Lesos, aprons, and the labour of Christmas
Aprons, and the labour of Christmas; a Christmas meal underway. For countless women, the festive season is not a holiday and when the food is ready, the order of service is already decided.
What you need to know:
- Christmas demands women's labour while men wait to be served.
- Who eats first reveals whose comfort matters most.
- The girls watching are learning.
Who eats first at Christmas? It sounds like a simple question, almost a harmless one. Yet in many homes, the answer reveals far more than what is on the table. It exposes whose comfort is prioritised, whose labour is assumed, and whose presence is central—and whose is conditional. In the festive season, food becomes a quiet language of power, tradition, and gender.
For countless women, Christmas is not a holiday. It is a season of intensified work, heightened expectation, and invisible responsibility. Long before carols are sung, homes are planned, budgets stretched, and meals considered down to the smallest detail. Women shop, cook, clean, organise, and host, ensuring that the celebration happens—all while being expected to do so joyfully, without complaint. And when the first plate is served, they wait until everyone else has eaten before they themselves sit down.
Wapi chakula?
Picture this scene during Christmas. In the kitchen, women have lesos tied around their waists or aprons dusted with flour. Hands roll chapati after chapati. Chicken fries in hot oil. Pilau simmers on the stove. Children too, need attention. The women move without pause. In the living room, or under a shade in the compound, men sit with drinks in hand—conversation flowing easily. When hunger grows impatient, a voice calls out: "Wapi chakula? Tunangoja! (Where’s the food? We are waiting!)" Not a question. An expectation.
The choice of who eats first is more than a simple matter of etiquette. It reflects an enduring power structures that place men at the centre of comfort and women at the centre of labour. In parts of West Pokot, this hierarchy is encoded in tradition: when a goat is slaughtered, men claim mbavu—the soft, tender ribs—roasting and eating them among themselves. Women and children are left with other portions, the intestines and tougher cuts. No one explains why. It is simply the way it has always been.
Across pastoral communities, men slaughter the animal and there their labour ends. Women inherit the rest. Men are served the choicest portions; women serve, attend, and then eat last, standing or in quiet corners of the home. It is a ritual that repeats itself annually, silently reinforcing whose needs matter most and whose work is invisible.
Tradition is frequently invoked to justify this arrangement. "This is how we do it," is often said, as if repetition alone makes inequality acceptable. Yet culture is not frozen, and customs are not beyond scrutiny. Honouring tradition does not mean accepting harm. Reflecting on whose comfort is prioritised and whose labour is taken for granted is not an attack on culture—it is a necessary step toward fairness and equity.
Perhaps the most important lesson is what girls learn while watching. December is a time when homes are full, meals are shared, and celebrations are in motion.
Unseen organisers of joy
Yet girls observe who is served first, who waits, and who eats last. In subtle ways, they internalise patience, self-denial, and invisibility. These quiet lessons shape expectations for relationships, work, and leadership in the years to come. In a season meant to celebrate togetherness, inequality passes from one generation to the next.
Christmas, for all its cheer and joy, also exposes a contradiction. It is a time of giving and family, of love and generosity, yet the very act of celebration reveals who carries the heaviest load. Women are the unseen organisers of joy, ensuring that everyone else can rest, eat, and celebrate.
But awareness is the beginning of change. Asking "Who eats first?" is not a call for perfection, nor is it an accusation. It is a question that invites reflection on how we share labour, space, and priority in our homes. It asks families to notice the work that goes unseen, to honour it, and to consider ways to make the festive season more equitable.
Also read: Unveiling Christmas's hidden heroes
A fairer Christmas doesn’t require abandoning tradition. It asks us to share the table—and the work—more thoughtfully, recognising that comfort and celebration should not be reserved for some while others labour unseen. As families prepare for Christmas, perhaps the most important question is not what is on the table, but who we choose to honour around it.
This festive season, let’s all look beyond the food, the decorations, and the gifts. Look at the hands that make the celebration possible. Look at the lives quietly shaped by who eats first. And ask yourself: can Christmas, in all its joy, be made fairer for everyone?
Merry Christmas!
