Saying goodbye

"We are not depending on ourselves but on our Creator's freedom."

On Sunday I attended the funeral of a colleague's father.  The words above were his in response to my message of condolence.  I wondered where he drew his strength from in being able to respond this way and was surprised that he was able to respond at all.

I expected Sunday to be a sombre day filled with tears and quiet reflection, I couldn't have been any further from the truth.  My journey began at the back of a pick up truck with at least 10 other colleagues, as the wind blew in our faces and the red dust dyed our hair, the vehicle filled with raucous conversations and laughter that filtered through to each village that we passed.  I was unprepared and ill equipped to deal with the conversations that took place - mainly because my Kinyarwanda is still shockingly non-existent despite having been here for FIVE months already!  As we approached our colleague's home-village, (about a 45 minute drive away), the mood changed but it was still not what I had anticipated.

I had expected to be met with tears of sorrow and an air of mourning but instead, I was warmly greeted by all with smiles.  I stupidly asked each person, 'amakuru?' - How are you?  To which I predictably received the standard response of 'Ni meza' - I'm fine/good.  After watching briefly community members digging the grave in the back garden of my colleague's family home, the women were ushered into a small room whilst some of my male colleagues were handed spades and hoes to muck in with the grave construction.

In the room, I was warmly greeted and soon became the centre of attention.  The room, a turquoise-painted mud hut was adorned with many posters of Mary, the mother of Christ.  I found it all a little disconcerting, particularly one image of her standing with arms outstretched, riding on a cloud with a large glowing ring of light surrounding her head and the words 'Holy Mary, light of the world.'  Blasphemous really - but what could I do or say?  As I greeted each woman in the room, (with ages ranging from 20s-60s), the questions and comments for me cascaded.  Whilst I did not recognise any of the women, many of them were from Cyahinda and so have seen me from around often.  Discussions began about my weight - apparently I have gained weight as my cheeks have got bigger.  It must be all the potatoes I'm eating!  Other topics of conversation raised: Is my hair natural or a weave?  It would seem that all the children in the village are enamoured by me and talk about me at home?!?!; and finally whether I would take a Rwandan man to be my husband so I could stay in Rwanda forever.  Again, much laughter was to be heard and had - not exactly what I was expecting from a funeral!

Interestingly, and I'd intended to blog about this for a while was the dress of the women at the funeral.  Some were adorned with traditional material tailored into a figure-hugging dress/outfit but most wore the material as a sarong-type wrap-skirt with a t-shirt on the top.  What I found funny were the t-shirts themselves.  Have you ever wondered where your 'Happy Sack' clothes donations go?  Or those given to your high-street charity shop?  Most of it ends up here in Africa and is SOLD in the markets - I have seen people walking around in McDonald's uniforms, a White Castle t-shirt, a TNT uniform, a Tesco t-shirt and lots of Unicef/USAID/charity t-shirts.  One lady at the funeral wore a Mickey-Mouse t-shirt with her traditional wrap, somewhat odd but no-one (else) batted an eye-lid!  When I asked what I should wear to the funeral, I was told, 'anything you want' - and they weren't half right in saying that!

After the conversations about me petered out, the women then unexpectedly broke out into prayers and songs - I was later told that they were traditional burial chants.  This continued for THREE HOURS - unbroken.  As I surveyed the room, some women fell asleep (there was even one who snored very loudly) and others who just respectfully had their heads bowed (maybe they were asleep too?)  It was difficult for me NOT to fall asleep myself.  After the 3 hours, my colleagues told me to go out for some fresh air and I was informed that the actual ceremony would not take place for another couple of hours as the grave was still not complete.  This is African time - something I've had to get used to, it shouldn't be given as an excuse for tardiness and shouldn't be accepted as one - but it is.  Again I was told, 'inhangane' - be patient, something that I find harder and harder to do and be the more I live here.

When the ceremony eventually began, my colleague's family plot of land was filled with a sea of people - not one tear was shed.  I was saddened by how detached people were but since '94, people are almost numb to the idea of death, it is just perceived to be a part of the life-cycle, nothing to mourn over but a mere inevitability - I was asked, 'why should we fear it or be sad?  It happens to all and life should go on.'  I still don't know if these are wise words or tainted ones.

In my own life, many loved ones have passed away and with each one I am reminded to be grateful for what I have - it was encouraging to see that my colleague was drawing strength from God and rejoicing for the life that his father had and will have with Christ.  My colleague himself has now taken on the role as 'head of the family.'  He smiled throughout his speech and reiterated the words, "We are not depending on ourselves but on our Creator's freedom."  And so these are the words that I leave you with too...