born and an injunction was put at the crossroads leading to my compound forbidding any of my maternal family members from visiting the baby. It was also forbidden for my mother to stop to greet any of her relations should she meet them on the way. Anything that came from my maternal grandmother, grandfather, uncle, aunt, and so on was taken and dumped away in a latrine by my father. On one occasion, I followed him secretly and watched him dump into the latrine large containers of Vaseline and other baby things which I could not make out from where I stood behind the bush. This baffled me and till today I have never voiced it to anyone. I was about six then, but some sixth sense told me to hide so that my father would not see me. These things were brought to the baby by my uncle who was somehow trying to break this tradition even though he stole his way to the compound so that many people would not see him.

What happened in my family then was a part of our custom and tradition that I was supposed to learn more about sooner or later. So many years later, my maternal aunt got married and the same thing was repeated in her marital family when she had her first son. I wasn’t witness to this but the story came to me through my mother’s first cousin whom my aunt saw and instead started running away with the baby. This first cousin of theirs being a Christian clergy did not understand why this drama took place. She hastened on behind my aunt and tried to find out why she was running away and she to her:

“None of my family is supposed to see the baby until the baby is one year old. If any of you do, something evil will befall me,” my aunt explained in tears.

This story was related to me by the nun who was now my foster mother. Little did I know that this terrible tradition was a custom in my tribe and was eventually going to land on me when my turn came to get married and start having children. When I had my first baby, my husband I left the urban area where I work to his village. We come from the same tribe but our villages differ. It was just a few days after I had the baby when my parents-in-law paid me a visit in the hospital and named the baby. On leaving the hospital maternity room where I was with my baby, my father-in-law ordered me to bring the baby to his home in the village which is at least 50km away from where I live.

When we were eventually discharged from the hospital, my foster mother made arrangements for her driver to take us to the village in spite of the fact that the baby was not in good health and needed special medical attention from the paediatrician in the hospital where he was born. When we got to the village, my husband spent only two nights and then left for another African country where he works. He instructed me to spend at least three weeks with his parents. During these weeks, I was somehow forced fed so as to produce enough milk for the baby. I became constipated and nearly developed mild pile due to too much food intake. Days went by and we finally had to leave.

On the eve of our departure, my parents-in-law summoned me for a meeting late in the night and my father-in-law told me not to go back to my parents. He told me that I could only go to the home where I grew up in case there was any event there. He warned that my husband should not visit my home unless somebody dies and should this happen; we were not supposed to share a room, talk less of a bed. He insisted if my husband should visit my home he must sleep only in the guest house. I listened patiently and struggled to suppress the tears which welled up in my eyes. I didn’t think that marriage which in Africa is supposed to unite two families should bring such untold traumatising experiences to women. I didn’t see myself going silently through that humiliating dehumanising custom which my mum, aunt and perhaps thousands of other women went through without a word. I had to break the rule

At the end of the meeting, I told them that I had heard everything they said but deep inside me, I told myself that I will never obey such an evil custom and tradition. When I left the village, I headed for my foster mother’s home which was now considered a taboo place for me. I have not cut links with my people. My husband and I spend time with my family when we want to and during the holidays I go to my foster parents with my kids. It was there that I stayed until I had my second baby. I hope that other women will stand up against some of these cultural practices that are impediments to human progress and wellbeing.

How to Get Involved

We can sensitize and empower women to begin to question such customs which are not grounded. We can also encourage elders and promoters of such customs and traditions to put an end to them since they do not benefit the community in any way.