Divorce: How Luo, Kikuyu, Kamba communities ended marriages

This story has significance for readers across Kenya and beyond.

Long before divorce became a matter settled in courtrooms, Kenyan communities had their own ways of dissolving unions, processes guided by elders, rituals and traditions passed from one generation to another.

Among the Kamba and Luo communities, marriage is not viewed as a relationship between two people alone. It is a connection between families, clans and ancestors. Because of this, separation requires more than a declaration that a marriage is over. It involves symbolic acts meant to untie the bonds created during marriage.

Few people understand these traditions better than Mutuku Muindi, a Kamba elder, cultural enthusiast and patron of the Aambua Clan Society of Kenya. At his Akamba Cultural Centre and Museum in Uvilisyani Village, Makueni County, he has spent years preserving the heritage of the Kamba people, including customs that have survived social change, colonial influence and modern law.

“Divorce is one of the Kamba customary practices that has withstood the test of time. It follows almost the same procedure it did before colonialism and remains a respected cultural practice,” he says.

Under Kamba customary law, either a husband or wife can initiate divorce, but the decision cannot be made casually. There must be recognised reasons for ending the union. Traditionally, grounds for divorce included infidelity, excessive drinking, barrenness, persistent disrespect and failure to contribute to family responsibilities. Even refusal to work on the family farm could become a reason for separation.

A man could also seek divorce if he discovered that his wife came from a family believed to practise witchcraft. Once the decision to separate was made, the process moved to the next stage that involved a goat known as mbûi ya ulee, the divorce goat. The goat represented the formal ending of the marriage. Depending on who initiated the separation, either the woman returned it to her husband’s family or the man collected it from his wife’s family.

If a woman was ending the marriage, she would quietly take the goat to her husband’s compound, tie it somewhere within the homestead and leave without speaking to anyone. The mbûi ya ulee was not an ordinary animal. It was one of the three goats presented as part of the bride price negotiations and the same goat slaughtered during the wedding ceremony to symbolically unite the two families. When returned during divorce, strict customs determined how it was handled.

“It is slaughtered far from the man’s homestead because it is considered capable of carrying a curse,” Mr Muindi explains. “Married people and those preparing to marry are not allowed to eat its meat. Instead, it is reserved for widowers, elderly unmarried men and people who have, in a sense, given up on marriage. Even the utensils used to prepare the meal are discarded afterwards.”

However, the goat is only the final stage of a much longer process. Traditionally, a couple was expected to live separately for at least five years before a divorce could be completed. The period was intended to allow families to intervene, resolve disagreements and allow the couple to reconcile.

“The Kamba community never encouraged people to divorce over minor disagreements,” Mr Muindi says. “The five-year separation was meant to cool tempers because many couples eventually found their way back to each other. Divorce was only considered after it became clear that reconciliation was impossible.”

A completed customary divorce also affected family relationships in ways that differ from modern legal procedures. Mr Muindi explains that after a marriage was formally dissolved, the husband lost customary rights over children born during that union. The children became part of their mother’s family. If the woman later entered another customary marriage, her new husband assumed responsibility for the children after paying dowry.

“In our tradition, a divorced woman is buried at her father’s home, not her former husband’s,” he says. “The man who later marries her through customary rites also owns her children.” A similar understanding of marriage as a family institution exists among the Luo community.

For generations, Luo marriage has been built around family continuity, clan relationships and communal responsibility. A traditional wedding was never only about the bride and groom. It involved negotiations between families, exchange of livestock, songs, ceremonies and the creation of a lifelong bond between two households.

Divorce was considered shameful and was rarely discussed. Luo elders say separation was uncommon because marriages were supported by extended families. When disagreements arose, relatives, aunts, uncles and clan elders often stepped in to mediate before a relationship collapsed. Jotham Ondu Ajiki, the Organising Secretary of the Luo Council, says traditional Luo marriages were built more around family survival and continuity than modern ideas of romance.

“Luos did not marry because of beauty or love. Marriage was a necessity once a man and woman reached the age for such a commitment. It was mainly about procreation,” says Mr Ajiki.

A wife was traditionally viewed as belonging not only to her husband, but also to his wider family and lineage. Her role was connected to strengthening clan ties and ensuring the continuation of the family.

Circumstances such as childlessness, suspected witchcraft and infidelity could lead to the breakdown of a marriage. The inability to have children, particularly sons, carried significant cultural weight because sons were viewed as protectors of the homestead and inheritors of family property.

“A Luo home needed sons who would provide security and continuity, but daughters were also valued because they brought wealth through dowry. A woman who could not bear a son could become a reason for divorce or for a man to take another wife,” Mr Ajiki says.

