In the women’s quarter of the prison, the topic of the weekly discussion is ‘hitting.’ Three of the women, Nafissa, Amina and Suzanne, sit on the cracked and dirty cement floor. Only Djumba takes a seat on the wooden bench that has been placed there for the dialogue. Djumba’s name is well-suited, as she is over six feet tall and has a domineering personality that gives her an alpha position in the group, even without the seating arrangement. In the background Asabe, a lighter-skinned young mother squats with her infant wrapped tightly against her back, listening as she stirs the contents of a pot heated by a small wood fire. A couple women refuse to join, pretending not to hear while they quietly fidget on the outskirts of the group. Two toddlers pinball between all the clusters of women, seeking anyone who might give them attention.
All the women are dressed in the traditional pagne, the colorful fabrics worn and tattered, but still vivid in comparison to the narrow blackened walls of the corridor. On a cloudy day it takes a moment for the eyes to readjust to the poor lighting, which is just a sliver of sky between where two roofs meet. Rainy season has been good to the women. The prisoners grow and harvest their own millet to eat, some of which lies drying along the wall in addition to a few piles of greens brought to them by missionaries.
Surprisingly, Nafissa, the oldest woman takes the lead today. Normally she sits on the outer edge of the circle, as if she feels she has no part in “the modern talk.” When she does speak, she does so powerfully, casting a spell of attention over the group, whether it is because of her age or wisdom. She begins by saying it is never okay to hit, her answer given with the prize-winning self assurance of a game show. Her lips are tight and her eyes firm, yet her face is still peaceful, so that there are no wrinkles or lines indicating resistance to her life’s trials, of which surely there have been many.
The women all agree that hitting is not okay, but then, presented with relationship scenarios a contrasting truth begins to reveal itself. It is a truth that anyone can see walking the dirt roads of the city and peering into the grass-roofed huts. Parents hit children, children hit each other, and everyone hits animals.
The conversation sparks even more on the subject of husbands and wives. Amina, whose broad face and silver-lined toothy grin do not do justice to her wit, says that wives would hit their husbands if they could, except that they do not have the physical strength. All the women nod amusedly. Then Djumba speaks. She is in her late twenties and her eyes are filled with emptiness and shame when she tells you she is infertile. But what she lacks in maternal opportunity she makes up for in her natural ability to lead. When she talks, everyone listens. When she jokes, no one refuses to take part in the fun. This is what occurs today as she says with a giggle that husbands hit their wives when they won’t give them sex. From the laughter another truth becomes apparent. It is clear that the women have no idea how serious a problem family violence is because their society does not take it seriously. Certain topics, words, and stories that are uncomfortable or sad may be met with snickers here, a cultural phenomenon difficult to understand by anyone who has not been raised within a culture hardened by poverty.
However, the conversation does become more solemn when Asabe admits to being beaten by her husband. She talks about how it makes her angry for awhile, but then he is sorry and she forgives him. Women are like children to their husbands, she says. They sometimes need discipline. Suzanne, a middle-aged woman who smiles often, has been timid today, but now adds that to be like a child to a man is African love. Nafissa then gives the reason why women have no choice but to accept this. A man pays an expensive dowry for a wife, and she becomes his property, she explains. If she is unhappy, or he beats her she is obligated to stay, otherwise her husband will demand that her family repay the money. This is also why wealthy men can take many wives and she has no choice but to accept that as well.
By the end of the conversation a shadow of sad acceptance is visible on the women’s faces. We would like a law that makes it illegal for a husband to hit his wife, Nafissa proposes, not knowing that it already exists, but simply is not enforced. It is difficult for them to imagine a society where women are equal, where they are protected by the law not just in theory but in practice, and where love can mean more than protection. But while they might not fully recognize the ways in which they are treated wrongly, as they have no standard to compare it to, they know there must be a better way. And they want better for themselves.
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