My aunt’s husband is dead. He died on the night of May 13 at the Korle Bu Teaching Hospital. His death, according to my mother, was not really devastating. A few days before his death, my mother and all the other siblings of his wife had gone to visit him. He was unwell—something to do with a heart condition. After the meeting and prayers, my aunt’s husband, a pastor, told them, “It is finished,” echoing Jesus on the cross. When the sad news of his death finally reached our house, my mother said he had already said his goodbyes, and that was okay. But we mourn because, nonetheless, death is still painful.My newly widowed aunt now has to don black mourning clothes and sit in her compound to receive friends and sympathisers who have come to commiserate with her. It’s a sad scene. According to tradition, she is not to shake hands with people, so wound around her body is an additional black cloth to cover her torso and hands. Every new guest brings with them a fresh wave of tears; it’s heart-wrenching. Some people walk in just to ask, “Oh, how did he die?” The entire story is then retold, and my aunt’s still-open wound is repricked all over again. Her tears never seem to run dry.But that isn’t even the crux of my conversation. What triggered this write-up was what happened when the man’s family finally arrived.The man is Fante-Ga: his father, Fante; his mother, Ga. It appears his father’s family will be presiding over his funeral. When the Abusuapanyin arrived for the meeting, a lot was said. But here are a few outtakes:My deceased uncle had been absent from several family funerals and gatherings in the village, and, for that, his children would have to pay an accumulated penalty of about 20,000 cedis. (This was later drastically reduced after protests from some members of the family.)My aunt could not shake hands and could not receive cash.My aunt would have to stay at home till the one-week celebration is done.All I can say about the first point is: if you’re Fante or Awutu, like myself, you better call your Abusuapanyin and inquire about your family debt. Why? My family, for instance, has a family registry where, once a member of the family reaches age 18, he or she is expected to start paying dues and attending family funerals. Dues are inexpensive; the last time I asked, they were about 10 cedis per head — it must be more now. Luckily for me, my grandmother pays on my behalf, but I now have to start attending funerals (I hate funerals). The other things I would want to say about this point would deserve a whole new write-up, so let’s end here.I can’t wrap my head around the second point. What will happen if she shakes hands with visitors or receives commiseration money from them? And, you know, this isn’t peculiar to Fantes. When Major Mahama died, even at the funeral, his wife was not seen shaking hands with sympathisers. Is there a fear that, when a widow shakes hands with some male visitors, the men would be captivated by the softness of her palm and start pursuing her, thus distracting her from her mourning duties? To be honest, I’m not bothered by that. It must be tasking to be shaking hands and mourning at the same time.And finally, the last point. That is where my bone of contention is.This uncle of mine did not choose a good time to die. The Nungua people have begun preparations towards their festival in July. According to a priestess, sacred corn has been sown and, until said corn is harvested and the festival is celebrated in early July, no funerals can be held in all of Nungua, and definitely no bodies can be planted in the ground. (People do break the rules, but I hear the penalties are steep when you’re caught.) So the one-week celebration has been postponed to July 18 — about a month and two weeks from now.So, for a month and two weeks, my aunt, a clearing agent, will be unemployed. How?! Why?!When I was told this by my mother, I was quite baffled. My first thought was: maybe the man’s family would maintain her during this extended period of mourning. To my shock, there will be no maintenance!And this is where I make the argument that our traditions are being performed in a vacuum and without substance.Because technically, under customary law, a widow is entitled to maintenance from her late husband’s family. Per best practices, the man’s family should have furnished her home with provisions to ensure that she’s well fed so that she can mourn well. A member of the family should have moved in with her to cook her meals and run her errands, to ensure that the widow is available at all times to receive sympathisers. But that wasn’t done either.In my aunt’s case, she has two adult daughters living with her, so there was little need for the extra family member. But what about the maintenance? She still needs the maintenance. Therefore, I argue that, in the absence of said maintenance, my aunt should be able to go to work and earn her living while we wait for July 18.Another interesting point is that this does not apply to widowers. Widowers are not expected to sit at home for extended periods mourning their deceased wives. I could argue that it’s because a man is not entitled to maintenance under customary law that this is so.However, in this age of gender equality, should we not be revisiting this age-old practice where women are made to stay at home unemployed while mourning their husbands? Because it’s unlikely these women are receiving the maintenance they rightfully deserve.If one-week celebrations have become so flexible that they can be celebrated months after the person’s death, then the laws around widowhood must likewise become flexible to allow career women to maintain their livelihood even during their mourning period.Which private employer will be okay with their employee staying home for close to two months because their spouse died? Will a government worker be allowed such leeway? I’m certain such an extended absence from work will come with penalties. Thus, is it fair for women to be made to suffer this economic injustice?As a society, as a nation, it behooves us to revisit our cultural practices, particularly those that have adverse effects on the rights of women and children, and modify them to meet current needs.My argument is derived from Article 5 of the Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women, which urges state parties, Ghana included, to “modify the social and cultural patterns of conduct of men and women, with a view to achieving the elimination of prejudices and customary and all other practices which are based on the idea of the inferiority or the superiority of either of the sexes or on stereotyped roles for men and women.”This is particularly crucial when you consider the fact that women-headed households are often more economically vulnerable than male-headed households. Thus, to prevent the immiseration of women, we must remove these cultural and systemic barriers that hinder their economic activities.I visited my aunt’s home yesterday. Her friend had come visiting. They were engrossed in conversation about death and the Korle Bu Teaching Hospital. Her friend was comedic and prone to exaggerated gestures and remarks. My aunt would laugh. You could still see the sadness in her eyes, but at least she’s laughing now.********The author, Cornerlis Kweku Affre, is a communications professional with an MA in Gender and the Law.