In some cases, a man could also take another wife after becoming wealthier and needing additional support managing his household. Traditionally, when a marriage could not be saved, elders guided the process of separation. However, as these community structures weaken, many disputes that would once have been handled within families now end up in court. This has created a growing debate over how customary marriages are officially brought to an end.

Among the Luo, separation is not complete simply because a couple stops living together. A traditional process known as Waro dhok, the return of dowry, is required to symbolically close the marriage. The practice gained public attention in October last year following reports that city lawyer Steve Ogolla had separated from his wife Elseba Awuor, popularly known as Cebbie Koks, a digital influencer and entrepreneur.

The couple had held a traditional wedding ceremony in Migori on December 28, 2022. Reports indicated that Mr Ogolla was preparing to travel to Migori to begin the cultural process of returning dowry. However, the process surrounding the separation became controversial after objections from the woman’s family. Her brother, Foky Mopao, criticised the manner in which emissaries were sent, arguing that tradition required respect and privacy.

According to Odungi Randa, Chairman of the Luo Council of Elders, Waro dhok must follow a structured process. The process begins when emissaries, usually people who participated in the original marriage negotiations, visit the woman’s home. Elders, relatives and clan members gather to witness the proceedings. The man explains why he wants the marriage to end, after which the woman is asked whether she agrees.

If she objects, the process stops. If she accepts, the rituals begin. During the ceremony, ropes used during dowry negotiations are returned alongside part of the livestock given during the marriage. The amount returned depends on factors such as the length of the marriage and whether children were born into the union. Some gifts, including ayie (a form of bride-price), traditionally given to the mother-in-law during introduction ceremonies, are not returned.

“If the differences between the couple cannot be resolved, the man will demand his cattle back, but not the entire flock he brought. Where children have been born, some animals remain,” Mr Randa says.

A goat is also slaughtered, with the meat divided between the families. In some communities, kuon bel, a brown ugali, is prepared, broken into two pieces to represent the breaking of the marriage and then discarded. The final rituals involve elders taking traditional liquor, known as amuna or andiwo, rinsing their mouths and spitting it at the entrance of the house. Once the man steps over the spit while leaving, he is no longer considered part of that homestead.

The remaining portion of the goat is buried where the marriage goat was slaughtered, symbolically laying the union to rest. However, Mr Randa says Luo tradition does not always view separation in the same way as modern law, especially where children are involved.

“There is never a permanent divorce where children have been born. What exists is separation,” he says.

Among the Agikuyu, divorce was abhorred, and before it could be sanctioned, reconciliation efforts were prioritised. If the complainant was the husband, efforts to convince him to reconcile with the wife were pursued first as a way of preserving the relationship. According to Kikuyu Council of Elders chairman Mr Wachira Kiago, polygamy was recommended as a way of appeasing the estranged husband.

"If and when divorce was found to be the only working solution, it was formalised through a meeting of elders to discuss and agree on severance of ties," he said.

Mr Kiago said the ultimate act of sealing the divorce (guthambia ngurario) was the return of dowry either in full or in part, and the slaughter of a goat. Just like in the Luo and Kamba communities, marriage among the Agikiuyu was never viewed as an affair between two individuals, but as a union between two clans bound together as in-laws. Grounds for divorce were proof of adultery, prolonged barrenness, cruelty, desertion, or when one spouse was accused of bringing bad luck to the home. Divorce was mostly initiated by the husband.

According to the patron of the elders under the Kiama Kia Ma umbrella, Mr Kung'u Muigai, the children in the broken marriage were considered to belong to the husband's clan. If the marriage broke when the wife was nursing an infant, she would be allowed custody for a while, but the child remained with the father’s clan.

"As for property, the woman left with her personal belongings. Land and livestock remained in the husband’s home," Mr Muigai said.

Once the divorce was completed, both parties were free to remarry.

The woman would return to her father’s home until another suitor approached her family. Mr Muigai said that without the formal process of breaking the ties, the community still considered the couple married. But the patriarchal nature of this tradition was that the man could marry more wives since he enjoyed polygamy as a right.

Mr Wallace Muraguri, an elder from Murang’a County, notes that sealing the divorce involved several steps.

“The wife’s family was required to return the dowry, or part of it, to the husband’s family. This act symbolised the untying of the bond. In cases where there were children, elders sometimes agreed that not all dowry would be returned,” he said.

A goat or sheep was then slaughtered and its meat shared by elders from both families as a sign that the matter was concluded. Items exchanged during marriage, such as gifts, were also returned.

“The senior elder would then make a pronouncement that the union was broken and the two parties considered free.”

Reporting originally appeared via Nation Africa. Read the full source for additional context.