June 19, 2014
The funeral was set to start at 1:30, and my counterpart and I hurried down the deserted road through town. No one sat on their porches, no one worked in their fields, and no kids were out playing. However, when we arrived at the house where the funeral was taking place, it was overrun with people. We were led to where the chiefs of the surrounding villages were sitting in chairs. Everyone stared at me. I peered around at all the villagers sitting on practically every inch of ground available. Me today, you tomorrow, I kept thinking. I looked down the slope in front of me and realized that there was a coffin sitting right there in the yard. A line of women dressed in white, peasant-looking tops; simple, black knee-length skirts, and white head wraps filed into the house. People sitting in the space between the houses began to sing. Men walked by us and down to the house carrying a wooden post that read "Gladdis Foster. Died 16/8/014. C.C.A.P." When the singing ceased, the coffin was carried into the house. Relatives of the deceased girl sitting outside of the house (and right in front of me) began to bawl and wail. Their faces were wrapped up in their zitenge. They sobbed and whimpered and blubbered in Chichewa. The girl's husband sat with his back to the house and with his face burrowed in his hands. His back was quivering; he was definitely crying. Then, the sharp crack of a hammer radiated through the air. They were nailing the coffin shut. The women came back out of the house and washed their hands with wood ash and water. They had been the ones to place the body in the coffin. People stood up and the whole congregation began to move. We relocated to where two bamboo mats were laid out in the middle of the road. After the crowd settled onto the yards of houses along the road as well as down the road in both directions, the men brought the coffin and placed it on the mats. The mourning women trudged along behind, gripping at each other or support. The first two women flung themselves down next to the coffin while the rest plopped down around it, grieving and leaning on each other. The women in their white and black outfits returned and were each carrying a bouquet of mossy-textured grass. Some had orange marigolds mixed in, others had white floral grasses. They circled around the coffin and sang.
Before the ceremony began, I had asked my counterpart if I could take pictures. He said I needed permission and went to ask, returning saying I could. When the preachers introduced and welcomed evrryone, the man to whom my counterpart had spoken to talked for a short time. I heard my name mentioned and felt eyes on me. I looked up. A natural thing I do here is zone out when I hear someone speaking in Chichewa unless it's directed at me. When I heard my name though, I snapped back into the conversation. I asked my counterpart what he was saying. He said the man had announced that I wanted to take pictures to show people in America what a Malawian funeral is like and that it was my first time at one. I felt guilty that the man was talking about me when all of these people were here to honor a deceased girl's life.
The ceremony entailed a lot of singing, preaching, and reading from the bible. When it was over, the funeral procession left the way it had entered: a man presenting the wooden "tombstone," men carrying the coffin, the mourners, the crowd, and then a choir in the back. We preceded to the graveyard which was situated in the middle of a tea and cassava field. The burial had a beautiful setting: in the middle of grassy hills and with pale blue mountains as a backdrop. The group gathered around a freshly dug hole. There was music, the coffin was lowered into the hole, the bamboo mats were laid on top of the coffin, and boys came and took turns using a kasu (shovel/hoe), a bucket, and their hands to fill the hole with dirt. Large stones were placed around the base of the mound. After a few words from the preacher, the choir began a song. A choir member would step forward with her armful of grassy flowers and a family member was announced. The devastated mother was first, escorted by another amayi. The choir member knelt on the ground next to the grave. The mother came beside her, fell to her knees, accepted the flowers from the woman, and gently placed them on the grave. One by one, the girl's grandmother, brother, and father slowly stepped forward and did the same. After the father, all of the remaining choir members walked up and placed their flowers on the grave as well. Then the funeral was over.
When I got home after and was going through messages on my phone, a student at the secondary school knocked on my door. She had brought me an invitation to the school's graduation ceremony. It was a handwritten invitation, but had the "official" stamp of the headmaster on it. After being in America for so long and getting invitations via favebook, email, and text, it was refreshing to receive a handwritten note. I was in a good mood and decided I go up and chat with my neighbors. I ended up sitting on a smal stool with two kids on my lap and eight to ten sitting around me. They were fascinated by my blonde hair and white skin as well as my shiny metal rings, my countless bracelets and hair ties, and my wanderlust tattoo. They would trace the outline of the letters with their fingers and rub it like it was going to come off. The kids all pushed and shoved to sit next to me. I quizzed them on the food groups and when you should wash your hands. We talked about school and what time they wake up and go to sleep. I teased about how when I wake up at 6AM, there's always a child wailing up here. They pointed to a toddler playing in the dirt. They stroked my skin and played with my hair, brushing it out of my face and behind my shoulders. I watched them peel and eat an entire lemon (skin and all), dipping it in salt. A girl walked up with a plateful of raw chicken pieces balanced in her head. One of the girls stole a piece and ran away. This led to a chase and screaming. We smiled and laughed spoke in broken Chichewa while the sun faded behind the mountain and the afternoon dwindled into dusk.
The ceremony in the road
All of the people
The ending