Why missing circumcision makes one an outcast in Bukusu

A boy being circumcised in Kimaeti area of Bumula sub-county during the first day of the passage of rites among the Bukusu community. 200 boys were circumcised Saturday in Bungoma county. [PHOTO: TITUS OTEBA/ STANDARD]

BUNGOMA COUNTY: Although not part of the official list of circumcision candidates, Eldon Shikuku has “rigged” his way to honour in dramatic fashion, which has left his parents embarrassed but kinsmen proud.

The class six pupil at Machwele Primary School sneaked from home under the cover of darkness on Friday morning and plunged into the cold waters of River Machwele alongside other initiates. And before anybody knew what was happening or discovered who he was, he was standing erect in a queue with other initiates by the river and was quickly smeared with mud all over his body, as per tradition. At this point, somebody noticed he was a “stranger” who had not participated in other pre-circumcision rites, but it was too late to elbow him out.

“Such a move would have rendered the boy an outcast and precipitated a major curse to his family and members of his clan,” explains Tom Barasa Namasake, the circumciser.

Shikuku’s parents were only informed after daybreak, at about 8am, about the transformation of their 13-year-old child into a man. His parents are embarrassed because they had arranged to have the boy undergo surgical operation in hospital, while his kinsmen are happy Shikuku defied his parents to face the “manly” traditional knife.

When The Standard On Sunday visited the boy in Kimwanga village, there was excitement in the home, as village mates hailed Shikuku as a true man. His parents, still in utter shock, had finally joined in the joy.

“We had planned to take him to hospital this morning, but the boy disappeared one week ago and has since been spending nights in the bush and vigils among other initiates. So today in the morning, we were shocked when somebody alerted us to go and pick our newly initiated son,” Linda Emmanuel, his mother, narrated.

Shikuku, who looked content, happily displayed his fresh wound to our cameraman. He is the village hero, and perhaps the star of this year’s circumcision ceremony because he evaded the much frowned upon hospital surgery.

Those who partake the cut in hospitals are regarded as Bekhulupao, which literally means those who belong to the table or timber (a surgeons table). Traditionally, therefore, those  circumcised while standing are regarded to be made of superior clay as opposed to those who get the cut lying on their backs and with the help of anaesthesia.

Shikuku’s grandfather, ex-Senior chief of Bukusu-West Mzee Matayo Khisa, is particularly an elated man. “This boy has restored my pride. Yeye ni shujaa (he is a hero)! You can imagine what would have become of my legacy for my own grandchild to become owa khulupao?”

More like the “osu” outcasts of Nigeria and the men without traditional titles among the Igbo, as depicted in notable novelists Chinua Achebe’s texts, those who opted for surgery in hospital are equally regarded as cowards and failures among the Bukusu. They have no pride and live as second-rate community members, deprived of a host of societal privileges.

Earning respect

“Being regarded as owa khulupao is degrading. You cannot earn respect among your peers and cannot be appointed as an administrator, chief or even village head in your community. Even in cases where a first born is owa khulupao and the second born underwent the traditional cut, the younger sibling automatically disinherits his elder brother and serves as family spokesman,” says the former administrator.

Geoffrey Musungu, a member of the Bukusu Elders Council, adds that bekhulupao will ordinarily not be elected to serve in leadership positions even in local school and church committees.

This segregation and discrimination has however irked members of the Kimilili Pastors Fellowship.

Speaking to The Standard On Sunday, Bishop Matete Cleophas, who is the deputy director of the pastors’ fellowship, is protesting that the circumcision culture is divisive. Noting that the class divisions between the so-called bekhulupao and those cut traditionally is dangerous, the pastors want the government to stop the traditional circumcision culture altogether because it is fuelling animosity among the Bukusu.

And describing the practice as an exaggerated sense of manhood among the Bukusu, the mission leader of the Kimilili-based Inter-Christian Fellowship Evangelical Mission, Solomon Nabie, terms the exercise as retrogressive and unduly expensive for the locals.

“Owing to its negative spiritual influences, we set up an alternative option because we all appreciate that circumcision is a rite of passage. Our option has been medically safe, spiritually positive and economically viable,” says Nabie, whose organisation has since ceded that role to government institutions.

In practice as in attitude, the two circumcision processes – traditionally and in hospital – are extremely different. Besides the fanfare associated with the traditional rite, a spot check by The Standard On Sunday reveals a stark difference in the execution of the cut as well.

The traditional cut can be as fast as three seconds if executed in a single swipe, as demonstrated by Peter Kasmoto in one of the exercises at Machwele. In contrast, The Standard On Sunday witnessed a clinical officer at Waiyeta shopping centre going about his paces methodically for about 10 minutes per child.

There is neither aesthesia nor a bandage for those opting for the traditional rite as opposed to those getting the cut from hospital. And the enduring one-month long procession of dancing and running long distances and night vigils is not comparable to those who opt for hospital surgery.

But as Alex Masinde, who runs the clinic at Waiyeta confesses, there are motivating factors too, for those who opt to be bekhulupao.

“There are so many risks involved in the traditional rite, including infections owing to sharing of circumcision tools. It is also quite expensive for most families to manage huge budgets, which run into as much as 30,000 shillings for purchase of bulls among others, as opposed to the Sh500 I charge per child.”

However plausible these arguments may be, bekhulupao remain a faceless and voiceless lot, among the Bukusu. But this notion is only strong during this period.