I'll never get an African Husband unless...

Subtitle: In honor of Valentine's Day; the mother of all non- holidays.

I know that Valentine's Day was actually yesterday, but the internet has been down for a few days, so I'm a bit late. Oh well...

My host mum can frequently be heard starting sentences with the above phrase. "Kelsey" she'll say, "you'll never get an African husband unless you can cook ugali!" Or, "Kelsey, you'll never get an African husband unless you stop spilling the chai!" Or, "Kelsey, you'll never get an African husband unless you can get those socks cleaner!" Okay, wait, this makes it sound like I'm treated like a house girl (servant) here - which couldn't be further from the truth. Mostly my family scarcely lets me lift a finger around the house, although I do insist on doing my own laundry and I'm getting pretty good at this whole washing by hand thing. The issue of me lacking a husband however tends to come up with pretty reliable regularity, both at home and at the hospital.

At home, my host mother is mostly joking about my poor chances of obtaining an African husband - mostly joking. She has a pretty good sense of humor, yet I sense her comments are at least a little bit based in genuine concern. What's not to be a little concerned about? A 24 year old woman insistent on wandering the globe and not actively looking for a husband - the biological clock is ticking and my domestic skills are still noticeably lacking.

I suppose it's understandable, afterall, most of teh women I see in the pre-natal clinic and maternity ward are around my age and having a baby - usually not their first either. And considering the average life expectancy for women in Kenya is 47 years my time is really running short if I want to raise my children, not just bear them. Editor's note: The life expectancy in Kenya has been drastically reduced because of the effects of HIV/AIDS, without which it is estimated the average life expectancy would be 62. To assume therefore that women over 47 are rare would be a fallacy.

At the hospital, there seems to be a lot more curiosity. One day two of teh nurses cornered me wanting to know if in Canada "women marry" or "women are married". It took a while for me to distinguish the difference. Apperently in Kenya women are married while men marry; the difference being that men are to be the initiators and more importantly, the payers of dowry. Dowry is important and in fact, if a man can't afford the dowry they can marry anyway, but he must announce himself to the woman's family as "the one who has stolen your sheep". He will be known as the thief until the debt is settled. I tried to explain that in Canada both men and women marry - ie: it is more of a mutual agreement or partnership. "But then, who pays the dowry?" They ask, looking slightly scandalized.

Yesterday at work, they really wanted to know if I would prefer a Kenyan husband or a white husband (don't get me started on how I tried to convince them that those are not necessarily opposing adjectives). This led to a thrilling conversation about gender roles and whether or not men should set foot in the kitchen. When I told them I could remember my father cooking meals, helping around the house and taking care of me when I was sick as a child (which usually meant an unnatural amoun of Vicks) they were very surprised. "Mother is everything!" They stated adamantly, as their only reply. "Mother is EVERYTHING!"

To be fair, my globe-trotting, husband evading ways do cause some concern in Canada as well. I'm not sure my grandmother necessarily want me married and pregnant, but I know she would sleep easier if I were safely back in Canada. And there were more than a few conversations in Lac La Biche about finding me a husband, preferably a local boy. It seems that both in Kenya and in Canada there is an understanding of the normal course of a life, and when you veer off that course, you're bound to attract a bit of attention. In Canada I think people are becoming a bit more accustomed to there being variations in that course, whereas here, the pattern is quite ingrained.

Valentine's Day itself here is a rather curious celebration of Westernization which has only really been recognized in Kenya in the last few years. It mostly showed up here as a side effect of the Kenyan flower industry which supplies most of the roses to Britain and continental Europe. Just as most of Canada's flowers come from central American countries. While there are a few displays of roses and chocolates in the supermarkets, I have yet to see an actual Kenyan showing any interest in celebrating. Most of them can't even say "Valentine's". Although it did seem to be an excuse for everyone from the guy at the post office to the teller at the market to ask me to be their Valentine.

Valentine's Day or not, I don't think it very likely that I will ever get an African husband, well at least not a Kenyan husband. I couldn't care less about skin colour, I just think it unlikely that I would find a Kenyan man who shares my goals, hopes, values and ideals. When cultures are so wildly different, how could two people cross such a massive rift without one or both of them feeling that they have compromised too much of who they are? I suppose it could happen, but I'm not holding my breath.