The view of a complex society, or of any society, leads one to a paradox. Formal reglementation can control certain behaviour, but not the aggregate of behaviour in a society. The more 'rational' a society seems in its parts, and its rules, and its rules about rules, the thicker the layer of formalism and ideological self-representation to be penetrated to find out what is really going on. ... But over time, reglementary control can only be temporary, incomplete, and its consequences not fully predictable. The study of reglementation is therefore the study of the way partial orders and partial controls operate in social contexts. (Moore 1978, p. 30)

Attention to the complexities of resource politics in particular localities ... requires close examination of the myriad struggles over the cultural categories through which access to critical environmental resources are contested. An analysis of peasant politics needs to take peasant culture seriously, not simply as a quaint epiphenomenon of structural features of society, but as integral to resource conflicts themselves. (Moore 1993, p. 382)

Because much of soil management and agriculture in Maragoli depends on household labour, it is important to understand the multiple constraints and opportunities that women and men face in different personal circumstances and within gendered power relations at the household level. Carney and Watts explain:

A focus on local power structures within the household ... in particular domestic power, and the dominant male order which it sustains, is central to the process of vesting rights of access and control over people and resources within household social structures. Understanding the complex overlapping rights and obligations, and competing interests between household members — that is to say, the relations of domination within the household and the cultural representations that produce and reproduce these power relations — is a critical starting point in understanding the politics, and the points of resistance, associated with new forms of labour control and social integration. ... (1990, p. 217)

Culture ... does not stand apart from the socially organized forms of inequality, domination, exploitation, and power that exist in society but is implicated in and inscribed in these practices, which are maintained and contested symbolically as well as instrumentally, discursively as well as forcefully. (Coombe 1991, cited in Moore 1993, p. 382)

This chapter begins its exploration of the micropolitics of labour and the diversity of farmers' experiences within relations of production by situating the discussion on the gender division of labour, as it is publicly articulated by men and women through cultural norms, idioms, and taboos. In other words, it explores the way in which gender roles and responsibilities are 'ordered' by Avalogoli cultural discourse and patriarchal ideology. The chapter then focuses on the manner in which cultural idioms, norms, and taboos are invoked and negotiated in everyday practice. The category 'farmer' is scrutinized, demonstrating that the gender division of on-farm labour is contingent not only on gender, but also on women and men's positions in terms of marital status and household headship, class, social differentiation, and age and life-cycle positioning. An awareness of farmers' diverse and varied experiences, as these affect their labour burdens, is vital to understanding soil management. There are also situations in which people lack access to and control of labour (sometimes their own), because of inequitable power relations both within and outside conjugal relations. All of these diverse situations are explored, with a view to identifying circumstances where farmers face an acute shortage of labour and are especially vulnerable in terms of intense labour burdens. These problems affect their ability to sustain their soils, their farms, and, inevitably, their quality of life.

"The Avalogoli Way": ordering gender roles and responsibilities

Socially dominant representations pertaining to gender, cultural order of the household and property rights are in conflict with the new experiences of material rights. ... [S]uch contradictions are rarely contained through coercion but rather through bargaining and negotiation. ... [They are] struggles over meaning. Such negotiation is rarely an interpretive contest between equals because these struggles must confront the hegemonic cultural representations which precisely attempt to contain contradictions and conflicts and so to contain the vagaries of lived reality. (Carney and Watts 1990, p. 211)

Similarly, in Maragoli, 'traditional' representations of gender roles and responsibilities are continually being contested and transformed in light of new political-economic and historical changes. Nevertheless, "the Avalogoli way" — with its strong patriarchal ideology, structures, discourse, and interpretations — continues to hold sway in many regards. Thus, it has become the focus of heated gendered conflicts within the household.

The following accounts of George and Miriam, a married Logoli couple, highlight important aspects of gendered roles, responsibilities, and conflicts over relations in production, and show how these are mediated by cultural representations and perpetuated by patriarchal ideology.
 

George George, a 58-year-old economically wealthy elder, describes how gender roles and responsibilities on the shamba and within the household are defined by 'tradition': The husband is the provider, ploughing and providing in the shamba, but still the wife will have the responsibility to ensure that plants are properly planted and so on. Harvesting is the same: it is the wife who knows where those things will be harvested and stored in the house. The husband provides the means, and [the] wife is to ensure that things are done to the family. The husband provides the means, [and] that means provides the money, labour force, and supervision. Before Christianity came, it was a known factor that a woman would be your helper. And you would marry a woman to come and help you with domestic duties in the house, like sweeping. And when you marry her to come and do those duties, she helps you lead a better life ... In marrying, one would look for a good girl with good character. Not a girl who is a prostitute; [one] who does not roam here and there and then gets married to so and so; [but one] to maintain the home and also the family and the clan. Because in the old days, if a woman was married to a community, that woman would be an asset to the community. They will value her because it is the teachings. The family or community comes from the home, and the person who does that is the woman, and so they have a lot of respect for her, because she is the initiator of bringing up children, and the home, and community as well. In the old days, if a woman is married to a certain somebody, like here, then she is also married to my clan. The clan looks at her as a wife of the clan. They'll expect her to do the things that a woman is expected to do. People will be monitoring if she misbehaves a bit. The clan can tell you to chase her [away]: [they will tell you,] "this is not the best wife."

George's narrative illustrates that men's interpretations and reconstructions of norms substantiate women's responsibilities in a way that establishes men's control over women's labour within the norms of the Logoli patriarchal 'order.' It also demonstrates that the persuasive language of 'tradition,' in conjunction with clan sanctioning, is invoked by men as a powerful tool in the reconstruction of gender-based duties and obligations. This discourse not only restricts what women can do, but also articulates what they should do to be considered "good" wives.

Farmers in Maragoli contend that, within such an 'order,' women should not plant trees, bananas, or hedges; clear the land; dig trenches or terraces; or construct or repair houses (in particular, they should not lay foundations or frames). Considered as "helpers," women are responsible for the family and home. Their duties encompass the following: digging and weeding the soil; planting seeds; harvesting; storing farm produce; doing kitchen work (preparing meals, cleaning utensils) and housework (cleaning, doing laundry, sweeping rubbish from the house and compound); collecting animal fodder, manure, and water; collecting and splitting firewood; and caring for their children and parents-in-law.

