Women’s Land Rights in Mozambique

According to the local cultural perceptions, n’loko and nihimo lands are ‘owned’ collectively by members of kinship groups and cannot be alienated. Thus, an individual may only hold land on the basis of usufruct, occupy and use it, but he/she cannot own it. In all places where surveys were conducted these perceptions were still quite strong. Article 21 of the New Land Law attempted to maintain this privileged position of cultural perception by stating that rural communities shall manage natural resources and conflict resolution by relying on ‘customary laws and practices’. Within the culturally determined land tenure system of Nampula, the n’loko or nihimo ensured access to land to all members of the group without gender differentiation. Everyone is allocated land by the head of the greater kinship group through the consultation with the lesser chiefs. This idea was incorporated into the Article 7 of the New Land Law. Besides the kinship lands, there are lands that can be acquired by individual effort through clearance and cultivation of virgin land. These lands though cannot be turned into a self-acquired property, because they are usually under control of certain kinship groups, but they can be inherited by direct descendants or become a bequest by the will of the deceased. Trees are owned individually, irrespective on whose land they were planted. As such, they can be alienated or turned into a bequest. However, by inheriting or buying a tree, a person who is not member of a native kinship group can gain access to its lands. This practice became in Nampula a widespread way of bypassing local cultural perceptions and State laws both prohibiting the sale of land and occupation without prior consultation with the ‘local community’ (Land Law, Article 9).

Although all the populations of the study sites for this research were matrilineal, women’s situation with respect to land varied from place to place and from household to household. Some scholars of Mozambican history assume that the matrilineal system is more favorable to women than the patrilineal one[43]. It is also frequently assumed that the predominant pattern of residence among matrilineal people is uxorilocal. At the same time, feminist scholarship seeks incessantly for the ways local women are being ‘oppressed.’ Thus, for example, it has been concluded in some studies [44] that the maternal uncle, atata, controls women the way elder males control them in patriarchal communities. Another idea that became widespread in Mozambique is that Islam and Christianity transformed the matrilineal system into a patrilineal one and introduced patriarchy. However, during fieldwork it became clear that the impact of Christianity or Islam with respect to land is minimal, if it exists at all.

Concerning the process of official titling of land provided by Article 10 of the New Land Law. The system is generally slow in Mozambique, and the number of women is much less than of men. In our study sites, between 1991 and 2000, 6 women and 6 men in Angoche, 1 woman and 3 men from Anchilo and 1 woman and 7 men from Corrane applied for land titling.

In Anchilo, where a Catholic population predominates, the Diocesan Commission for Land is promoting the collective land titling rights of local communities enshrined also in the Article 10, line 4 of the New Land Law[45]. The New Land Law is likewise better known in Anchilo than in other study sites for this research, as the Diocesan Commission for Land took active part in elaborating and campaigning for promulgating this law.

IV.1. Access to Kinship Lands

The first question that had to be addressed with respect to the access of women to kinship lands was whether a woman could become a main heir of the kinship lands. We concluded in the previous chapter, that at least after the 1961 Administrative Reform, women legally could not be a paramount chief, or regulo, recognized by the colonial government. It seems as though a woman could still become a humu within smaller kinship units in a traditional cultural sense of the ‘owner’ and regulator of those lands, perhaps without holding any specific title.

With regard to this question of female owners, male and female opinions diverged. In Muecate, both genders were inclined to permit this possibility[46]. In Corrane and Anchilo [47] , both women and men thought that it was impossible. However, oral history of the Umbuechiua[48] kinship group, who claim to be among the first-comers to Anchilo, narrate that mwene and apyamwene performed the initial distribution of the lands together. Although the reasons for this territorial divergence are not clear, the closeness of Anchilo to the provincial capital, Nampula City, and the greater involvement of Corrane in cotton production since colonial times, could probably offer some kind of hypothesis. Also, perhaps the constant battles of the Napita and Mucapera dominant kinship groups against first-comers could shed light on the roots of gender discrimination against women in Corrane. The first-comers, whom eventually were expelled to the neighboring territories, continued to pose a threat for the inhabitants of the Corrane. This threat of attack probably led to militarizing of the men and marginalizing of women.

