Water seeps slowly into the dark soil, and the rich smell of new earth rises into the wet air. The rains have finally come to Orongo village, on the edge of the Kano floodplain near Kisumu in Kenya’s western Nyanza Province.

Lightning flashes silver streaks across the sky, which hangs like a heavy black tablecloth over nearby Lake Victoria, as Florence Gundo splashes her weary way home. The Mother of Orongo’s women and children - the dead and the living - shares the path with silent, plodding cattle, bleating goats and a solitary red-gold rooster.

But while the strutting bird exudes pride, Gundo (60) is humility personified. Her bare feet sink into thick mud. Her dress and T-shirt are stained with dirt. But she smiles.

“The rain is good!” Gundo laughs. “But when it rains here, there’s too much water and our crops drown. When it does not rain, there’s drought. So it is a difficult life …”

And a life of contrasts. The land, where so much life should be, is empty. Except for the graves.

“Many people once lived here. But now everyone is dead. Fathers, mothers, old and young. Dead. Only the small children and grandparents are remaining,” Gundo, the founder of Orongo Widows and Orphans Group, whispers.

Some graves are marked with stone crosses; most are mere mounds of white stones.

Alongside, a classroom is packed with orphaned children. The HIV virus killed their parents. They listen attentively to a teacher, as a group of wizened old widows, their sons and daughters also stolen by the pandemic, weave baskets outside.

In the past, widowhood for the women of Orongo only arrived when they were between the ages of 65 and 80. Now, the average age of a widow here is 25 years … Because AIDS kills the young.

Far away from the classroom, the youthful widows work the fields suddenly softened by the downpour. They sow their seeds into the same ground where their husbands lie buried.

According to Kenya’s Department of Health, one out of every four adults in Kisumu district is HIV-positive. Many are dying, because they aren’t aware that they’re infected with the virus, as they’ve never been tested. Others who know they’re living with AIDS don’t even have the little money needed to access life-prolonging drugs. Gundo says that one out of every three households at Orongo is headed by a child.

All the signs here scream: ‘death’. But the widows and orphans of the village sing: ‘hope’. For, even though the reams of horrific statistics cast an ice-cold shadow over Orongo, its story is not one of despair and surrender in the face of suffering and violent discrimination. It’s a tale of endurance and courage. And love.

“AIDS has taught us to love one another here,” says village elder, William Guti (55).

Out of the tragedy of the epidemic, triumph has emerged. The women of Orongo, part of East Africa’s Luo ethnic group, are emerging victorious in a battle against traditions they consider oppressive and cruel. Culture, and its proponents, prevents most Luo women from inheriting and owning their deceased husbands land and property; they aren’t considered worthy of this and their possessions are confiscated. They’re deemed property themselves: Luo widows are often forced to marry male relatives, usually brothers-in-law, under the terms of an ancient custom called ter.

But AIDS has revolutionised Luo culture at Orongo. And the revolution is epitomised by Guti.

“I used to believe that women were nothing; worthless, that widows should be inherited and that they had no rights to own land. But I have changed because times have changed,” he asserts.

Guti agrees that the horror surrounding him led to his transformation. The number of women whose husbands have died from AIDS-related illnesses has spiraled dramatically in western Kenya in recent years. Most of these widows are themselves infected with the virus. And it follows logically that men who inherit these women under the ter practice could also become infected, and will in all likelihood infect their other wives, who could then infect their unborn babies. And so the deadly cycle of sickness, graves and orphans will continue.

But Guti and Gundo, along with Chief Jenipher Atieno Kosome, are determined to break this sequence of sorrow.

Kosome is one of only three female Luo chiefs in Kenya, and the first one ever in central Nyanza.

“We’ve been sensitising Luo men that, if they want to take care of a widow, and she agrees to be inherited, then fine … but with a limit: they both must have HIV tests so they can take all the necessary precautions to stop the spread of AIDS,” Kosome declares emphatically.

The formidable chief’s attitude regarding women’s rights has been influenced by her upbringing.

