Yay or Nay to marriage?

Marriage. An institution cherished as providing stability, support and family. A bond, tying two people together, like glue they will stick together. Forever, some might say.

Yet I don’t - my cynicism about marriage is deeply-set. Some argue it is the by-product of my being a child from a broken family. Unable to see success in mother/father role models, the children of divorced parents struggle to find meaning in the ‘m’ word. My sister is proof against this theory - she is content in marriage and I think she always will be. For me, I attribute my wariness to gender. Feminism kicks in with a firm stamp when I delve into the history of an institution that supports a patriarchal culture, embedding male dominance into a family. ‘Love, honour and obey’ is a vow I do not want to sign up for, subverting the rights of a female, forcing her to do her ‘duty’ by following the man. Yes, I realise in the modern day this may no longer apply – marriage is a symbol of love rather than of power - but you wonder whether these concepts of property and ownership still creep into current society.

"The 'Fifty Shades of Grey' revolution,
which has gripped this world, seems
testament to warped power dynamics"

The ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ revolution, which has gripped this world, seems testament to these warped power dynamics still occurring (and being celebrated), and surprisingly I have been ensnared into the book frenzy. Unfortunately, last term I became trapped into a situation that necessitated me to read the grim story of a “Submissive [who] accepts the Dominant as her master, with the understanding that she is now the property of the Dominant”.

It was on a beautifully sunny Mombasa day last term when I was ambling between classrooms. A young Year 8 student bounded up to me with a grin spanning ear to ear. “Look Miss”, he declared, “My mum wants me to give you this book, she says it’s a page turner!” I’m sure a flicker of shock passed my face before I humbly accepted the gift; desperately hoping my dear student was unaware of its contentious contents.

Repulsed - an accurate word to describe my horror about a book that demeans women so thoroughly, while masking the situation under the cloak of sexual satisfaction. Worryingly, the connection between the two central protagonists is not dissimilar to Hilary Mantel’s exposé of Tudor relationships where “the master and husband protect and provide; the wife and servant obey.” (Wolf Hall) This likeness between slave and master is expected in 16^th Century but in the modern day Western world, where we pride ourselves on nurturing liberated educated women, it is simply unacceptable. However hard I try, it is impossible to distance myself from the sad truth that many women in this world are still subservient to men, by the nature of their marriage.

"colour-clad streets filled with chattering crowds"

Never was this more obvious than in my time in India. A country sparkling with spirit, India passes on vitality in life with an infectious speed. During my time there in 2009, whatever the activity, I would feel embraced into a dreamlike world of intrigue: wandering through colour-clad streets filled with chattering crowds; following rituals in a heavily adorned Hindu temple; navigating the regal forts of Rajasthan. All seemed magical. Yet behind this polished façade there were cracks that ran deep. Caste prejudice was apparent in the majority of situations, with people judging another’s integrity by a simple unshakeable label like “Rajput” or “Dallit”. Social inequality was extreme, with severe poverty juxtaposed with stinking wealth. But the challenge I faced head-on was being a young woman in a conservative society. Since the brutal rape in Dehli during early January, there seems to be an additional meaning to discussions regarding gender in India. Recounting my snippets of male dominance from four years ago feels like another form of small protest, to join the wonderfully empowering movement that is spanning the length and breadth of the country currently. Back then, as soon as the age of twenty struck, marriage became a necessity for a woman. I was a target. My mantra “Mujhe shadi nahi chahiye”, translated directly as “I marriage not needed” became a chant, shouted viciously on a daily basis. I’m sure the blonde hair and white skin added an additional glow to my allure but I felt like an object, sought for by single men, yearning for a ring on their finger. How was I meant to reconcile this with the universal notion that marriage is positive? I didn’t. It just seemed to embed what I already knew.

"the soft swirling waves of the Indian Ocean
tame the incessant demands of men"

It is surprising therefore that when arriving in Mombasa I did not learn the same phrase in Kiswahili (sitaki ndoa, for your information). Maybe the soft swirling waves of the Indian Ocean tame the incessant demands of men because here the enquiries seem rather lackluster. I have begun to sink into a society which, although it displays huge gender inequality, at least provides respect in women when fulfilling their role.  Since being here conversations often turn to the jigsaw of marriage. Each piece displays a different attitude, hard to place in the complete puzzle without delving into the cultural values underpinning them. A well-educated, successful friend of mine is happy to admit “Men are always at the top of the household. Yes, decisions can be made as a unit, but the man has the ultimate power”. Yet others argue the opposite, “Men appear to have the strength, but the home would fall apart without the woman. She holds the strings”.  I’m sure the truth is somewhere in the middle but I struggle to be won over by an institution which masks inequality in the guise of a ‘happy family’.

You will therefore be shocked to hear that, as of January 2^nd 2013, I can claim to be in part of a happily married couple.

A Kericho tea plantation

Mathews and I had decided to take a countryside jaunt to Kericho to celebrate his birthday. We were content wandering through the town renowned for its tea farming, lounging in the colonial hotel overlooking lush-green plantations until dusk fell. I’d already enquired at the ‘top star’ Lonely Planet hotel for a double room and was delighted to hear that there was one available. Yet when we arrived, the story was different. The gentleman serving looked us up and down before proudly displaying the terms and conditions for the room, ‘Unmarried couples are not permitted to share the same room. The double rooms are only permissible for those accompanied by their spouse’.  Shame. Embarrassment. Rage. What was I meant to feel? My hand sidled towards my diamond ring, placing it speedily onto my wedding finger with the stealth of a spy-agent, hoping we could blag entry. Mathews calmly stated, “We are married”. However this did little to appease, as they next demanded our marriage certificate. Here, I am afraid to say, I used the only card left in my hand – race. “You wouldn’t be doing this if I were black or he were white!” By this point, three receptionists had appeared and their sheepish looks seemed to indicate our victory. The key was slid towards us before we hurried upstairs, secretly sharing our success while bubbling with anger.

Mathews’ birthday had become tainted with shame. Two hours later, we had consumed half a (small) bottle of whiskey, devoured a bar of chocolate (comfort eating) and still our discussion returned back to the room incident. In a deeply Christian country with incredibly Conservative values, one has to accept that marriage is the norm - embraced and shared by all. Consequently, it seems that the liberal girl from the depths of Nottinghamshire countryside may have to conform to ‘Kenyan ways’. This realisation is a strange one but I think all it requires is a little faith. Faith in knowing that the person you are marrying will cherish your bolshy feminism and happily accept a household where the washing is not done by the woman and men do not have the power. So…. Mathews (if you are reading this) – there is hope yet!