Our First Funeral

Before I start on this episode, I should say that the main focus of my assignment was environmental education, and I will get to that.

I also remember the words of my good friend Ndosi, the General Secretary of the Diocese of Meru. Tell people about the good things. There are plenty of bad things, but tell of the good.

Of course the bad things make the most interesting reading, but I do feel bound to be sensitive.

I kept a full, daily diary and readingwhat I have said especially as in this funeral, I was off track a bit, and I came to understand Tanzanian people better. For this I will use more from my diary.
Big E had told us that his cousin had died, and the day of the funeral, Josiah told us that he would be going, emphasising the word respect. I got the message that it was appropriate that we should go. This is so because shows that you want to be part of the local community, but as Mbise told me much later; you go to a funeral to be with them at a sad time - to identify with them, to give them 'pole' (a word meaning much more than 'sorry'). His personal take was that you go to a funeral because you don't want to be alone at your own!

Bid E's oldest son, Mwiba escorted us on the short walk to the funeral site. As is most usual the burial was to be on the property of the diseased. The women were sitting on the ground separate from the men who mostly (especially the elders, wazee) sat on some boards that were resting on bricks or rocks. The women were spectacularly colorful in their kangas (a wrap around the waist and another the same as a shawl over the head, or at least around the shoulders). The colors and patterns of kangas and more expensive kitenge are limitless and it us unusual to see two women wearing the same, unless it is intended so.
The men generally dressed in western type clothes, some very well dressed while others looked like they had just been working on the farm. Perhaps 10% wore traditional Maasai robes.

There is some ranking shown among the wazee, the oldest ones come a bit late to show their importance and are given a seat by a younger person vacating it in deference to the older man.

Mwiba sat me down and retreated, as he was young and this was planned, for Big E appeared and spoke in Maasai to the man next to me. Obviously he told him to keep by me and explain things to me. This man spoke very good English!

There seemed to be a delay, and I looked about me. 'One very old guy dressed in what had been a padded jacket, but now in tatters, sat with his eyes closed. He regularly coughed deeply and slowly and without spitting, he allowed phlegm to drop from his lips to the dust between his feet. Then he would cover it with his fimbo, a stick carried by men. Don't think bad of this guy - he was probably very sick and handkerchiefs were not around much then - much less tissues. He was coping with his problem in the best way he knew.'

'The thing about Tanzanians that I find hard to get used to is that they do not mind body contact! They will press against you or hold your hand - they don't mind pressing together so of course you can smell body odor and bad breath. My guide was continually belching (with real eruptions) not loud, but smelly!' This is true enough, we NZers like our space, but after a while you get past this type and simply accept it. I'm a bit embarrassed now that I wrote it!

We were in a small compound sitting under banana 'trees' and the area, as always, had been swept clean. There was no dust just hard clay. My guide asked me the usual questions; if I spoke Kiswahili - kidogo, was I a Christian - ndiyo, what sect - sijui.

He produced his hymn book and asked if I could read Kiswahili - well even after seven years, my reading was too slow to keep up with the singing!
There was no music, but hymn after hymn was sung and most people did not seem to need a hymn book, more, they seemed to know what number each was in the hymn book! During a lull, my guide asked me if I wanted to sing (actually not my strong point) and took a hymn book from his coat pocket again. I was in the middle of a trio, for the guy on the other side of me joined in too! Yep me! and we led the others off singing again and others took hymn books from their pockets.
After a while, a ute arrived (ex mortuary) with the casket (body within). The women set up a loud 'yip,yip, yip', as some ten or so young men carried the casket past them as they carried it into the house. Close family members followed the casket inside and my guide told me they would view the body and come to terms with the death.
We just kept on singing. And singing. And singing!
My guide conveyed the news to me that the Pastor had not arrived to perform, the service. We could see the wazee council talking, trying to work out what should be done. An hour of singing and quiet passed and during the conversation, it transpired that my guide was in fact an Evangelist - sort of lay preacher! I suggested to him that he could conduct the service. Well he did not have his regalia and he did not want to step onto another's turf. But the delay lengthened and I cajoled him until finally he decided he would approach the wazee.
The casket was brought out of the house and set up ready for the service and everyone stood, crowding close to the casket. At that very moment the Pastor arrived - he had forgotten that he was required. My guide returned to me - happy!
I did not understand the Swahili, but the service was a typical Christian one, and I realised when the eulogy was spoken.
After the benediction, the women first filed past the casket to pay last respects. There were wailing cries and 'yip, yips' and a few broke down completely. Then it was the men's turn and I was in the file, first noticing the Grevillea timber which was unvarnished. The upper third of the lid was open to the corpse's neck and there was a black cross draped over the casket. He had cotton wool in his mouth which gave an impression of a smile.
The grave was perhaps 50 metres away and was surrounded by banana trees. I could not actually see the interment, but there was a short prayer and most of the young men took a turn to cover the casket. Some young girls and women paced flowers, mainly bougainvillea, on the grave. A large wooden cross was placed at the head.
We felt sombre, even though we did not know the diseased, and on our walk home, we met with Big E to whom we offered our 'pole' and he appreciated out presence there.

There is a sequel to this. The widow, Mama Roger became a very good friend and her son, Roger (perhaps 4 at the time) liked to be with me. For a time Mama Roger fell on hard times and we found that her husband had died of AIDS. He had been a safari driver and she sold us his guide books so she and Roger could eat! There is much more to this and I will continue - labda!