Norms have different implications for men, and restrict men from weeding the shamba, carrying out housework, carrying water and baskets (used for collecting farm produce), and smearing the floors of houses.⁴⁹They also set the parameters for men's work and obligations, such as providing the shamba, clearing land, digging and tilling the land, digging trenches, constructing and repairing houses, and grazing cattle. Children and unmarried adult daughters and sons who live on the compound also figure into the 'traditional' division of labour in a way that is differentiated by gender. Young women are 'traditionally' charged with taking care of small children, digging, planting seeds, and harvesting, as well as assisting in household duties, such as fetching water, doing laundry, and cleaning. Young men's duties include grazing livestock, clearing land, and sometimes, fetching water and splitting wood.

Regardless of age, this gendered 'order' clearly places the responsibility of much of the day-to-day household, family, and on-farm labour on the shoulders of women. It also positions these labour inputs and duties within the realm of what is considered 'normal,' and valued by 'tradition.' As such, a "good" wife is not only defined by her character (i.e. her reputation as a "good" wife), but also by how successfully she fulfills her multiple responsibilities to her family, especially through her prominent role as a farmer. Women have always been farmers, and their 'goodness' continues to be defined by their farming abilities — by how hard they work and how productive the shamba is. An older Logoli woman explains:

Girls were mostly on the farms and in the kitchen. ... Girls knew their place was on the farm. ... The criteria for selecting a good woman included how well she prepared the land. People wanted many wives who were hard workers on the land ... (L032)

The norm of a 'good' husband is used by women to argue for men's labour input into farming and soil management, for the provision of income to meet the monetary needs of the family, and for the provision of a house and shamba.
 

Photo 10:"I stood here in front of my house that has collapsed. This house used to be the main house. [My co-wife and I] used to live in different rooms and now we live in the kitchen ... My husband is in Nairobi ... People talk about our collapsed house and wonder why our husband has never bothered to come and construct another house ... Women do not build a house; men are the ones to build. Because a husband would not enter it even if he is stuck in town and found out that I had already built the house." (L036)

Photo 11:"This one I took to show the tasks that women do — you have to go to the water spring, do domestic chores, and if you haven't brought in any water from the spring, then you have no water in your home ... It is a bad thing because by the time you go to bed, you are so tired and the same work awaits you. The next day, you have to do the same thing again!" (L016)

Photo 12:"I decided to take this one to show that we bring our cows water after feeding them. The other lady is carrying vegetables for re-sale." (L036)

Photo 13:"Here, I am tilling the land. I'm clearing this bush. You can just dig them into the soil, but we clear because of the black-jack weed. You know that this weed is not good. So you feel it's better if you cut it and maybe heap it in one spot, or sometimes you can burn [it] because it is not a very good plant." (L016)

Photo 14:"This picture shows three girls bringing water from the spring." (L033)

The construction of these gender roles gives rise to strong normative and interpretive currents within relations of production. What is 'normal' and 'traditional' is established through discursive practice (Carney and Watts 1990, p. 230). A 'good' Logoli wife does not "roam." She is expected to fulfill her roles and responsibilities on the farm and within the household, to persevere in the face of hardships, and to maintain a posture of deference to male authority (Abwunza 1997). A "good" husband does not revert to violence or alcoholism, or neglect his role and responsibilities as a provider for his family. Deviating from 'traditional' norms has very different repercussions for women and men. Sanctions are deeply gendered, as men are in powerful positions in terms of invoking, remembering, and reconstructing elements of tradition within their capacities as elders. Abwunza has demonstrated that tradition is based on cultural norm that men have the right to rule over women and children as "commanders," and this rule extends over the ownership of production and the control of decision-making (1997, pp. 21–22). However, this "rule" does not extend monolithically and unquestionably, but is contested actively and creatively by women.

The diversity of farmers' lived experiences

The complexity, diversity, and variability of farmers' lives, and the way they differentially access and maintain control over resources within gendered relations of production, are demonstrated in the many personal circumstances that follow. These personal circumstances are differentiated by marital status, class, and social status, and by age and changing life-cycle positioning, and are brought to life through farmers' narratives and photographs.

Marital status

Renegotiation of the conjugal contract and gender struggles over roles and responsibilities

In spite of these struggles, women and men renegotiate the conjugal contract within inequitable power relations that place men in a more powerful position. In renegotiating the conjugal contract within the strong normative currents of patriarchy, women cope and create room to maneuver in various ways. They argue that men should provide labour and cash according to Avalogoli 'tradition.' They emphasize men's roles as "providers." They withdraw their own labour to the extent possible, and, in extreme circumstances, they may revert to a final act of resistance: divorce. Men, too, respond in different ways. They invoke strong norms and idioms around women's "persevering." They also revert to physical acts of violence to restore 'order.' These situations are illustrated by the personal narratives and photographs of Rhoda, Frederika, and Jessika.

Rhoda's narrative demonstrates the way that changes over time have led to women's increased demands for men to fulfill their roles as providers, and a subsequent escalation in gender conflicts within the household.

It also highlights several important characteristics of the Logoli conjugal contract and the gender division of labour. First, it corroborates Wagner's (1970) and Kitching's (1980) descriptions of the gender division of labour in Maragoli in the 1930s and 1940s. While married men allocated separate parcels of land for their wives' use and their own use, a woman's plot was not distinguished in any way by the labour process of cultivation or crop mix (Wagner 1970, cited in Kitching 1980, p. 83). Rather, women's plots were distinguished in end use, as women controlled produce from their own plots, which were meant to provide for the family (Wagner 1970, cited in Kitching 1980, p. 83). While women allocated their own labour to their husbands' plots as well as their own plots, they did not control the end-products of the labour, because their husbands retained exclusive rights over these products (Wagner 1970, cited in Kitching 1980, p. 83). This aspect of the Avalogoli gender division of labour continues today. It is distinct from many other African contexts in which the conjugal contract is marked by a gender division of labour based on men's control over cash crops and women's control over subsistence crops (Schroeder 1996; Carney and Watts 1990). In Maragoli, such a clear-cut division of control does not exist — a finding that is further substantiated by the gender disaggregated survey on crops carried out by Carter et al. (1998). In short, rather than being divided by crop type, on-farm labour is divided according to gender roles and responsibilities pertaining to specific on-farm labour practices (such as digging land and planting trees, as described in Chapter Six).
 