“I am the first born of 12 girls. I grew up hearing how my father was worthless because in Luo culture, when you give birth to girls, you are nobody! Even girls are considered worthless. I decided to fight this part of Luo culture,” Kosome elaborates.

But, as a female chief, she continues to experience prejudice: “Men think I am also worthless because I am a woman. But it’s my job to sensitize them that women are human beings; they’re not animals, they’re not dogs … They have the right to own their dead husband’s land and property, without having to be inherited.” So much so that they’re making history in western Kenya, overturning customs that the Luo previously considered indispensable to the continued survival of their culture. In an unprecedented development, senior male Luo’s in central Nyanza are helping widows gain legal title to their deceased husbands’ land, and defending widows’ rights to refuse to be inherited by their brothers-in-law.

“Some Luo men, even some elders, say men like me are traitors to our culture for helping the women. But I do not care because I know it is time for Luo men to do the right thing,” Guti maintains.

“A culture which is not dynamic is a culture which is dying!” adds Kosome.

Many Luo widows – along with their children – are chased from their husband’s land by their in-laws. Homeless and poor, some resort to prostitution. Others, like Betty Tom (28), have found relief in alcohol.

“After all the mistreatment by my husband’s family, I started to drink changaa (illegal alcohol). I felt empty, like a piece of rubbish … The alcohol made me warm,” she admits.

Tom married in 1997, but her husband died of an AIDS-related illness in Nairobi, five years later. She returned to Orongo, HIV-positive, with three young children.

“I had to come back home to bury my husband on his family’s land, and to start living there, at the marital home … This is what must be done according to our culture,” she says.

But then, her deceased husband’s family tried to force her to marry her youthful brother-in-law. Tom resisted: “I was not ready for that. When I said I did not want to get inherited, then the boy really wanted to have me! He was an irresponsible drunkard, and taking bhang (marijuana). Also, I did not love him!
“So this boy would go out, drink, take bhang, come back and start beating me. My children would cry. He would chase me, telling me: ‘You! Get out of the home! You can’t stay on our land!’ I used to run away.”

But Tom always returned. She had nowhere else to go. She was an orphan herself. The violent abuse continued.

“I asked people for help, but they said I was a dirty person for not accepting to be inherited. I began to drink. Soon I reached a point of no return. I wanted to commit suicide,” she weeps.

On the advice of a friend, Tom fled to Florence Gundo, who advised the widow to enlist the help of the elder, William Guti.

“I explained to Betty’s in-laws, that if they loved their grandchildren, they must love the mother as well. And they must let Betty stay on the land, and must stop forcing her to marry the young boy. I told them if they do not listen, I will take the matter to the chief and to the police, because women abuse is against the law,” Guti recalls.

Tom gazes at the elder with respect, and appreciation.

“Before Mr Guti and Florence took action, I thought there is no one that can protect me. I thought I am going to be killed because I disobeyed Luo culture,” she says.

Tom credits Gundo, Guti and Kosome with her “empowerment”.

“I now know I have a right to my husband’s properties. Anything that belonged to my husband is mine … I told the boy who wanted to inherit me: ‘I am willing to share some things, but I will take most of my husband’s part, because I’m his wife! I have his children!’” she affirms.

Tom’s new-found confidence, together with pressure from the community leaders, shook her in-laws, who have since agreed that she can own her deceased husband’s land. And Tom says the brother-in-law who wanted to force her to marry him is a new man.

“He’s scared. He knows I know my rights. When I see him these days, he acts very inferior; he sees me as superior. He used to come to me wild, to fight me. Now he comes gentle,” she chuckles.

For the brother-in-laws’ sake, it’s fortunate that he came “gentle”, as Tom puts it … Because if he had chosen to resist, it’s likely that Chief Kosome would have taken a far more active role in the case.

“I’m a very strict Chief. If someone mistreats a widow or an orphan they get punished!” Kosome exclaims.

