By BOB WASWANI
For two widows in Rusinga Island, the death of their husband was supposed to be a time of mourning. Instead, it ignited a bitter war that tore their family apart, paralyzed a funeral for nearly a year, and dragged in clan elders who warned of a terrifying consequence: a generational curse known as chira.
When Japheth Odhiambo Owuor, a polygamous Luo man, passed away on July 11, 2024, he left behind two widows: Martha Odhiambo and Margaret Atieno Owuor. But he also left a ticking time bomb. Within days, the body lying in a Nairobi morgue became a weapon in a domestic dispute that would escalate all the way to the Court of Appeal.
Martha, asserting her status as the first wife married in 1958, rushed to the High Court. She claimed that Margaret, the second wife, had snatched the burial permit and was plotting to bury “her husband” without her consent. “As the first wife, she ought to be allowed to bury her husband as provided by Luo Customary Law,” her lawyers argued, seeking an injunction to stop the burial.
For a brief moment, peace seemed within reach. Represented by their respective lawyers, the two widows walked into court on July 26, 2024, and recorded a comprehensive consent. They agreed on everything: the date, the church service in Nairobi, the airlifting of the body by Kenya Airways to Kisumu, and even who would pay for the bus transport and the tombstone. Most critically, they agreed on the grave site—a portion of land to be “hived off from both sides of the boundary demarcating the two households.”
It was a compromise designed to give both women a stake in their husband’s final resting place. But to the Luo elders of the clan, it was an abomination.
No sooner was the ink dry on the consent than the family unraveled. By early August, the women were back in court, each accusing the other of contempt. Martha changed her tune, claiming the consent she had just signed was illegal. She filed another application seeking to set it aside, demanding that the deceased be buried “in accordance with Luo customs.”
Enter the clan elders. Led by Bishop Samuel Adede Ongola and five other men, they sought to join the case as interested parties. Their mission was to educate the court on tradition. Through their lawyer, they argued that under Luo Customary Law, the site of burial is not a matter for a wife’s personal preference—it is the “duty and prerogative of the Elders of the Clan.”
They brought with them a dire warning. Citing past judgments, they argued that the body of a polygamous man must be interred behind the house of the first wife, on its right-hand side. To bury him on the boundary, as the consent dictated, was to invite chira—a generational curse that would bring calamity upon the descendants of the deceased. They insisted the consent was not just a mistake; it was against public policy and destined to bring suffering to the family.
Martha, through her new lawyers, echoed this sentiment. She pleaded with the court to understand that she was an old, vulnerable woman who had been coerced. She claimed she was pressured by “threats and unlawful demands” and was suffering from the “frustration, trauma and anguish of not being involved” when she signed away her husband’s traditional resting place.
Margaret’s camp fought back fiercely. Her lawyer, Mr. Ongoya, argued that the consent was binding. He pointed out that the elders had ample time to advise Martha before she signed the deal. “There is no hard and fast rule that burial must be outside the house of the first wife,” he argued, adding that the deceased had been separated from his first wife, and that all subsequent wives have equal rights.
In a dramatic twist that rendered much of the legal argument moot, the court was informed that on June 9, 2025, nearly a year after his death, Japheth Odhiambo Owuor was finally laid to rest—right on the contested boundary line agreed upon in the consent.
On February 13, 2026, a three-judge bench of the Court of Appeal dismissed the appeals. They ruled that the elders were “late in seeking to join” and that the two widows, as the persons “closest to the deceased,” had the right to settle the matter. The consent stood. The grave is set. But for the family, the fear of the curse remains, buried just beneath the surface.