Rhoda Rhoda is 70 years old and has been married for 55 years. She recounts the 'traditional' gender division of labour when she was young: During the days [when] we grew up, we never bothered with being dependent fully [on] a man. Before, women arranged for food on their own with less of men's input. You could plant your own cassava or potatoes and keep a share for him. When the problems increased we just took a hoe and went to the farm. Then the food you harvest[ed] there, you cooked and shared it with your husband. You would not rely on him. So it didn't matter whether the man walked in with anything or not, because women had their own food already. That's how it was. We fended for ourselves, we never told our husbands to go to town to bring us money. She explains that there have been drastic changes over time, as shambas no longer provide adequate food for many farmers, and women look towards their husbands to assist in the provision of income towards the purchase of food and other livelihood needs. When men are unable to fulfillthis role, there is an escalation of hostility within the household: [N]ow, there are very few homes with cassava and potatoes and such kinds of foods. And all the food, nearly all the food has to be bought from the town, and the husband is always looked upon to come home with food items. So the man who cannot buy food is courting domestic trouble, you know, and that's where the friction begins. People now have problems. Today's women begin cursing, "wherever he went, he doesn't care about his children." They tell their husbands "unless you bring food, you will see me," and they become hostile. They simply refuse [to persevere]. Rhoda reflects on having persevered through many hardships in her life while she observed other women ceasing to do so and failing to behave in the 'proper' Avalogoli manner: When I took the hoe and tilled I thought I was improving things. I [now] wonder, was I improving things or spoiling things? I always think about it myself when it rains on me: it looks like I was asking for trouble. Then I ask myself about these women who roam around. They have everything. Then I brush off the thought. Today's women cannot work on the shamba and feed a man who sits at home; they have refused to persevere. They do not conform to the old style of life where a woman's position was known. So, if I was a soft person I wouldn't be here. If I was a soft person, I wouldn't have worked on other people's shambas to feed my children. I want my name to be good and make history. People can uplift my name and use me as an example, and say that this woman was in problems but persevered until the end. My name will spread among my relatives and children. (L041)

In addition, Rhoda's narrative demonstrates the heavy weight of cultural norms in giving meaning to what is valued. When wives "persevere" within marriage, even under the most stressful and intolerable of circumstances — within what is considered the "old style of life" — they are upheld as examples for others, and are immortalized as such after their deaths. This is a key factor to consider in understanding the negotiation of labour responsibilities and obligations between women and men, and the limits that are set by patriarchal norms. Women who "persevere" and fulfill their duties are upheld as good wives. They not only find themselves in a better position in terms of their status and reputation within the community; they are also in a better position to hold men responsible for the fulfillment of their duties, including provision of resources.

As Rhoda's narrative illustrates, there have been drastic changes in roles and responsibilities. These changes have led to an escalation of intra-household politics, and must be contextualized within broader aspects of history, political economy, and the environment. For instance, male out-migration and the subsequent loss of male labour and decision-making in agriculture and soil management arose from colonial policies and drove men to towns and plantations in search of waged work. While women have always been the principal farmers in Maragoli, the scarcity of men's labour has further entrenched women's agricultural responsibilities. Women's primary role continues to be that of farmers, based on the duty of providing labour and food for household needs in exchange for usufruct rights to land. However, because of smaller plot sizes, the loss of communal grazing land and the increased necessity to purchase food with cash, women's roles as farmers alone can no longer fulfill livelihood requirements.

Further, male out-migration not only made men's labour in agriculture and soil management unavailable, it also placed a great deal of importance on monetary remittances from men's employment, thereby further entrenching the Avalogoli 'tradition' of men as "providers." Although cash became a necessity through the imposition of hut and poll taxes, new burdens from recent measures, aimed at 'adjusting' the Kenyan economy, have intensified demands on men to provide income for their families, in the sense that they must now meet the escalating costs of school fees and health care (an issue that is further expanded in Chapter Seven). The failure of men to meet these needs in an economically stressful environment has been a major factor in the escalation of gender politics focused on the renegotiation of the conjugal contract. Rhoda's narrative describes such an escalation of hostility between spouses based on husbands' failure to fulfill their role as "providers." This situation was not present when she was growing up. As Frederika's narrative will show, these political-economic transformations have created significant changes in relations in production, and have also prompted intense gender struggles over labour, its end-products, and its meaning. This is taking place in a situation in which women face increased burdens in agriculture, soil management, and other spheres of life. Men have responded in different ways in their efforts to re-establish control and 'order,' including reinforcing patriarchal norms and idioms, as well as engaging in acts of physical violence.

Frederika's situation is not unique. It illustrates two major points. First, that, women carry out the bulk of farming, soil management, and household labour in Maragoli, even in many cases where their husbands reside in the household. Women take on these tasks and responsibilities, adding to their already heavy labour burdens, when husbands do not satisfy the monetary needs of the family. The situation is more difficult for economically poor women and children, who often have to hire out their labour on other people's shambas, sometimes withdrawing their labour from their own shambas at crucial times, such as during digging and planting season. Faced with this situation, women attempt to negotiate their husband's labour input into agriculture and soil management with different degrees of success, by invoking cultural norms which point to men's failure to fulfill their roles as "providers." In this way, Frederika negotiated her husband's labour input, as well as his wages at pay point, by drawing upon Avalogoli cultural discourse and highlighting his failure as a "provider," in conjunction with his alcoholism.
 