Particularity true of the Koti in Inguri, is that their kinship lands are situated mostly on the Angoche Islands. Nevertheless, they had control over kinship land and its revenues [49]. According to oral genealogical history, paramount chiefs of the Koti, the inhapakho, were always men. However, within the smaller kinship units, women could become the main heir[50]. One of the interviewed women [51] in this study maintained that she had inherited land from her maternal uncle who appointed her as a main heir. When the uncle died, first, as a good Muslim, she paid all his debts. She then distributed land among her kin, including the deceased uncle’s children, and had been overseeing its use since then.

Unless excluded from kinship totally, which is almost an impossible occurrence, anybody can claim a parcel from the lands ‘belonging’ to kinship at any time of his/her life. The inheritance pattern, with respect to kinship lands, follows matrilineal system. However, it should be taken into consideration that people did not actually inherit this type of land, because it could not be turned into private property or bequest. Kin were merely given a share of land to usufruct by the main heir who controlled the use of the land. 49% of men and 50% of women claimed that they ‘inherited’ their kinship lands from putative or real maternal uncles (atata); 23% of men and 16% of women from their maternal grandfathers and 15% of men and 16% of women from their mothers. Only 8% of men and 7% of women ‘inherited’ from their fathers. In Muecate, a pilot study revealed that 26 (59%) of women who ‘inherited’ lands from their kin overwhelmingly obtained it from their mother’s line, and 6 (14%) were using their kinship land from their maternal side and expected to inherit it later. The rest had no access to their kinship lands, either because they were living too far away, or because they had never claimed it. In only two cases, there had been a conflict with other kin due to which people were reluctant to claim their share of land.

Although people living within their own communities had a relative facility to access and use their kinship lands, some outsiders, including those married to local people, also had access to the land of their ancestors in other regions, or at least some kind of control over its revenues. For example, none of the Koti in the Inguri sample actually lived within the kinship territory, because the lineage land of the Koti people is situated on the Angoche Islands. Nevertheless, they had access to it and everybody could indicate where their individual share was located on those Islands. However, due to the scarcity of the land for farming, a share of land was frequently expressed in coconut tree numbers from which the Inguri Koti received relatively regular revenue.

Theoretically, nobody could be denied access to kinship lands based on gender differences. The question is, however, whether or not it could happen in practice. In Inguri, all the Koti and non-Koti respondents had access to their kinship lands independently of the gender variable. Only one ‘foreign’ husband, originally from the Mozambique Island, did not have access due to the distance. Similar situation prevailed in Anchilo, where only three women had no access to their kinship lands.

Conversely, in Corrane, both males and females underscored that the inheritance preference usually would go to male members of the kinship to the detriment of female ones. Two interviewed local regulos [52] stated: “our culture always despised women, a woman cannot stand in front of a man or be equal to him.” In the Corrane sample, a total of 18 (36%) women out of 50 had no access to their kinship lands. In the Muecate pilot study, 59% of women ‘inherited’ lands from their maternal line, while 14% were using those lands, but have not yet ‘inherited’ them. Of two non-local widows, only one had access to her deceased husband’s kinship land.

IV.2. Access to Self-Acquired Lands

The interviewed indicated that people “acquired” lands by clearing virgin lands or forests. One motive for self aquiring lands was to secure the future of children by leaving them land that is independent of kinship. Another motive is to increase the land for family subsistence. An additional reason was to cultivate cash crops that generate income that remain either under the control of an individual or his immediate family, yet beyond the reach of the extended kin. Finally and most importantly, acquiring land by clearing is the usual way outsiders access lands for local farming. It is possible to ask for land, or to be given parcels from State-owned lands, (the State mainly owns private property of the previous colonizers), but it is relatively rare. In our sample, only one woman and one man acquired lands in this manner. Thus, the most common way of acquiring lands were through cultural means. Anybody who wished to acquire independent lands must first certify its availability with the local mwene. This mwene would become a witness in case a conflict arises later. The newly acquired land then has to be cleared and worked. In order to enable the direct descendants of the new landowner to access this land after his death, an agreement would have to be reached with the mwene. If such an agreement is not reached, then the self-acquired land could still become a disputed matter between direct descendants and local clans, or if the land is located within the limits of the greater n’loko, between maternal relatives and heirs indicated by the deceased beneficiaries.

