UGANDA: Not Just a Bride

Taking paid employment on top of domestic work and farming isn't easy for many Ugandan females, but times are changing and women are increasingly finding ways to enter the cash economy. Veronica Oakeshott reports

Esther Birungi's fiance, Solomon Rwabakama, considers himself a very lucky man. It's 10.30am and the wedding service is due to start in half an hour but he is relaxed as his best man helps him put on a brand new pair of white socks and adjusts his tie.

There is nowhere better for Solomon, 30, to get ready than this, his family home, hidden deep among banana trees in Fort Portal, in western Uganda.

"I am feeling happy because it has been quite long waiting. I have been in courtship with that madam for years," he confides.

But he is also relieved because he's survived the Kwanjula, the traditional Ugandan negotiations where a young man haggles with his prospective father-in-law over the price of a woman's hand in marriage.

"They asked for four cows," says Mr Kahiigwa, one of the elders who helped Solomon with the negotiations. "But as we pleaded they ended up forgiving us the bride price and we gave whatever Solomon could afford."

In the end Esther's hand in marriage cost 1m Ugandan shillings – around £300. Even that was hard, but pride prevented Solomon from haggling further. "I feel my empty pockets but I couldn't dodge it!" he laughs.

In the countryside many fathers continue to receive livestock when they allow their daughters to marry. But in town young men commonly pay their prospective fathers-in-law handsomely with cash, groceries and, these days, even sofas and washing machines. Some men take out loans to impress the in-laws, while others share bargaining tactics on the internet. As Uganda modernises, the bride price practice shows little sign of dying out.

Five miles away, along a dusty track through the banana trees and into town, 20-year-old Esther is waiting for the signal to go to church. She's been an orphan since the age of 10, but today she is a princess. Her wedding dress is a white cloud of satin obscuring the plastic chair on which she sits, regal and ready. "I'm expecting to have children," she says. "Not a lot. Like, just five."

She also hopes to be able to make a bit of money for the family. "I will get time and start working. Maybe I will run a small shop," she says. "Solomon will be happy with that."

If she does start a shop she will be one of a minority of African women earning money outside the agricultural sector. Just one in three paid non-farming jobs in sub-Saharan Africa is held by a woman. Increasing this proportion is one of the targets of the United Nations' Millennium Development Goal 1, which aims to eradicate extreme poverty by 2015.

But there are many barriers facing women who wish to work outside the home. Ugandan women, on average, have more than six children. Most are too busy caring for their families and subsistence farming to develop their own business or take a job.

Women typically work on land that is owned and controlled by their husbands or fathers. According to the Ugandan government, women do 80% of the agricultural work but only own 7% of the land. If there is a surplus of food to sell, women rarely control the proceeds and many are bypassed by the cash economy.

Research by the Ugandan Ministry of Finance, Planning and Economic Development also suggests many women are discouraged from undertaking paid work by their husbands, who feel threatened by their financial independence.

Ugandan MP, Winifred Kiiza, believes the problem traces back to the paying of a bride price – a tradition also common in several other southern African countries. "It's because of this price that a man thinks his wife is part of his property," she says.

Having paid, explains the MP, many men see it as their right to recoup the cost of the bride price either through unpaid work or by controlling their wife's earnings. This reduces a woman's incentive to work.

She and other women parliamentarians are campaigning for an end to the bride price in Uganda as part of a marriage and divorce bill.

However, it will be an uphill battle. A legal petition by the Ugandan charity, Mifumi, to declare the bride price as unconstitutional was unsuccessful earlier this year. The court argued that the country's constitution gives Ugandans the right to enjoy, practice, maintain and promote any culture, and that the bride price is intended to show appreciation to a woman's parents for taking care of her.

A different, economic, argument may be required if the Ugandan government is to change its mind. According to the World Bank, the low status of women is an important reason why sub-Saharan Africa has struggled to grow. It estimates that if women were allowed full participation in the Ugandan economy, the country could increase its growth rate by two percentage points a year. It also makes an explicit link between women's exclusion from the economy and the bride price tradition.

Of course, economic arguments alone will not change what happens in Esther's home town. However, the bride's own views may give hope to those who believe a woman should never have a price tag.

Esther thinks a gift might be better than a price. As long as the gifts remain a significant transfer of wealth the difference is a subtle one, but still potentially important. "A gift is not a matter of negotiation," says Esther. "It's just what the man wants to give."

However, she admits, her main concern is that Solomon hasn't blown all his modest wealth on her hand in marriage. "If the groom pays lots of money, I'll go back to find nothing left at his house. But Solomon did not pay too much. In other clans you have to pay eight or 10 cows!"

Meanwhile, back at his home, and now more than an hour late for the wedding, Solomon is thrilled that Esther wants to marry him. The price has been paid and is now to be forgotten. "It's been a long wait," he beams.

Honey means hope

Kipura Gad carefully lifts the lid of one of her beehives and peers in. It is empty. Not a bee in sight.

Eighteen months ago the UK charity, Hives Save Lives, gave 50 beehives to Gad and the other women in her village – enough to produce about £3,000 worth of honey per year.

The women's need for help was clear. HIV has devastated the village of Bughumba in western Uganda and the surviving women bear huge responsibilities. Gad, at just 30 years old, is supporting 10 orphans alongside five of her own children.

Hives Save Lives has transformed the lives of many in the region. However, with so many children to look after, the Bughumba women have been too busy to maintain the hives and, so far, the bees have not come.

"As a married woman it is a bit difficult to leave the children to go to harvest and check on the honey," explains Gad.

The Ugandan government estimates women spend an average of 10 hours a day on domestic chores and care work, and a further six hours on farming.

But Bughumba's village chief, Mr Maate, thinks there's more to the story than lack of time. "The men here still believe a woman should never be found outside her home," he says wearily. He says he is trying to modernise his village and promises Hives Save Lives that he will talk to the husbands.

Bughumba women's group wants to give beekeeping another go. With help from the project they may soon discover that keeping bees is easier than keeping children.

Electric dreams

Sarah pulls on her blue overalls and heavy boots. She grabs a spanner from the kitchen table, kisses her daughter goodbye and heads off to work.

It's the night shift at Mpanga tea factory, western Uganda. Sarah, a senior electrician, ensures the green leaves travel safely along a bewildering array of conveyer belts, funnels and sifters, to produce Britain's favourite drink. She loves making the processing plant buzz.

Female electricians are no more common in Uganda than they are in the UK, but this hasn't held Sarah back. "They treat me nicely," she says of her male colleagues. "The problem is lifting the machines – for the rest you just use your mind."

It's a mind that's already looking for the next challenge. "I would like to know what renewable energy is all about." the 28-year-old says, her eyes sparkling. "And be an energy auditor at the highest level."

But stepping up the career ladder would mean going back to college, which she can't afford. She spends every penny of her £60-a-month salary on her daughter's school fees and on support for her mother, sister, nephews and nieces.

It's a common problem. Uganda has the highest dependency ratio in the world. For every nine people of working age in Uganda, there are 10 children or old people.

Sarah would rather spend money on her family than save to advance her own career. Her daughter's education comes first. "I want her to be at least a doctor!" she says.

Veronica Oakeshott's assignment in Uganda was hosted by Hives Save Lives Africa