Frederika Frederika is an economically poor married women, aged 52, who married young through arranged marriage. She carries out most of the household and on-farm labour: My duties are to fetch water, sweep the house, prepare food, going to the posho mill, come back and prepare a dish for the children and my husband, [and do] laundry [and] make sure that [the] children have clothes. Myself, I have a problem getting clothes, and so I have to hire my labour in the neighbourhood for cash, especially during the months of December and January, when there are many things — there is a lot of work on the shamba, hunger is so much and there is nothing in the house, and drought — it's really tough. I do this because I have no one to assist me. None of my children are employed. My husband is an alcoholic. He comes back [to] the house and demands food from his missions, not knowing how it is acquired. He never performs any house duties. Furthermore, my own children, while on vacation, have to hire their own labour for cash to purchase books and uniforms. Frederika's husband helps minimally in carrying out shamba work. She carries out most of the shamba and soil management work. She explains: When I've prepared my land, I do plant things like maize, cowpeas, beans, cassava, millet. ... After I've dug, I incorporate maize stalks from the previous harvest underneath the soil. I remove dropped leaves from the trees and put them together with manure. I also dump there manure, that is decomposed leaves, grass and manure from the nbombe. On my bananas, I clear the bush, spread some stalks and also add manure, and I've put there trenches [through the negotiation of her husband's labour input]. Her husband used to work as a shamba-boy. In order to gain access to his earnings, Frederika devised ways of intercepting his wages: He used to assist a bit, noting that he was always drunk. I learned to cope right from the beginning and had to work even harder. Even when he was a shamba-boy, in order for me to get money from him, I had to go to the pay point. Otherwise, I will get nothing. I used some for paying school fees, buying soap, and for clothing. Otherwise, he simply disappeared into beer drinking. Now, my husband helps on the farm in the mornings, clearing the compound and grazing the cows. Then he leaves in the afternoon. His priority seems to be beer and cigarettes. He buys those things before he thinks of anything else. Afterwards, he comes to beat me. It is problems all through. I have just persevered since we women need to bear with such situations. (L040) Although he no longer earns a salary and contributes little to the day-to-day running of the household and shamba, she continues to live in fear of violence from him.

Photo 15: A photograph taken by Frederika. She describes: "this is a picture of my husband grazing the cow on the shamba, which doesn't produce good harvest. So the grass is only good for the cows ... We cannot afford getting the manure. We have tilled and tilled — now it is tired. It is a bad picture because this land is not productive." (L040)

Second, Frederika's narrative demonstrates that, although women may be able to negotiate their husband's labour and income, men not only retain the upper hand in the creation and recreation of patriarchal cultural norms and idioms, but also wield power in other real ways. Physical violence is a common occurrence in Maragoli and is a clear manifestation of men's power over women. It is a means of re-establishing men's authority over women. It is used as a weapon to control women's behaviour and therefore maintain patriarchal 'order' within conjugal relations. Women often feel that they have limited options and have to "persevere" in the face of violence.⁵⁰

Polygyny: the struggles of co-wives

Photo 16: Jessica explains her photograph: "This one is my cow. I am trying to take care of it so that I can get milk from it. But the facilities to make a good boma for feeding are not available. If you feed it well with good grass, it can give you milk. When its Okay and gets calves, you can sell and use the money in case of problems ... I use cow dung manure. The cow dung is always taken to the shamba, so that when the tilling season comes, all I do is mix the soil and then the whole shamba is fertile. It's my husband who insists on commercial fertilizer, but we only use it if at all the manure hasn't decomposed ... I prefer cow manure because if you compare maize planted by manure and [that] planted by fertilizer, there is a difference. And also, when you use manure to plant maize [and] then the rain disappears, at least [it] will germinate, but when you use commercial fertilizer and the rain disappears, then nothing comes up." (L027)

Jessika states that "a man's word is final." This statement captures the degree of power and authority that men hold in defining conjugal relations and allocating resources within the household. Despite Jessika's disagreement, she chose to accept her husband's decision to marry a second wife. Like many other Maragoli women, Jessika chose to remain in a situation with which she did not fundamentally agree, a situation in which women face violence and in which they continue to provide labour without equitable returns. Jessika's decision must be weighed against two critical factors that help to explain the dynamics of gender relations in Maragoli, and women's position within conjugal relations: the weight given to the norm of "persevering" and upholding men's roles as "commanders"; and the options open to women when women do, in fact, stop "persevering."

There are consequences that ensue when women stop "persevering," even in the face of violence, abuse, or inequitable circumstances. One extreme final act of resistance is referred to as "walking" — where women effectively divorce their husbands and forfeit their usufruct rights to land. Further, children are considered the "property" of the husband and his clan, especially if bridewealth payments have been made. Therefore, when women "walk," they either leave their children behind in uncertain environments (in most cases, in the hands of stepmothers) or leave their children in their parental homes (if this is an option). In both cases, their children's inheritance rights may be rendered vulnerable. These important consequences are factors that keep women from "walking." As Chapters Seven and Eight illustrate, women face stark livelihood options when they "walk." Rhoda's account in this chapter demonstrates that strong cultural stigmas exist against women who "walk."

In between the extremes of "persevering" and "walking" is the option of withdrawing labour from their shambas. While it has been demonstrated that women can withdraw their labour from their husband's shambas in other African contexts in situations where they do not control the returns of their own labour (Schroeder 1996; Mackenzie 1995a; Carney and Watts 1990), the same cannot be said for Maragoli. There are some significant reasons why women cannot totally withdraw their labour from the shamba. The first is the weight that is placed on being a "good" wife. Being seen as a 'bad' wife has symbolic and material consequences. Women are stigmatized and their lives become the subject of intense critical discussion and scrutiny by others. By totally withdrawing their labour from the farm, they are viewed as 'bad' wives and farmers, and are risking their long-term claims to the land for themselves and their children. Women must, at a minimum, invest in farming as a symbolic and strategic gesture towards fulfilling their role as a 'good' wife, while investing in other livelihood options that are more lucrative in terms of generating an income and sustaining a livelihood. Making only a minimum commitment of energy, time, and labour into the farm has long-term negative implications for soil management, which normally requires intensive labour inputs.

The second reason why women cannot totally withdraw their labour from the farm and the household is because women who do so cannot continue to stay on their husband's and clan's land, as withdrawal of labour can result in being "chased away." There are also practical restrictions that make the option of withdrawing labour untenable. There is no alternative land on which to allocate their labour available, except in the rare case where a woman can borrow or rent land. Borrowing land requires access to people who may be willing to do so.⁵¹The option of buying or renting land, even for groups, is not viable because of the high price of land, as well as men's resistance to women purchasing land in their own names (as illustrated in the previous chapter).

The preceding discussion highlights the different ways in which marriage is experienced and focuses on the negotiations and struggles that take place within the household. These negotiations are significant, because they reveal that struggles over meanings and symbols are in themselves struggles over resources (Moore 1993). Marriage, then, is a site for gender politics. It is an arena for material as well as symbolic struggles between women and men, where negotiation over roles and responsibilities impinges on access to resources that are central to sustaining the soils, as well as sustaining livelihoods. The issue of household headship continues to expand our understanding of conjugal relations and diversity in marital status.