Women in Corrane, Muecate and Anchilo revealed in focus group discussion, that because of their limited labor and monetary resources and an absence of machinery, they feel unable to self-acquire lands through clearing. This is done mainly by their husbands, whom they join in working the field after clearing. However, women who were able to barter for labor with basic necessity items such as soap, oil, second-hand cloth, and small amounts of cash, could hire people for clearing the field for them. This is particularly noticeable among the Koti women, who as well as being good saleswomen, traditionally exchange fish for labor on the mainland. Self-acquired lands of the Koti consist of the lands of Inguri itself and lands that were acquired through negotiations with local people of the mainland. Immigrants to the mainland, the Koti cannot claim it as their lineage lands. In Inguri, although some Koti established themselves before the Portuguese arrived, it was the Portuguese who delineated and distributed these lands to the Koti. Thes land is divided into small plots in which the residences of the Koti are constructed. Previously considered State lands, these lands are being gradually turned into real estate, which can be inherited by any male or female descendant of the owner, as well as become [53]a bequest . In Inguri, only three respondents had their farming plots nearby their residences within the borders of the city.

As the Angoche Islands are difficult to access on a daily basis, and the land is scarce there anyway, the Koti of Inguri farm in the surrounding Angoche City regions of the mainland. It takes them an average of between one hour and thirty minutes and six hours to reach their farmlands. In order to gain access to these lands, the Koti have to establish a good rapport as well as mutually beneficial agreements with the local population of these regions [54]. The best way to access the land of the locals is by establishing kinship through marriage, which Koti have succeeded in doing. Though the lands are rented for a pre-determined period of time, usually a year. Each year the terms of agreement are reconsidered, and the Koti have to pay an established amount of money per year. The Koti also request local mwene for virgin lands, which they clear and often attempt to turn into self-acquired property. Another ways for the Koti to access the land in this region is through buying trees of the individuals, followed by full appropriation of the land where the trees stand. All of these manners of acquiring land by the Koti are illegal in terms of the New Land Law (Article 13), and also culturally abhorrent. But appropriating lands in the mainland is the only way for the Inguri Koti to guarantee the land for their families. Women play an active part in this process, although the male relatives would execute actual payment and accord with local inhabitants. Out of a total of 47 Inguri respondents using lands in the mainland, 10 (21.3%) claimed that they bought these lands, of which 6 (60%) were women and 4 (40%) were men.

In Corrane, most of the interviewed native people indicated that they cleared land primarily for cotton production to obtain cash. No local married woman claimed that she cleared or bought land on her own. Among local couples, one maintained that both husband and wife participated in clearing a virgin land that was consequently used for cotton production. Another local had been using her husband’s ‘inherited’ kinship land for family subsistence, but her husband had cleared an additional parcel of land for cotton. Two unmarried local women, one widow and one divorced, were deprived of the access to their lineage lands or to their former husbands’ lands, so they were forced to clear lands in order to survive. Among the ‘non-native’ residents of Corrane, one man and one woman married to locals maintained that they ‘bought’ lands from locals by purchasing (cashew) trees with posterior appropriation of the land.

In Anchilo, the most attractive means for acquiring cash was by purchasing cashew trees and producing peanuts in self-acquired lands. Here, as well, the purchase of the trees was often followed by attempts to appropriate the land under them. In two local couples, wives and husbands claimed that they ‘bought’ cashew nut trees jointly, while two other local couples indicated that the wives and husbands jointly cleared virgin land to produce peanuts for cash, in addition to household farmland originated through kinship. One local husband maintained that he cleared virgin lands for himself in order to grow peanuts. One married non-local woman claimed that she ‘bought’ the land from the natives and was growing peanuts for cash. Among married women in Anchilo there were no cases of ‘buying’ or clearing lands on their own.

IV. 3. Access to Rented Lands

According to local culture in Nampula, both men and women have the possibility of either renting land, or sharecropping with the owner. Sharecropping is the usual way in which people with no native rights, who are not originally local, can gain access to land. There are many different types of contracts in use between ‘foreigners’ and locals, but monetary compensation is still rare for land use, except for Koti of Inguri.

Newcomers are forbidden to plant trees in general, but in particular coconut, cashew and fruit trees. The reason for that, as it was mentioned earlier, is that trees are owned individually, so if trees have been planted by ‘strangers’, they would become a private property that do not belong within the kinship who ‘own’ the land. As it was also aforementioned, planting or buying a tree is frequently used as a vehicle for the appropriation of the land under it. Tree related land disputes are particularly acute in Anchilo and Corrane, where, during the focus group discussion, local women revealed that most of the newcomers are disputing for land with cashew nut trees already planted on it.

