Wednesday 1 August 2012

Death and Bereavement in Africa...Pt 2


Week commencing 9th June 2012…this weekend was the impending funeral of my husband’s uncle. I must admit I was very nervous about the upcoming events. Firstly because it had been almost a month since uncle’s death, so everyone had calmed down and life almost continued as normal for most, but with the funeral and the burial, emotions would be high once again. This would make it real – he really did die. This would be the final goodbye. Secondly, because my husband had given me an idea of how funerals in Africa tend to take place. They run over 3 days – the first day being a Friday, when the body of the deceased is “laid in state” (laid openly in a room at his home). I just didn’t know what that would be like.

So, Thursday came and we were on the way to Ghana. We arrived late afternoon and stopped by at uncle’s house to check that the funeral plans were going okay. The next day we got up early to go back to the house. My husband wore black. I had packed a black dress but it needed ironing. My husband told me to wear my normal clothes and we’d iron the dress when we got to uncle’s house. We arrived to witness many preparations underway. The front of the house was being draped in red and black fabric (those are the funeral colours in Africa) and at the back, meat was being butchered and food was being prepared.

Most people were in their normal attire, but after a short while they started to change into black and red clothing. My husband ironed my dress for me and as I went to the room to change, I realised the top back of the dress was see-through and I needed to wear a vest! I had completely forgotten about that! At the same time, one of the girls happened to be leaving for the market, so I gave her money to buy me a black vest.  It was a few hours before she returned…those hours seemed like years…

As more family members arrived I became increasingly concerned that they may have thought I was being disrespectful. Here everybody was in long, black and red outfits, heads covered and there I was, sitting there in my knee-length white skirt and floral top! I was so embarrassed. I let out a huge sigh of relief when the young lady returned from the market with my vest.

During this time, my husband had gone to the morgue with his cousin to dress the corpse of his uncle and prepare it for being laid in state. Uncle’s daughters and nieces waited at the house, chatting and watching TV. I listened to their conversations and as well as being admirable of how strong they were trying to be I was also touched by what a close family they are. The family is a large one and most of the girls are around the same age, so it’s nice that they have each other for support.

It was late afternoon when my husband phoned me to say that finally everything was ready and that they were on the way. They were actually now 15 minutes away. I asked him if he was okay and told him I’d see him soon. As I hung up I had butterflies in my stomach. The body was coming home. I didn’t know how everyone was going to react but I knew it would not be easy.

Uncle’s daughters had also received word that they were on their way and I saw their faces change. I looked at them and I have to admit my heart sank. It was going to be a very, very sad moment for them. I couldn’t imagine how they were feeling. After about 10 minutes, I could hear the faint sound of a siren and I became nervous. In Africa, they carry the body in an ambulance and sound the siren the entire journey from the morgue to the house. I knew then that they were nearby. The siren became louder and louder, until finally we could hear them coming down the road to the house. By this time there were quite a lot of people at the house and there were chairs and a marquee outside. I sat on a chair not too near to the gate and just waited. As they arrived outside the house, people started to cry and scream. Then uncle’s wife ran out crying. It was a very painful experience and very, very intense. The cries and screams increased and I saw the children crying as my husband and his cousins carried their uncle’s coffin past everyone, into the house.

After a few minutes everything went silent. My husband came to see me, to check that I was okay. I told him I was fine, but at that moment I cried. It was a very sad affair. My husband comforted me. He had surprised me. It was difficult for him to have to dress his uncle’s body and carry his coffin, but he had kept his composure. He even said to me “are you proud of me for being strong?” I was certainly very proud of him.

Shortly afterwards, the body was available to view. It had been placed in a room at the front of the house, which was normally the living room. The room had been beautifully decorated and specially prepared for the body to be laid in there. There were flowers and framed pictures of uncle at different stages of his life. One of uncle’s daughters refused to go in and view the body of her father, but later I had seen she had written on Facebook something to the affect of “daddy is home now, but he is not moving…he is dead” That was heart-wrenching. It was now becoming real – never again would they talk to their father, they would never dance with him again, never laugh with him. Not in this life anyway.

Later that evening, another uncle who is a pastor held a short service for close family members. The service took place in the living room, around the body. My husband asked me to attend. It was conducted in Ewe (the African language of Togo) but my husband translated. Afterwards, some family members and friends left, but many stayed until the early hours of the morning. At about 5am, my husband took me home and then got ready to return to the house for the second day of the funeral. I didn’t attend as they would be travelling from Ghana to Togo for the burial and my husband thought it would be too much for me…

To be continued…

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