A Momentous Glance

Within minutes of setting off on foot we scramble over rocks, our pretty shoes ruined, our best travel clothes stained red with the African savannah and the strong midday sun melting our make-up. My host sisters, dressed in their favourite t-shirts and brand new vibrant kangas, laugh at us as they effortlessly dodge the rocks and sharp thorns of the dry acacia trees.

We reach the manyattas where the girls introduce us to the family. They greet us and insist on milking the goat to make chai, for we strange wazungu girls are unable to drink cows’ milk. The banter stops. The rattle of the old, overheated Jeep replaces it.The last drops of chai are left for the flies circling each cup as the excited guests gather around the vehicle to watch the bride emerge.

She steps out. Dressed in an aqua dress and colourful kangas, thousands of tiny bright beads wrapped around her neck and wrists. Her mother and future mother-in-law grab her hands. The tears on her cheeks glisten in the sun. The other women are busy clearing the aisle by flinging scat out of the way. The men fan themselves. Nobody looks her in the eye.

She is paralysed as she stares down at her shiny white sneakers, unable to move. At fifteen years of age, she is forced to marry. With her next step, she will leave her family and forgo her education. The mothers urge her forward. She succumbs; each step is a struggle. The manyatta looms closer, so new that the cow dung has not yet fully dried within the walls. She takes one last step and greets her husband in the manyatta. Her manyatta. Their home.

There is cheering, dancing and feasting on nyama straight from the spit. She catches my eye. For a fleeting moment our worlds collide. Similar age. Suddenly, I feel her destiny. In an instant, I can go back to my carefree world, friends, school and freedom to love whomever I desire. She stands on a harsh, unwelcome path already mapped out for her. A path too limited for me to contemplate, let alone understand.