It was also previously pointed out that the principal way of gaining access to local mainland for the Koti of Inguri is by renting. According to individual agreements, each Koti would pay an established sum to the local family or mwene for renting a plot. The agreement is annual, and the Koti frequently change lands, if a dispute or other inconvenience arises. Also, local inhabitants take advantageous of the Koti by renting them virgin lands, which after being cleared and used, is offered the following year to another person for a higher sum. The competitions for lands between the Koti themselves are as fierce as between the Koti and the locals. In this shade, 47 (94%) respondents out of a total 50 in Inguri had been renting lands from surrounding Angoche City regions. In 81% of cases, women rented lands and only in 8% men did the rent. Four couples indicated that wives and husbands rented jointly.

Conversely, in Corrane women rarely rented lands by themselves. Women also avoided participating in cotton production, to the desperation of the cotton companies and agricultural and women-oriented NGOs [55]. Women’s main responsibility is culturally defined in Corrane as primarily farming for household subsistence. Thus, they could not spare time for participating in demanding cotton production. The land under cotton production is mostly cleared and prepared by the cotton companies themselves. The companies also provide pesticides and machinery. However, the cost of all this assistance is discounted from the final product’s price that farmers sell back to the companies. Often, farmers do not make money at all, and even become indebted. In addition, cotton prices decreased significantly in the last few years, so that not only the women, but also the men are steadily losing interest in it. Nevertheless, there was one widow in Corrane that was considered among the leaders of cotton production, and who was making a considerable amount of cash per year according to local standards.

On the other hand, making cash for family survival is culturally perceived to be the husband’s responsibility. Nevertheless, most of the wives and husbands claimed that they jointly rented lands for cash crops. These were often lands additional to their kinship lands reserved for family subsistence. A total of five such local households (out of 22 married households) were found in our sample to rent separate plots of land. Ten couples, consisting of local wives and ‘foreign’ husbands, were also jointly renting lands, independent of whether the wife had access to kinship lands or not. Only two husbands were renting land in their own names, while their wives had no access to lands in Corrane. No married woman was renting land only in her own name, but two widows and one divorced woman rented land for cash crops, specifically cashew nuts. These women, though, technically rented trees rather than land. There were two non-local couples, of which the wives (a teacher and a nurse) were assigned by the State to work in Corrane. Although their non-native husbands were accompanying them, it was wives’ duty to find lands for renting and negotiate these with the local population.

Urban people from the nearby provincial capital, Nampula City, frequently seek to rent lands in Anchilo. Paid by waged labor and having access to cheap goods, urban Nampula women frequently manage to strike good deals with the local population. There is also a significant presence of Maconde people, who remained in Anchilo after the independence war, though many of them are widows or divorced women. Judging from interviews and general observation, these Maconde women also are renting lands successfully.

Out of 36 surveyed married households, 17 were comprised of local spouses on both sides. In six of these local couples, husbands and wives rented land jointly. In six other households where one of the spouses was non-native, husbands and their local wives were also renting land jointly. Two non-local widows and two non-local divorced women rented lands on their own. Most of these rented lands were being used for family subsistence. However, Anchilo people highly value cashew nut trees, and sought to buy them whenever they could. In some cases, they claimed that they rented trees rather than land. In other cases, they bought trees, but appropriated the land. The Nampula urban population also used this strategy in accessing lands.

IV.4. Use, Management and Disposal of Land

Article 9 (A & B) of the New Land Law provides individual persons with the right of land use and benefit, “in accordance with customary norms and practices,” or if a person has been using the land for at least ten years in good faith. However, “in accordance with customary norms”, kinship land use rights are not transferable either to or from spouses or to their children, which is also against the provisions of the Article 13 of the New Land Law which states that “the right to land and benefit may be transferred by succession, without distinction by sex”. Generally, it is culturally perceived that the lineage land where a couple resides or farm for household subsistence, whether it comes from husband or wife’s side, is the domain of the wife. Thus, the married woman’s right to use this land is safeguarded. However, the destiny of this land upon widowhood or divorce depends on residence patterns of the couple. Although all the people of this study where matrilineal, resident patterns showed a great diversity. If a marriage was uxorilocal, upon divorce or widower the man lost his right to use household land, while woman’s rights remain unchallenged. When the residence was virilocal, upon widowhood or divorce, a woman frequently lost this right.

