My Father's Harem

A Nigerian princess speaks of their customs and traditions
"From Coronet magazine"

My father the king has sixteen wives, and I am one of his children, who number sixty-three. It is not royal inheritance that entitles my father to possess such a harem; rather, his ownership of this circle raises him in the eyes of his followers and of the sons of his nation, which is moving toward its promised independence.

We know very well that the world will be astonished at this independence, and that we in our turn shall be a new element entering the kingdom of the independent! And those of us who have lived outside our country know very well how we shall appear before the world with customs and traditions of our own, followed in our marriages, our gatherings, and the relations rooted deep within us — peculiar to us, and to no other people.

If Nigeria were a small province, no one would feel its stirring; but its population is twice that of Canada, its area three times that of the British Isles, and its shores stretch out as a bridge, a foothold for the civilizations of the West upon the Atlantic Ocean.

The strangeness of our customs goes back to the newness of our country's development; our laws and our present reality are the remnant of a faded civilization, contemporary with the age of Solomon the Wise.

My childhood memories are of a walled quarter enclosing several dwellings and a great many playmates of my own age; from time to time a troop of women older than we would mingle among us, along with the company of servants who watched over our doings and attended to our wants. All those little ones were my brothers and sisters, and the women were my father's wives; and all of us lived within a lofty gate that opened onto my father's private council hall, where he presided over the ceremonies, or handed down judgments, or received friends and visitors! Beside the council hall stands the general palace, which remains the dwelling of the newest wife until she conceives, or until another, newer still, arrives; then the first takes a wing prepared especially for her. Each wife's wing stands within the palace, palm fronds spreading their shade over its balconies, encircled by luxuriant gardens; and it holds, besides, everything the family needs of food and clothing.

My world was bounded by a slender wall whose massive entrance drew the eyes of passers-by; a party of my father's followers guarded it by night, and the whole day long it stood wide open, admitting men of politics, or visitors, or the servants bearing the produce of his farms; and that din was like a melody of pleasing rhythm — until a few years ago, I counted it the whole of order itself.

I still remember my mother's absences, and the instructions given to the servants on how we were to be treated; curiosity led me to ask a brother older than I the reason for these excursions, and he explained to me that at such times she was the chosen wife, staying two weeks at my father's side, performing her wifely duties, while the new bride remained a guest of the palace!

I think I must touch on the duties the chosen wife performs: first, she does not compete with the other wives to win her husband's affection, but takes pride in watching over his meals and presiding over the entertainments during that period. Supper is usually followed by an evening of song or dance or the telling of a tale; and the songs of Nigeria are not haphazard — every season has its traditional song, such as the season of planting and of harvest; even the poor and the rich have songs of their own.

The chosen wife leads the telling of the tale, and each woman vies with her companion in acting out the chapters of the story in an engaging manner; and everyone, even the children, excels in this field. At the end of the night, this wife enters her dressing chamber to adorn and perfume herself, following in this our feminine tradition: a woman's beautifying and her charms are for her husband alone!

The remaining wives follow a regular routine: in the morning they perform the household tasks, and in the afternoon they watch their children at play. The strange thing is that jealousy is absent from among these women, though they share a single husband; this is owing to material security and contentment in equality, for the Nigerian woman trusts in her husband's love and respect for her to the last of her days; she has, moreover, been raised on this idea and rests easy in it. She comes to her husband's house with her mind full of submission and reverence for this man whose name she will honor by bearing him children; and her devotion to her husband is not at the expense of the remaining wives. She does not attempt, for example, when she is

the chosen wife, to bring along tales of disorder in the harem, or of the negligence of this or that wife in her work; the women settle the small problems among themselves so that they never reach the husband. This vexed my father at first, but before long he grew easy with the arrangement, and he once confided to me that he was content with this state of affairs, and preferred not to be reached by the women's problems, which the wisdom of men is powerless to solve!!

As for marriage in Nigeria, it is a matter in which private and public alike take part. I still remember the first marriage in our family: my eldest brother, then seventeen years of age, decided that the time of his marriage had come — and that, of course, was not the result of his having made the acquaintance of some girl. He went to my mother and asked her to choose his bride for him, since it is the parents who give the final decision, after discussing the matter with the elders of the family. The meetings kept convening and adjourning for two weeks; at last the general opinion settled on a visit to the house of a girl in the nearby quarter. All the members of the family, even the little ones, took part in this official visit; the servants carried the gifts, and the conversation ranged over every subject except the subject of the visit. All the while my brother was watching the graceful girl come and go with the trays of hospitality. At last my father rose and addressed the girl's father: "My eldest son would be honored to take your daughter as his first wife, and it is our honor to join with you in this matter" — while the girl had vanished, perhaps behind some wall, straining her ears for the happy news!!

The girl's father received this question with a smile, without answering, and everyone returned home while the negotiations went forward between the two families; at the third meeting the bride and groom met, and the date of the wedding was fixed... Among us it is forbidden for the betrothed pair to go out together, or to meet alone, even during the engagement; the first meeting comes on the wedding night. Two weeks before it, the girl came to my mother to receive from her the arts of pleasing her husband: the kinds of food he likes, what sort of clothing to wear, then how to walk and how to smile — even how to care for the child with whom she would honor the family. Then the bride returned to her father's house, where she remained awaiting the great event.

My brother's friends gathered in circles for drinking and merriment, and so did the bride's companions; then her procession set out toward our dwelling, she in resplendent attire, a gown studded with jewels, her guardians walking at her side, and behind her the men of her kin carrying the gifts and the goods, which exceed the bride-price in value. When all had arrived, they laid out the gifts at the door of my brother's house for every passer-by to admire; then a sumptuous table was spread, around which sat the bridal pair and their intimates; and when all had eaten, my brother took the cup of wine, drank from it, and offered it to the bride, who took it, knelt upon her right knee, sipped a little, and returned it to him; and the celebration went on until a late hour of the night.

Life went its regular round in the palace, but I began to notice a new topic entering the women's talk: my brother's wife, who was slow in conceiving the child that would honor her husband and his family. The poor thing came to my mother to express her deep regret, like every wife who feels the responsibility laid upon her shoulders; and what she proposed was that another wife be taken for him. My mother reassured her, and called her to hope and to cast off despair. And indeed, at the end of the year my brother married another woman, in whose choosing his first wife took part; and not long afterward the first gave birth to a male child, who restored the family's affection to his mother, and gifts poured in upon her from every side. And thus a new generation began in the unfolding age of our nation!...