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Heavy responsibilities for elder aunt among the Logooli

With Seenge Fonesi. She is the elder grand daughter of Isagi and elder daughter of Amugasya. She is often present in functions involving the family of Amugasya. Pic taken on 18/4/2024. The elder sister soon becomes the elder aunt. It is this “seenge munene” (elder aunt) tag that she is tied to many cultural responsibilities – back home. To her marital family she may appear as any other woman, but she is not so in the eyes of her people. Marriage does not steal her away as it would happen with other daughters of the old man. To her, as days go and the old man and woman of the estate are dependents, she becomes increasingly present.  Her brothers also need her for almost all traditional markings. They are marrying, she needs to welcome the new wife. They are giving birth, she needs to come to midwife or “bless” the new born. They are paying dowry she needs to lead the women delegate. There is a conflict she needs to come for a hearing.  And many others. Traditions does not expect her to
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What Killed Our Grandfather

His wife died earlier leaving his stomach in the hands of son’s wives, a generation below. He knew he won’t live well without the service of a dedicated woman at his age. He mourned her on the way from the brewer’s home. He had no strength for a hoe. The tea he planted for income welcomed weeds. He regretted why he had only married one wife who bore him no (10) children.


There was no grandson to fetch water or run to the shop. There was one who was equally absent as present. He sat on his convertible wooden chair for long with his eyes on the thin path that passed his compound lest those who went to the city arrived and served him company and food. It was not as he thought that husbands left their wives home as they went to hunt.

Young children feared his walking stick. He was temperamental and could crack it heavy on any one. Not even in his gentle manner was he understood by the young. The one who called him brother-in-law couldn’t have an extra plate for him. Her husband had died and grapevine has it that rowdy elders of his church did not like his stands. He lived at a time when chameleon tails were served to enemies.

His grave lies a small distance straight to his front door. The head faces north aligning him in the tradition of the ancestors. The day he died most people said that he was old and his days were over. Critics knew well that it was the corrosive alcohol on an empty stomach. His sons gathered from the city with their wives and daughters left their husbands to come mourn their father. He died at first cockcrow, said his absent elder son.

Tomorrow is his ritual day. Early before sunrise, a bull will be slaughtered on the grave, near the head. The blood will be allowed to flow on it. Religious men, hard to move on without some traditions will be heard around, praying. Families in Nairobi and away have already gathered for the cold night to see him join the ancestors in paradise. They really loved him.

The barren Mango tree on the compound will give them a shade when the sun will strike strong. No son would be allowed any hint about the sufferings of the dead man. His generation before won’t be mentioned. Young grandsons won’t understand the ritual and the importance of a grandfather whether alive or dead. He who had remained and could offer family history is no more. Our fathers who can't explain the origins of the clan will be hurrying back to Indian jobs. Some will only gather for company and in sharing of the bull meat. Just then, at the end of day, people will walk away saying, ‘It is finished’.


Thunder clouds have started gathering. If he had slept to the ancestor's land, it would be easy. But he was killed!

A grave picture sourced on google.

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