Out of a total of 104 married households, 34% were residing uxorilocally, 45% virilocally, and 21% lived on independent lands. The majority of the virilocal residence patterns were registered in Inguri (67%) and in Anchilo (47%). In the Muecate pilot study, 8 (29%) out of the total 44 households resided virilocally and 3 (10%) on ‘independent’ lands, which belong neither to the husband or the wife’s side of the family. The rest of the residences (61%) were uxorilocal. Muecate women, even very young ones, could always have access to the lineage lands, and being married in order to start using it was not a requirement.

If a woman was a local native, and if she moved back in with her own kin after divorce or widowhood, she could opt to request a parcel of land from the kinship lands. However, if she was not local and was either not willing or too elderly to move back, she was frequently denied the access to lands of her former husband by his extended kin. This was also true even for those women who were born and raised locally, but their mothers were not local. As the land belonged to her father’s extended maternal kin, she must then seek land on her mother’s side, where she frequently would not know anybody. In these instances, while men manage to negotiate their access to land with other men, women often suffer stigmatization and denial. Article 10 determines that “individual persons, men and women, who are members of a local community may request an individual title upon partition of the particular land parcel from the area of the community”. However, the definition of who is the member of the local community may be understood differently by the local community and by the lawmaker. Although even newcomers can access the land locally through self-clearing or renting, upon widowhood or divorce this land might become a matter of dispute. While an ‘immigrant’ from another community who was married to a local man can be considered a member of the local community, for the local community, he/she will continue to be a stranger with respect to land rights, even after a long period of time.

To illustrate this, three examples from Muecate are given below, but this situation is quite common among all the communities of Nampula Province. In Muecate, three ‘immigrant’ women, two elderly widows and one married were interviewed. All of them had lineage lands in their place of birth, but lost access to it and contact with their relatives due to war and long distances. Widows, although living in this community for over thirty or forty years, were left without any land from their husbands, because the family of the deceased appropriated it. Having no other means for survival and being elderly, they had to ‘beg’ for land from locals. Both managed to rent small parcels of land and were extremely poor. The third woman, married, was born and raised in Muecate, thus she was practically a community member from her early infancy. After the death of her father who was from Muecate, his land was taken away by his maternal family, while her mother, who was an ‘immigrant,’ could not leave to her any land.

With respect to self-acquired land, often a married woman uses it land together with her husband, independent of whether the land was cleared by the husband or by the request and effort of the wife. Moreover, she routinely took as active of a part as her husband in the clearing of virgin land and worked on this land at the same level as her husband. However, upon divorce, the husband frequently continued using this land while the wife loses the access, and upon widowhood, the woman often loses this right in favor of the deceased husband’s matrilineal family.

As it was stated before, the access of the Koti to their kinship lands on the Angoche Islands did not differ according to a gender variable. The lands in the interior have been rented mostly by women. Therefore, even though the majority resided virilocally, this did not alter women’s situation with regard to the use of land, even after a divorce or through widowhood. A cultural peculiarity of the Koti in Inguri is that agriculture is the responsibility of a woman, while a man should be involved in cash activities not related to land. This means that negotiating the renting of land and controlling family subsistence agriculture was in the hands of a wife. But the lands were considered common to the couple in 78% of the cases, and household rented lands were not divided into a husband’s or a wife’s part.

In principle, anybody, be it woman or man, can rent his kinship land to a third party. But, the mwene and other extended kin should be consulted. According to the interviewed, the Koti woman, like the Koti man, was entitled to rent her own parcel of a lineage land on the Islands to somebody, but she needed to communicate this first with other kin. In particular, her maternal uncle was required to be consulted and eye witness the transaction so in the case of her death a renting person could not appropriate it. Of the respondents, 63% maintained that the decision about renting a kinship parcel rested with woman herself, and 38% claimed that she needed to consult her extended kin. When the land was ‘bought’, as some Koti claim, the disposal of this land rested with the one in the name of whom it was ‘bought’, be it man or woman. This included the dowery (mahari), which was mostly given in money, but previously could also be conveyed in land and trees, particularly in the Koti Islands. Of Inguri women, 24% considered land or trees could be given to a woman as mahari, and 72% answered that it cannot be given as mahari. Also, 82% of women in Inguri responded that the mahari belonged to a woman alone, while 14% said that it belonged to the woman’s extended kin. Only one woman believed that it belonged to husband. This situation denotes that although the influence of Islam was significant here, the Koti cultural perceptions in practice took an upper hand. Of Inguri women, 38% owned their own trees, including coconut, cashew nut, and fruit trees. To the majority (21%) of the married respondents, these trees belonged to the wife alone, while 15% were willing to share them with their husbands. Only 6% considered them to be under their husband’s control. Women alone could decide on the sale of these trees accordingly, but 26% of wives would at least show the resulting money to her husband.

