By: Cynthia Soita
I still remember Maria—my cousin, my friend, my confidante. Her laughter used to fill up every space she walked into. But the day she lost her husband, that light went dim. You know those people who are so close to your heart, yet when they’re hurting, you feel utterly helpless? That was me. Watching Maria drown in grief was like being caught in a tornado—cosmic grief, sweeping through all of us, demanding to be felt, understood, and mourned.
Maria’s pain was layered, like an onion. Just when she thought she had a grip on one emotion or hardship, another one emerged—raw and painful. There was no pension to fall back on, a drastic change in lifestyle, and both of her children were in parallel university programs, struggling to make ends meet. The hospital debt loomed large like a shadow over her every move.
"I wish I could tell her it could be worse," I once thought. But from where Maria stood, it should have been better. Choking in tears, she once whispered to me, “I don’t think I’ll live long.” Her eyes stared blankly ahead—lifeless but burdened.
Four years later, she passed on, her body consumed by what doctors called a multipurpose disease—a collection of symptoms no one could diagnose. The truth? Maria died from grief layered with cultural cruelty.
Widows in Kenya and many African societies experience far more than the emotional loss of a spouse. Widowhood becomes a social, economic, and cultural battlefield, filled with discrimination, silence, and shame.
Widows are not only accused of having contributed to their husband’s death, but also of being a threat to other marriages. They are labeled as husband snatchers, simply because they are unmarried women living near other couples. Friends become distant. Neighbours grow cold. Invitations to events vanish. Widowhood becomes social isolation.
To avoid attention, widows are expected to:
Wear long, dull dresses
Avoid makeup or jewellery
Cover their heads
Shun anything that signifies joy or beauty
These expectations are meant to “tame” their presence, lest they “tempt” other women’s husbands—turning mourning into a prison sentence.
In many Kenyan communities, widow inheritance is still practiced. A widow is encouraged or pressured to marry her brother-in-law or a male relative of the deceased. This is done under the guise of "protecting her"—but in reality, it often leads to:
Sexual exploitation
Land and property loss if she refuses
Exposure to diseases like HIV/AIDS
Other degrading practices include being forced to drink water used to wash the corpse or being locked in with the body to "prove innocence."
The husband’s death often triggers a scramble for property by in-laws. Without a written will, many widows find themselves evicted, dispossessed, and unable to access pensions or insurance claims. Few have legal knowledge or financial support to fight back.
Maria’s case was not unique. Widows are often left with:
Hospital bills
Funeral expenses
School fees for children
No steady income
They are forced to start over, with mouths to feed and a society that keeps pulling the rug from beneath them.
The emotional toll leads many widows into depression, anxiety, and in some cases, undiagnosed illnesses. Their trauma is unspoken. Their pain invisible. By the time they seek help—if they ever do—it’s often too late.
Religion can either liberate or enslave widows, depending on interpretation and leadership.
Some churches deny widows leadership roles, assuming they are cursed or unclean.
Outdated religious teachings preach female submission, urging widows not to "resist fate."
Shame-based theology can make widows feel that their suffering is God’s punishment.
Faith-based support groups help widows process grief in community.
Progressive pastors and imams now challenge wife inheritance and property injustices.
Religious charities offer food, rent support, and emotional healing programs.
We must encourage religious institutions to amplify compassion, not oppression.
While widowers experience grief, their journey is often socially softened:
They are not viewed with suspicion or shame.
No one tells them to wear certain clothes or hide their beauty.
Society often encourages them to remarry quickly—without judgment.
Yet, widowers do face challenges:
Raising children alone
Emotional isolation, as society expects men to “stay strong”
Neglecting mental health, leading to depression or alcoholism
Still, it is undeniable that widows bear the heavier cultural burden.
Promote awareness of Kenya’s Law of Succession Act
Ensure widows know their rights to property, pensions, and land
Hotlines and community centers where widows can report abuse or threats
Provide access to microloans, training, and free legal advice
Encourage formation of widow cooperatives and SACCOs
Use schools, churches, and community groups to challenge myths around widowhood
Promote widow inclusion in leadership and family decisions
Maria’s eyes told me long before her death that something was eating her alive. Not just grief—but displacement, rejection, and invisibility. Her story is repeated in homes across the country.
Widowhood must stop being a cultural death sentence. We must reimagine a society where grieving women are honored, not hunted. Where they are supported, not silenced. Where love continues even after loss.
If we cannot stop death, the least we can do is remove the chains that follow it.
Related article: Women's Right to Inherit in Kenya: Legal Progress vs. Cultural Discrimination
Related article: How to Navigate Inheritance Laws When Buying Property in Kenya
Please login to leave a comment.
Comments: