2002

For the first time ever, the six wives of the Sultan of Air speak to someone from the "outside" world. Lifeline Energy CEO, Kristine Pearson tells her own story.

"What do you like to listen to on the radio?" This is a question I pose women wherever I travel in rural Africa. When I asked a six women in the once great Saharan trading city of Agadez, I received the same answer that almost all women tell me - news, information about health, the family, child care and Aids. What makes these responses remarkable is that the women answering were the wives of the Sultan of Air, who have not set foot outside the modest 10th century palace complex since their marriage day.

For the senior wife, this was more than forty years. Even more astounding, is that I was the first Westerner they had ever met I visited the six wives of the Sultan on twice for two hours.

The first meeting took place inside their oval-shaped reception room. Thin cotton fabric hung loosely over the mud walls, straw and plastic mats covered the ground. On the other side a cloth-covered doorway blocked the view to their private rooms. A solitary light bulb hung from the ceiling. The wives sat on cushioned metal chairs while Mariama and I were seated on tiny foam mattresses. Only when the senior wife, the last to arrive sat down, were the introductions made, hands shaken and sugary drinks served, with ice. I had no concern over the purity of the ice since it is pumped from well water deep under the Sahara. (Although I did develop Hepatitis A from my ten days in Agadez.)

Mariama communicated in Hausa with their envoy, Saade Elbachir, an elegant woman in her 30s and a niece of the Sultan. Saade then translated into Tamaschek, the language of the Tuareg. The two youngest wives had attended primary school and understood Hausa, the lingua franca of large chunks of West Africa. The youngest is also literate in French, as I would learn later from a letter she sent me.

Initially the conversation was awkward as they were clearly uneasy, at times shyly hiding behind their head coverings. At this point, I had no idea that they had never met a Westerner in person before. Protocol dictated that only after the senior wife had spoken or passed on the question, would the others answer.

During our second meeting the following afternoon we met outside in a barren courtyard and they were animated and relaxed. I learned a seventh wife had died in the 60s, along with her three children. No explanation was offered as to how they passed away.

Each woman married the Sultan around the age of 14. All are Muslim and come from the same Tuareg clan. Although Islamic law specifies a maximum of four wives, perhaps Sultans can amend the rules or it is "African Islam" where the rules and life, for that matter, seem much more relaxed (except where Sharia law is enforced). Although Islamic law also prohibits drinking, you can buy beer and spirits anywhere in Niger and few women, other than the fundamentalist Muslims, wear veils.

Asmaou, the senior wife, has been married for 40 years, Mariama, the newest wife married 20 years ago and four others are in between for an accumulated total of 192 years of matrimony. It appears the Sultan selected his brides after seeing them as young girls around Agadez, which has a population of 30,000. Being chosen by the Sultan brings great honour to a girl's family. Today, if the Sultan were to take a wife they expected that he would marry older girls, around 20 or 22. Apparently, marrying girls so young is no longer as common a practice as it once was.

The selection of a wife is a collective undertaking. The Sultan's brothers and sisters discuss the merits of the potential wife and must agree on her suitability. Wives generally have a voice in the selection of a new wife. Given their tightly cloistered lives, this method seems sensible, if not essential.

Multiple wives are costly and he must provide for their every need. In centuries past West African Sultans were wealthy merchants who traded in gold, silver, salt and slaves. It was not obvious how the current Sultan supports his wives and immense staff which includes many advisors, liaisons to various clans and guards, but I would imagine that it is mainly through tax collection.

The Sultan bought the sequined and embroidered clothing and gold jewellery the women were wearing, which I thought to be their very best dresses and head coverings. Whether he personally selected their items or one of his sisters had done so, was not clear. When I commented on the beauty of their delicately carved white gold jewellery, they giggled, smiled widely and said they were gifts from the Sultan.

I asked if they live in a harem and they did not recognise the word. They told me they live in a zaoura, which I believe is Tamaschek for the Arabic harem or harem. The women co-habit with their 21 children within the brown mud "palace" which is electrified, has an old telephone and running water, but otherwise does not fit the image of a European palace with immense gardens. Far from it. The only vegetation I saw were a few trees and flowers.

The women live collectively in one large reception area, which I was not permitted to see. In addition, each wife has her own sleeping chamber and the Sultan keeps a series of personal and private rooms, which are off-limits to outsiders. Each wife visits the Sultan in his room for one night a week. This was not a polite subject to pursue any further.

The children address each woman as "mama" and Asmaou is respectfully called "mama" by the other wives as well. Each wife also has a nickname. Every child is the responsibility of all wives equally and they said they all agree on the disciplinary action should a child misbehave. Unlike their mothers, the children freely leave the compound to go to school and could even attend university overseas. I had not expected such "modernism". The women were confident that their daughters received the same education as their sons. The children I saw were not wearing school uniforms as this is not common in Niger and were running about in t-shirts and skirts or shorts and were barefoot.

One has to wonder what they do behind the walls, day in and day out, year in and year out. When I asked if they cooked or embroidered, they said that they had people to help with such activities. Their attendants are their own family members. Each of the wives' immediate family works in the palace and either lives in the compound or in a warren of houses adjoining the palace, their privacy and safety are assured.

One obvious way of passing the time is by watching television. Nigerian TV is limited and although satellite is possible, the palace is not connected. Like most people in Africa, their primary source of information is radio. They smiled and teased "mama" saying that she had a radio growing out of her ear, as she listened to her transistor all day long.

What women listen to and want to listen to is a question I pose wherever I travel in Africa - an occupational hazard. I paid careful attention to their listening preferences and what programme content they thought important. Each woman told her responses one by one. The youngest wanted to know more about pregnancy, what happens inside a woman's body when she is with child, during birth and to know more about baby and child care. They were unanimous in wanting more information about health, staying healthy, diseases and specifically Aids. I was surprised how much they knew about Aids, how it is transmitted and prevented. Some said that more local and countrywide news was important, as they wanted to keep up with developments and events, including political news. One was concerned about income generating work, such as handicrafts, saying that women needed more information about prices and costs so others won't take advantage of them. Another said she wanted more radio discussions about young girls being forced into marriage by old men and girls being either sold to or given in marriage by their families against their will.

I was surprised at their awareness and how informed they were of an outside world from which they have been divided since their early teens. The closest they come to their environment beyond, is venturing onto the roofs of the one-story palace buildings and looking out over monotone brown and dusty Agadez. They have never eaten at a restaurant, ridden in a car, visited a friend for tea, bought a dress in a shop or attended local festivals.

Except when one of their immediate family members dies, they are strictly forbidden to leave the zaoura. Even then, they can only exit in their own compound accompanied by all the other wives, provided her family lives attached to the palace complex and they venture no further. Otherwise, a sister or brother attends a birth, wedding or funeral as her representative.

I asked many people in Agadez and Niamey, the capital, about the Sultan's wives and no one had met them or even knew how many wives or children he had. Most just guessed at four wives. One waiter at the pension in Agadez said his friend was the Sultan's son, but he too, had no knowledge of the Sultan's family life.

We outsiders would consider them concubines imprisoned without options. However, when I asked the question, "what if you could go outside the palace," this was beyond their comprehension and something they had no interest in or desire for whatsoever. And I said what if it was fine for you to walk freely around Agadez, even escorted, the older wives shook their heads as if I had suggested that they fly to the moon.

I was also surprised that they readily agreed to pose for photos. When I showed them their images on my digital camera and video cameras, they were delighted. They had never seen pictures of themselves before, so I promised to send copies, which I have done.

I left the zauora with a profound feeling of honour, which I suppose is odd coming from a long committed feminist. It is not for me to pass judgement of their lives, their choices or on the feudal system that governs them. It is my hope, rather, that they will consider me to be their friend and that they will want to see me again when I return to Niger.

The next day, a messenger arrived with a note from the youngest wife, Mariama, who had written to me in French. The note included their phone number and the address where I could send the photos. In addition, as I promised to bring a new Lifeline radio with me the next time I saw them, she respectfully asked for six - one for each wife."