In Anchilo, 37 women respondents had their own ‘inherited’ lands. Of these, 33 of them indicated that they could not dispose of these lands freely without the consulting with the mwene or extended kin. The trees were owned privately, and could be freely disposed of individually. However, the majority preferred not to sell trees but rather keep them as a kind of deposit for children’s security. One of the particularities of Anchilo is that trees frequently were inherited from other kin, together with the land. The value attributed to cashew trees by the local population here was difficult to underestimate. Twenty-one women had their own trees, of which only seven considered a possibility of selling them. On such a sale, 10 women opted to consult with extended kin, while 10 other women indicated that the trees present means for their children’s security and cannot be sold at all.

In Anchilo, out of the total 36 married couples in the sample, 11 (30%) were residing uxorilocally, 16 (47%) patrilocally, 8 (19%) were living on independent lands, and one couple was alternately residing between the wife's and husband's sides. Eight (16%) respondents were widows and 6 (12%) were divorced women, among whom two ‘foreign’, one was divorced, and another was a widow, yet none had access to or control of their own lineage lands in other regions. Thirty-seven women had their own ‘inherited’ kinship lands. Thirty-three of them responded that they could not dispose freely of their land, and only 3 felt free to dispose it as they wished. One woman said she would not consult anybody, three would consult their maternal uncle, and one said she would consult a maternal grandfather. Two women indicated regulo and the rest indicated their extended family members as a whole.

In Anchilo, as elsewhere, a married couple tended to have access and benefit from land jointly, independent of whether it was from the woman’s side or the man’s side, or was rented or self-acquired by one of the spouses. Only 9 (25%) couples indicated that the household land was comprised of two parts, one belonging to the husband and the other to the wife. Of these nine, in eight households both spouses were local and inherited from their lineage lands. In 6 of the 9 cases, the cash crops were grown on both sides, while in two cases, crops were grown only on the wife's side. One non-native wife claimed that she ‘bought’ the land locally while her local husband ‘inherited’ from lineage; cash crops grew on both sides. However, upon divorce or widowhood, the woman would lose the right to use the cleared and thus self-acquired land that the couple previously used jointly, to either her former husband or to his maternal kin. Among the six divorced women interviewed, none had access to their former husband’s land, while among the eight widows, only one was still using her husband’s land, but only through his previous consent.

Three such cases were brought to our attention during focus group discussions with local women[56] . In the first case, a woman, who together with her husband, cleared the land specifically to grow cashew trees in order to leave them to his children. Unfortunately, he died early, at which time his maternal nephew came and occupied the land, and barred the widow’s access to it. Despite her repeated efforts to recover the land through local mwene and her own uncle, she did not succeed. In the second case, a husband had taken a second wife without the knowledge of the first one. This was followed by the conflict between the spouses, and the first wife was expelled from the couple’s residence. The first wife’s brother and herself presented the case at the police and at the Community Court, but this resulted in nothing. The husband barred his former wife from the access to land, residence and even, children. It is frequent in Anchilo that widows marry their deceased husband’s brother in order to stay within his kin and safeguard access to land and possessions belonging to the household. The third case reflected such a situation where a widow married a deceased husband’s brother. The new husband moved into her house. After a full year of cohabitation, during which he did not assist the widow or her offspring in any way, the new husband left for Nampula City. To her dismay, the widow found herself homeless, because the new husband had sold it without her knowledge. At the same time, the maternal kin of the deceased first husband began to occupy the lands he previously cleared and acquired. This widow also presented her case to the police and with regulo, but nothing had been done so far. She is now living with her mother.

In Corrane, the decision-making about kinship lands rested with male relatives, and a women’s opinion would only be considered when she was divorced or widow without means for survival other than through the land in question. All women respondents using lineage lands indicated that they could not freely dispose of it. The cultural perceptions related to the trees were similar to that in Anchilo; people tended to increase the number of trees and took advantage of any opportunities to buy or plant whenever they could. Eighteen women among our respondents had their own trees, of which 17 owned cashew trees and one, a coconut tree. Twelve women said that they would decide about the sale of the trees themselves, 2 would consult their husbands, and 4 would speak with their maternal uncles.