Women-headed households

De facto women-headed households

Etta's account, along with those of Frederika and Jessika earlier in this chapter, demonstrates that, while women may reside with their husbands, their husbands may provide little or no farming and soil management labour, or vital resources such as cash for sustaining a livelihood. Nonetheless, women publicly cite their husbands as 'heads' of household, although it clear that their husbands' input, in terms of both labour and income, is minimal at best. Similar to Pottier's findings in Rwanda (1989, p. 465), neither Logoli women's initial responses, nor public transcripts about agricultural and soils practices, reflect the extent of women's knowledge and decision-making power in these areas. In-depth accounts gained through multiple interviews reveal that women are the farmers and sustainers of the soils. They make the bulk of decisions based on in-depth knowledge, gained over the long term, regarding the microenvironments of their shambas, even though they do not always publicly subscribe to these roles. Hence, agricultural researchers and development agents may underestimate the central role of women by relying on their public transcripts or the superficial conversations that often occur when using rapid and non-participatory types of methods.

While many soil management 'development' initiatives may overlook this basic reality by assuming that men are the principal farmers and sustainers of the soil, Logoli men themselves reinforce this assumption by invoking public transcripts which uphold them as "commanders" of the household, shamba, and decision-making processes. What is significant is that men perpetuate this discourse, representing themselves as 'heads' of household, because they recognize that important 'development' resources are normally channeled through the head of household. This picture of soil management, farming, and "providing" for livelihood sustenance also upholds 'traditional' cultural norms and idioms regarding gender roles and responsibilities. Women continue to uphold this discourse of men as 'heads' of household even in situations where their husbands have out-migrated for a great number of years. They do this to create room to maneuver and to deflect the strong taboos and stigmas that are associated with being women heads of household.

Women whose husbands out-migrate constitute a particular group of de facto heads of household. Whether they view themselves as such depends largely on their own subjective understanding and may be affected by their life-cycle and household positioning. For instance, younger newlywed women are more likely to perpetuate the discourse of their husbands as 'heads' of household. De facto women-headed households differ from de jure women headed households (such as those headed by widows) because women in the former situation do not face the same social stigmas and threats to land security. However, while their marital status allows them to escape the heavy social stigmas associated with being unmarried, they share similar types of labour and monetary constraints as widows. This situation is made especially intense when their husbands do not provide remittances. This highlights that the successful engagement of men's waged labour in urban centres does not guarantee income to their wives and families in the form of remittances, as men often take on second wives or lovers in urban settings, effectively diverting these resources from their wives. The account of Elizabeth, a young Logoli wife, illustrates such a situation later in this chapter.

De jure women-headed households

Widows are common heads of household in Maragoli. There is a great deal of diversity in widows' positionalities. For instance, of the fifteen widows and two widowers interviewed for this research, their ages ranged from 36 to 90. Five had co-wives and two were economically elite. There are noticeably more widows than widowers in Maragoli, because men can remarry without losing access to land and property. On the other hand, women cannot remarry and continue to remain on, or retain rights to, their deceased husband's shambas.⁵²Widows who continue to "persevere" and remain on their husband's shambas after their deaths are often concerned with maintaining their sons' rights to land, as well as retaining their own access to land and its products. The following narrative describes the constraints and problems widows face in terms of labour and resources.
 

Queen Queen is an economically poor widow with five children. She explains her circumstances and some of the problems she faces as a widow: I was born in 1955 and got married in 1972, I got five children, then my husband passed away, in 1983. Since then I've been living in problems. I can't even farm because my arm is almost withered. Most of my children have never gone to school. Feeding is a problem: in order for us to get a meal, they [the children] have to sell their labour. And this is how we survive. ... I just do normal house chores. One of my children does work as a house servant. ... And one of my sons is in Nairobi roaming about. It's now five years and he's never been seen. I feel bad when I stay with my children without anyone to help me. That's my biggest problem. You know it becomes more difficult when a man dies — everything remains under your responsibility. ... It's been very difficult ever since he passed away. When he was alive, he could go for casual jobs and sometimes he used to help and buy us some food. ... But, as you know, when men live in town, they become unpredictable — he could finish even six months without sending anything. There is a difference, because, as you know, when you are alone you handle all the problems and needs alone. But those who are two easily share their needs. And there are certain jobs that can only be done by men. When there is a man in a home, he can plant bananas because I, as a woman, cannot do it. If the house needs repair, then he can do it. ... Like the way my roof leaks. ... [and] demarcating the plants that mark the boundary — they are planted by men only. Men build houses, even making trenches. Women can also dig but it's men who do it better, not women. Women cannot manage to use the spade while removing soil. (L030)

Photo 17 (taken by Queen): "This is napier grass and bananas. I took it to show the things that help me. If I'm in need of anything, I cut these napier grass and bananas and sell them and the paw paws are for children to eat." (L030)

Because she is a widow, and economically poor, Queen and her children are forced to hire out their own labour to make ends meet. This takes time and labour away from her own shamba. This is further compounded by her poor health, which does not allow her to fully carry out her labour on the farm. Queen also sheds light on the gender division of roles and responsibilities in Maragoli, which restricts women from carrying out certain one-time labour specific activities, such as planting bananas, although they carry out the bulk of the day-to-day on-farm labour.

Often, the presence of a husband seems to makes little difference in the amount of labour women carry out. However, women who are like Queen, insist that life becomes harder after one's husband dies. At the same time, they insist that their husbands provided inconsistent, unreliable, or no monetary remittances and day-to-day labour in the shamba and the household when they were alive. While recognizing that a sporadic income is better than no income at all, cultural norms and idioms provide an avenue to reconcile this seemingly contradictory discourse.

A husband's presence, although often "just in name," holds powerful meanings in Maragoli, as marriage is a norm by which all is measured. When women first become widows, their conduct and behaviour is closely watched by the community and clansmen, as Desi's account showed in Chapter Four. Widows often reported that the first few months after their husbands' deaths were the most trying. This is not just because of the added stress, labour, and monetary requirements pertaining to the funeral and attempts at land appropriation, but also because this was a period when they were closely scrutinized by their husbands' families, the community, and friends. While widowhood does indeed bring some degree of personal autonomy and new measures of decision-making power for women as heads of household, these gains are offset by strong social scrutiny, stigmas, and taboos. They are also accompanied by the intensification of labour, especially in situations where husbands had provided labour or income in the past, or in situations in which women suffer from "bad" reputations.

Through their stories, Rhoda, Frederika, Jessika, Etta, and Queen begin to illustrate the diversity of marital and household situations that exist in Maragoli. Depending on these various marital and household circumstances, each woman has different means and opportunities available to her at particular times. Each woman encounters different opportunities, constraints, obligations, and status within the household and community. The degree to which each woman can depend on her husband's labour input, income, and support is different in each case. For example, Etta and Queen are both primarily responsible for financially supporting their households and sustaining their shambas. On the other hand, Jessika can sometimes rely on her husband to make financial contributions to the household, soil management, and farming requirements, which are irregular; and Frederika can rely on her husband's labour inputs on the shamba only minimally.

Class and social differentiation

Who migrates and who does not, the differences in benefits from off farm opportunities, and assessments of returns to labour on farm made within this broader context have had a profound impact on agrarian change and its social significance. (1996, p. 2)

Economically poor farmers

Furthermore, economically poor farmers face acute shortages of cash. This means they are disadvantaged in many ways. They cannot afford the soil management and farming inputs necessary to sustain their farms in the long term. They also lack access to economic resources such as start-up capital and credit, which could potentially alleviate some of the constraints they face. Often, they lack access to cash for basic needs, such as food. In addition, they are unable to meet other livelihood requirements — for example, they cannot afford to send their children to school. In this vicious circle, economically poor farmers are unable to devote the time, energy, and labour that they would like to give to sustainable farming and soil management practices. This stark situation is exacerbated by feelings of despair, a lowered status within society, as well as acute constraints, such as lack of food and lack of income to meet health care or education requirements.
 

Photo 18: This photograph was taken by Patroba, Rhoda's 34-year-old friend and neighbour. Patroba explains: "She is my best friend. This picture shows how she lives her life ... it is a bad picture because they are so poor that they don't have time to work on the shamba and also work on the house ... you can see these dirty beddings where the child is sitting ... At least, I am better off, because I have a cow and some tea bushes." (L015)

While there has been an increased differentiation of Avalogoli society in recent times, the situation is not simply a picture of "haves" and "have nots." Intricate and complex sets of social ties, relations, and obligations detract from such a simplistic picture. As discussed in Chapter Eight, women and men engage in, and invoke, multiple social relationships and kinship ties to access resources. Thus, elite relatives, friends, and neighbours do not 'enjoy' their wealth in isolation — they are subject to the expectations, rights, and obligations of poorer relatives, friends, and neighbours. For economically poor farmers, kinship relations are important channels of access to resources required for farming, soil management, and broader livelihood needs.

Economically wealthy farmers

Photo 19: This photograph was taken by a 52-year-old farmer named Rebeka (see Chapter Four). She explains the significance of this photograph: "I took this one to see how my bananas look like. And I can see they're really green." Rebeka has a full-time shamba-boy whom she supervises. "You put manure in it ... you don't put it on the stems, you put far, and you put fresh cow dung. The water from the cow dung when it rains goes underground to the roots." (L003)

Photo 20: This photograph was taken by a 50-year-old economically elite farmer. She explains: "This picture is my workman trying to pour the urine on napier grass. They clean [the cow shed] everyday — as they clean that place, the water goes there. I have to remove that water the same day." (L004)

Similar to other Logoli men, Febe's husband considers himself the 'head' of the household and a successful "provider" of money for both agricultural and household use. His contributions end there. He has little knowledge of the day-to-day details regarding farming, livestock, and soil management. It is important to note that he considers himself the 'head' of the household by virtue of the fact that he is the senior male and fulfills his duties as the "provider." However, he is not the 'head' of household in terms of decision-making pertaining to farming and soil management.

While much of the work associated with agricultural production and soils management is shouldered by women, economically wealthy women are advantaged in many ways. While Febe describes carrying out activities such as digging, weeding, and harvesting, in practice, she takes a supervisory and decision-making role in terms of farming, soil management, and household work, rarely engaging in labour-intensive activities herself. In effect, she is the manager of the shamba. This situation highlights another important insight into gender relations, and challenges homogenizing definitions used to describe farmers. Economically wealthy women like Febe are able to pay for other people to carry out labour-intensive activities related to farming, and soil erosion and conservation. They carry out the task of managing and supervising hired labourers, which requires monetary payment (usually 40-50 shillings per day) and the provision of a meal. Economically elite women often hire permanent shamba-boys and 'house-girls' to carry out the day-to-day farming, soil management, and household work. The involvement of shamba-boys gives rise to interesting power relations, as this is a circumstance in which women are in a more powerful position than men.
 

Photo 21 (taken by Rebeka): "This picture shows where my cow stays and I took it when one was eating and the other one was trying to run. It is good because I can see the cow seems to be healthy." Rebeka employs one shamba-boy full-time, but, on the other hand, she claims, I only use women to dig and plant ... Here I am trying to show [that] we put the cow dung in my land, because we get cow dung from here and then make manure [for] my land. We take it and put it somewhere. After three months, we turn it. After again three months, you turn it again and take it somewhere where it will dry. When it dries is when you can use it for planting." (L003)

Another advantage that economically elite women have is access to inputs for soil management. They often own a great number of livestock that they keep in elaborate cow bomas, from which they obtain large quantities of organic manure for maintaining soil fertility. From these bomas, they are also able to collect slurry that acts as an effective fertilizer on crops such as napier grass, and substantially increases yields. They also tend to own a larger plot of land, sometimes spread over more than one shamba, on which they diversify and spread risks over a variety of soil types and microenvironments (Crowley and Carter 2000). Many grow enough napier grass on one single plot to feed their livestock, and sometimes sell the surplus. They may also engage in extensive soil management techniques, making them obvious targets as 'progressive farmers' by agricultural extension workers and 'development' practitioners. One economically wealthy woman explained that she learned from extension workers how to use leftover brewer's waste from a beer brewery in Kisumu to feed her livestock. This technique increased the quantity and quality of organic manure and urine produced from her cows, which in turn increased her crop yields.

However, being economically elite does not necessarily translate into full access to and control over resources such as labour or income. This depends on a woman's personal relationship with her husband and her positioning in the household. For example, one economically elite Logoli woman described a situation in which, despite the fact that she had a separate income from teaching, her husband appropriated her salary at pay point throughout their marriage by invoking his status as the 'head' of the household. This left her with little income to run the household and shamba, and provide for her own needs. While they continue to live on the same compound, they reside in separate houses. Her access to resources, such as transportation and income, which are vital for managing and farming numerous dispersed plots, is limited and controlled by her husband. This example challenges the prevailing view of the 'pooling' household, questions gender-neutral assumptions about access to resources as a given for elite farmers, and highlights that elite women can also be vulnerable in their personal circumstances within conjugal relations.

Age and changing life-cycle positioning

Children

Adults used to work on the shamba. They could till and the children did the weeding. [Small] children never used to till. Children of this age never worked on the shamba. ... these ones [girls] would be told to babysit; these ones [boys] would be asked to take care of cows. It is the big children who would till the land. It's the adults who tilled the shamba. Today, if there is no education, then they are just taken to the shamba. But during our days, it was said that if [small] children worked [tilled] on the shamba, they will get stunted, they won't grow tall. (L046)

Education is perceived as a potentially lucrative avenue for gaining employment and providing resources. Nevertheless, both unmarried young women and men are expected to contribute their labour to the compound, household, and shamba, although the type and amount of labour is differentiated by gender, varies during the annual cycle, and is also dependent on class. While school-going children and adults are not expected to contribute to the day-to-day labour requirements during the semester, their labour in the shamba and the household is expected and valued during periods of school leave, as it lightens the labour loads of the women on the compound. Economically poor children sometimes have to hire out their labour on other people's shambas to contribute towards their school fees and household expenses. However, children do not always cooperate with their parents, and often complain about economic pressures and social norms that control their behaviour, labour, time, and personal freedom.
 

Photo 22 (photograph taken by Queen): "This is showing a good thing, because I have my children in it. I have a schooling child, the second born; this eldest daughter of mine was coming home from school ... The others don't go to school. I have to dig my land, I have to go and hire out my labour, so that I can get a way of buying her books, pens, and other [things] that they want [me] to pay [for]." (L030)

Photo 23 (photograph also taken by Queen): "That one now is my eldest son. He was feeding the sheep. When this one saw that school fees [were] not available, he decided to step down. Now if we are two like this [my son and I], if I go out for labour, or he goes out for labour, [the] money we get, we us... to buy food, and part goes to buy her books, pens, uniforms, and other school expenses ... There is not enough, so they [the other children] don't go to school, they are just there." (L030)

Young women

In Maragoli, a women's position in terms of age and life-cycle positioning affects the amount of labour and degree of control she exerts in making decisions and accessing resources that are vital to farming and soil management. The degree of control affects her own labour and its products. The cultural interpretation of her personal circumstances affects how she is viewed by her husband, her in-laws, and the community, and the degree to which she has to prove herself as a "good" wife. Elizabeth's account illustrates that young women who have children out-of-wedlock face strong social stigmas that paint them as "bad" women. Even when a woman manages to marry the biological father, this stigma does not go away and is manipulated by her husband, mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, and other members of the compound in order to make additional claims on her on-farm labour until she has proven herself a "good" wife. The fact that Elizabeth had a child out-of-wedlock has been used as a lever by her unmarried sisters-in-law, who themselves face strong social pressures from their brother and members of the community to leave their home and to marry. They manipulate the cultural stigmas and norms to transfer some of their own labour responsibilities to Elizabeth. This lever is also used by her mother-in-law, who, in the absence of her deceased husband, has not initiated the allocation of the most lucrative part of the shamba, the tea plantation, to her son, thereby withholding the rights to access, use, and control its products from her daughter-in-law.
 

Photo 24 (taken by Elizabeth): It shows her small plot where she grows napier grass, sugar cane, and a tree in the background (upper left-hand corner). She remarks, "when the leaves of the sugar cane dry up, you can use them for mulching ... this tree in the shamba provides shade which is not good for the crops because they have no sunshine to mature." (L006)

Elizabeth's experiences are not unique. Cultural taboos are often used to exert power over young women during the early stages of marital life to gain access to their labour. This means that they work on shambas where they do not always control their own labour, or benefit from the products of that labour. They often work "like maids" and face heavy work burdens and time constraints, which leave little time to work on their own plots, to undertake labour-intensive sustainable soil management and farming practices, or to partake fully in important social institutions.⁵⁴In addition, they face constraints in terms of accessing resources such as land, farming and soil management inputs, and food. Nonetheless, over time, they learn to hire out their own labour to meet their monetary needs, join women's groups, and forge relationships and alliances with others who are sympathetic to their situation.

Despite all the injustices and mistreatment that Elizabeth faces, she has been allocated a small plot, and is able to access a small amount of organic and green manure from the compound and have a trench built, which illustrates her ability to negotiate these processes. By calling upon cultural idioms that emphasize the value of her hard work — in effect her "perseverance" and her rightful position in the household — she is increasingly able to find room to maneuver and to access and use the land (albeit a small plot at the time), despite power relations which place her in a vulnerable position.

The importance of bridewealth

Bridewealth is important to young women in the early stages of marital life, because their reputations as "good" wives are reflected in its payment. One woman explains:

Dowry is important to all people who want to get married. Going to another family ... at least you cannot go there freely. The man must be responsible at least to give the parents something, some ngombes with cash. (L002)

It depends on the family. You can be married in a family whereby you'll get a mother-in-law who does not like you. She starts creating problems and then makes the marriage to be broken. When the in-laws have interfered with the marriage, there is no peace. You'll get your mother-in-law who will need you to serve that family for many years. And maybe this lady, where she comes from, she is not brought up doing work for eight people. Now she is preparing ugali for 10 people, fetching water all day, cooking all the time, looking after the ngombes ... doing all the work. It becomes too hard for the girl. She's miserable. She is not given any autonomy. You won't be so happy being a slave there. ... She's in that home, doing all the work, and has not been paid dowry. You are labouring without anything to your home. It can take almost four to five years, it is very cruel. You start growing old. ... These are some of the things that make mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law to collide. (L002)

Photo 25: This photograph was taken by Benjamin, a shamba-boy, and shows a group of three indigenous cows and a calf, indicators of his employers' wealth, and can be used for future dowry payments. He explains, "The reason I took a picture of the cows is that they are among the things that I work on the most on the shamba. Because I have to work on the napier grass to feed them." (L020)

The fact that newlywed women move from their family's to their husband's homes and shambas also has important implications for agriculture and soil management labour. Women's original homes vary in proximity to their husbands' homes, because, for an Avalogoli marriage not to be considered incestuous, the man and woman must be unrelated through both the mother's and the father's side for at least two generations (Abwunza 1997, p. 16). Because marrying a relative results in a curse that afflicts the whole family, men increasingly search for marriageable women who come from far away and from non-Maragoli areas (Abwunza 1997, p. 59). Given the spatial variability of soils and land, this move means that newlywed women must learn the intricacies of farming and soil management in their new microenvironments from their mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law. This process of acquiring agricultural and soils knowledge about new microenvironments can be used as another lever over newly-wed women to make claims on their labour.

Women, however, may learn to assert themselves over time as they gain more confidence and knowledge of their microenvironments and forge their own sets of social networks. Moreover, they may also bring new ideas about farming and soil management practices to local environments through this micromigration, which they can, in turn, use to negotiate their own position in the compound.

Older women and men

Older women and men recognize that their children will eventually care for them, and the types of relationships they have with their children, stepchildren, grandchildren, and daughters-in-laws affect the types of resources and care they are likely to receive in later stages of their lives. Consequently, the allocation of resources that remain under their control is also used to negotiate for care and resources in the future. For instance, older women continue to control banana plantations and the distribution of the products from it, such as bananas and intercropped vegetables, as well as banana leaves and stalks used as green manure and fodder. They also control products from family woodlots, and allocate livestock for ceremonial purposes. These resources can be used to gain access to food, labour, and inputs from grandchildren as well as daughters-in-law. In addition, older women also continue to draw on resources from reciprocal relationships maintained with their own married daughters, often drawing upon unpaid debts pertaining to bridewealth. Lastly, as older women often care for grandchildren, they also use this important labour input to negotiate other resources in return.

A man's ability to negotiate his position on the compound rests upon his ability to provide for the family needs in the household and shamba over time. Many Maragoli men retire in their homes, and those who are entitled to pensions from previous waged labour are in better positions to negotiate resources for their care, as they are able to continue to fulfill their roles as "providers." These men take on a 'supervisory' role, albeit in name only, over soil management and farming. For example, one elderly elite man with a pension claimed to be the farmer in control of the shamba. Upon further questioning, it became apparent that he did not know the types of crops grown or soil management practices undertaken on his shamba (or even the ages of his children). Men who are unable to meet these requirements or have failed to meet them in the past complain bitterly about how children and wives do not listen to or comply with the "order" which requires them to provide labour and care to them.

Conclusions

In Maragoli, within a patriarchal 'order' which determines what constitutes a "good" Logoli wife, in a situation where there is scarcity in land and no access to large commercial estate farms as in other parts of Kenya, women cannot easily choose to withdraw their labour completely from agriculture and soil management. Instead, women engage in a host of multiple livelihood occupations and diversify their on-farm options as a strategy towards risk aversion. Women strategically focus their energies, time, and labour on certain micro-niches on the shamba where they have long-term security in tenure and status, and on labour enterprises which are economically lucrative, and in which they control the products of their labour. Hence, this allows them simultaneously to invest in powerful symbolisms of being "good" Logoli wives and farmers, and to focus strategically on activities which offer them more autonomy, freedom of movement, and self-sufficiency. Women negotiate control over the products of their labour by engaging in a bitter war of words which points to men's failure to uphold their end of the conjugal contract. This centres not only on men's failure to uphold their roles and responsibilities as "providers" of income, but also on their diminished roles on the farm. While women's labour on the farm has increased over time in almost all aspects of farming and soil management, men's contribution of on-farm labour has decreased over time. The exception to this trend involves cases in which men's one-time labour inputs have to do with symbolic and material control over property, and, therefore, men's power and authority over women. As the next chapter demonstrates, just as farmers' experiences vary by gender, class, age, marital status, and household headship, the priority, constraints, and meanings they attach to soil management and farming also vary according to different labour practices. These labour practices themselves are gendered and dynamic, and constitute an arena of struggle.

⁴⁸The term "between toil and soil" is taken from Crowley and Carter's recent work by the same title (Crowley and Carter 2000).

⁴⁹Smearing is the process of getting and applying mud, sand, dung and other materials to make a floor for a house.

⁵⁰Women can do several things in response to violence or disputes that they feel are 'unjustified.' They can return to their homes, go to the elders, or "walk" from the situation. Usually women go to their parent's homes to let things blow over or to demonstrate the value of their labour and input into the day-to-day running of the shamba. In some cases, the matter is mediated and thrashed out by family members and the elders in the community. If the woman is found to be in the wrong, her parents ask her to return to her husband's home. If the husband was wrong, he is made to pay a fine.

⁵¹This situation is in stark contrast to other case studies such as Carney and Watts' (1990) and Schroeder's study of Gambia (1996). Maragoli is distinctive, as there exists no large-scale estate farm where women can withdraw their labour, as is the case in Mackenzie's study of Murang'a, Central Province (1995a).

⁵²When a woman remarries, she loses her claim to her ex-husband's land and property, and must move to her new husband's home. She often leaves small children behind or in her parents' care. These children may subsequently lose all rights to land from their biological fathers. Thus, land tenure rights for their children are a central concern for widows, and a major deterrent for women who consider "walking."

⁵³Schooling during colonialism had an important gender dimension. Boys were encouraged by the colonial government to attend formal schooling. They were also encouraged by their parents, in order to increase their chances of gaining access to waged employment, and, hence, cash remittances to the household. Even when colonial policies began encouraging girls to attend, it took some time to convince people to send girls for formal education, because this had major repercussions on the labour availability on the farm and in the household compound, and because girls who received formal education were stigmatized initially.

⁵⁴During interviews with Elizabeth or when passing by her compound, I often found her alone on the compound. On these occasions she had been left behind to continue working on the shamba and household while her in-laws and neighbours were attending community events or participating in funeral ceremonies.

⁵⁵Bridewealth payment consists of cash and livestock normally consisting of indigenous cows. In the past, it consisted of livestock, cowry shells (used as a medium of exchange in pre-colonial times) and indigenous hoes. Older participants complained that the cost of 'dowry' has gone up substantially over time, explaining that a dowry that used to cost two cows now costs 10 cows plus a substantial amount of cash (10 000-20 000 shillings).

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