Orongo abounds with stories of the Chief literally beating disobedient men into shape, with a traditional whip made of animal hide.

Kosome doesn’t want to expand on this; she just laughs … but she confesses that she does sometimes take the law into her own hands.

“The law allows me to use reasonable force if a person resists arrest … How reasonable it is depends on how you behave at that time!” the Chief chortles.

But, mostly, she tells men who assault widows or orphans that they’re guilty of a criminal offence and threatens them with jail.

“Some men think I am joking. They laugh at me. But they stop laughing when I lay charges against them at the police … Women and children are brought to me, bleeding. So I go to the police when the crime is fresh and some of the men who beat their wives and kids are put in prison. This never used to happen in our culture. I’ve empowered the women not to be cowards,” Kosome professes.

Betty Tom is one of many Luo widows who Gundo and the Chief, along with elders like Guti, have empowered to assert their legal rights. And they don’t only come from Orongo: Emma Oluga, from Uyoma district in Nyanza, has even received a title deed for her deceased husband’s land, after her in-laws refused to let her stay there and chased her away.

Word has spread about the work that the community leaders of Orongo are doing. Widows from all over western Kenya who’ve been abused are arriving here for help … Like Rosemary Okweri (42), who’s come to Orongo from Ugenya, more than 100 kilometers away, near Kenya’s border with Uganda.

“I was chased away because my mother-in-law wanted to be the beneficiary of my husband’s money, property and land. I wanted to share ... What happens in my community is that widows’ property is snatched away. At Ugenya, the people believe strongly in culture, even the chiefs and elders,” she sighs.

Esther Gatua, HIV coordinator at the Policy Project, an NGO which helps Gundo fight for property rights for women who’ve been widowed by AIDS, says challenges remain.

“The government process to transfer property from the dead husbands’ name to the widows’ is costly, time-consuming and complicated. Once a widow has negotiated with her in-laws to get the land back, it’s not the end of the process: The widow still needs a lot of money for the government processing fee. She will also need money to put up a house on the land, and the widows may be too sick to work on the land and will have to hire someone to do it and they don’t have the money for this,” Gatua explains.

Also, the vast majority of chiefs are not of Kosome’s mindset; they don’t have the same level of dedication to, and insight into, women’s rights.

Gatua says hundreds – if not thousands – of chiefs will have to be trained to function on the same level as Kosome – a very expensive and laborious exercise.

But Orongo has offered direction ... To such an extent, in fact, that Luo elders like William Guti, and widows such as Betty Tom, are defying tradition by writing wills.
These legal documents designed to protect property rights are anathema to many ethnic groups in Africa, not just the Luo.

“Africans don’t write wills; it’s seen as predicting your own death if you do so,” Gatua elucidates.

But, again, Orongo is breaking the boundaries of culture.

“I am even writing my own will. Seeing all these HIV cases, I have learned that if I die without a will, my children will be disturbed, and they may lose their rights to my property,” says Guti.

The suffering and pain, the hunger, the poverty, the abuse and stigma associated with HIV/AIDS, persist in western Kenya – even at Orongo itself. Gundo and her loyal band of helpers do not claim to offer a miracle. What they offer is hope, and a chance for widows and orphans who’ve been affected by the epidemic to live in dignity, by exercising their rights to choose what’s best for them after their husbands and fathers have died.

Orongo’s widows and orphans are poor. Some don’t even own a pair of shoes. Many eat one meal every three days. They aren’t funded by international donors. But they don’t beg. They do what they can with the little they have – which is sometimes nothing more than an iron-will to survive.

Yet, Orongo seems a happy place. A place where people sing ‘we must help ourselves’. A place where the warmth of humanity has melted death’s freeze.

Gundo explains that ‘Orongo’ means “place of water and salt; salty earth”. This is a good explanation. But a teacher at the school, Rosemary Otieno, has a better one.

“Orongo doesn’t mean ‘salty earth’. It means Love.”

Slideshow of photos from Orongo village – Photos by Darren Taylor