In Corrane, out of the total sample of 35 married couples, 12 (34%) resided virilocally, 13 (37%) uxorilocally, and 10 (29%) of the couples were residing on independent land. These lands could be rented, if the couple was not local, or if one of the local spouses (usually a wife) was denied access to his/her kinship lands. Because of the cultural patriarchal attitudes towards women in Corrane, men also opted for residence on the independent lands, in order to safeguard the subsistence of children or the wife against the extended kin in case of their own death. The extended kinship in Corrane appears to be quite aggressive with respect to widows and divorcees. Usually, if the divorce or death of the husband occurred in the middle of the agricultural year, the family or husband should wait until the crop is harvested. Then, the produce is divided either between the divorcing spouses, or between the widow and husband’s kin. In practice this occurred rarely. In focus group discussions, both men and women revealed that if a widow insisted on dividing couples’ belongings or produce despite the unwillingness of the deceased’s kin, then it was concluded that she killed her husband by witchcraft for the purpose of owning these things.

In Corrane, as it was noted before, the majority of the couples rented or cleared lands jointly. Only two men did this in their own names only. Out of a total of 35 interviewed couples, 4 had land comprised of two halves, one belonging to the husband and another to the wife. In 3 cases both the local spouse inherited land, of which in 1 case both lineage lands were reserved for family subsistence, while the third land that was rented jointly was being used for cash crops, such as cotton and rice. In the second couple, the cash crops were cultivated on the husband's side, and the wife's land was reserved for subsistence. In the third case, both inherited lands were used for cash crops. In one case a ‘foreign’ husband rented land for rice cropping in addition to his local wife's inherited lineage land. Thus, it can be concluded that the general tendency of cooperation between the spouses and consideration for the well-being of the family members predominated. This changed upon divorce or widowhood when the extended kin came into the picture. Among seven widows in our sample in Corrane, only one was still using the land of her deceased husband. Among eight divorced women, also only one was using her former husband's land. In one case involving a rejected first wife[57], her husband and his second wife were interviewed in Corrane . The first wife was originally from Lichinga in Nyassa. Her local husband took a second wife and expelled the first one from the couple’s residence. Although the conflict took place in the middle of the agricultural year, the husband refused to wait until the harvesting and divide the crops with the first wife. The two wives also got involved in battering each other. Intervention of the family members in the case did not result in changing the situation. The case was pending with the police, however, the husband was actively promoting the idea that the first wife was a witch and adulteress.

Top | Contents| V. Access to and Control over Benefits

42. Ranger, T. 1983. ‘The Invention of Tradition in Colonial Africa’. In: Hobsbawm, E. & Ranger, T. (eds.) The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 211-262. Back
43. Casimiro et al Back
44. Ibid. Back
45. Interviews with Sister Maria de Jesus and Manuel Amos, head of the Provincial Land Cadastre Back
46. Interview regulo Rainha, Afonço Chicoche and focus group discussions Back
47. Interviews with regulo Napita, Andrè Trato and regulo Mukapera, Fernando Abel; and focus group discussions with men and women separately, and in mixed groups. Back
48. Interview with regulo Unbeshuia Back
49.Interview with Hasan Bashir, the current inhapakho of the Angoche Islands Back
50. Interview with Sayyid Khaled “Nacapa”, a healer Back
51. Interview with Chamsi Ossufo, influential Sufi woman. Back
52. Interviews with regulo Napita, Andrè Trato and regulo Mukapera, Fernando Abel. Back
53. Interview with shaykh Mamade Abdallah, in Inguri. Back
54. Interviews with Amarale Muhilole, regulo Mipaco and Aiyuba Demeia, regulo Mutulema of the Namaponda Sede Back
55. Interviews with José Parrinha- Association Sattar-Agrico, Paulo Nantombe - technical assistant for SODAN, Arlindo Suanheia-technical assistant for Yussuf Nurmamade Association, and Artur Baltazar - supervisor for the Clusa Association. Back
56. Focus group discussions with local women; and interviews with Filomena Joao Vieira, Clara Pires Beja and Flora Amede. Back
57. All sides involved in the conflict had been interviewed: Fatima Jose, first wife, Armando Miguel, Huband, and Laurinda Artur, second wife Back