Manzamnyama Today we were in for a funeral. Babalwas mother last week of tuberculosis died. Out here TB seems to be a much bigger problem than AIDS ... Babalwas mother had long been ill, I did not know her well but she always looked very tired.
Aidan and I arrived at the house as the festivities were already in full swing. They had set up a large tent in the garden, and there sat hundreds of villagers. Aidan asked, and where we sit down? I said, well, I here (at the women on the ground) and you there (with the men on the chairs). It took barely five minutes since I saw another man behind Aidan fro that led him into the tent, where sat the more important men, and assigned him a seat at the end of the series. The women around me sent me in that direction and I also moved closer to the action and sit next to Aidan on the floor. Back in the tent were the clergy, and the coffin was laid out there. On the right side of the tent wall sat along the more important men, the village elders and such. Links were the women who belong to the same church as the deceased. They were all wearing long, blue and white robes and white hats, almost like Baker covers, and sang songs between the verbal thunderstorms of the clergy. The rest of the tent was filled with women who were sitting close together, shoulder to shoulder, on the ground. Further out still other men sat on chairs along the fence, but In the tent were practically only women. The clergy thundered their speeches in the round, sometimes clapping people, sometimes they laughed, and then the church women voted again to a song. Their voices are still chasing me goose bumps on his arms. As she capalla a five-part sing it, and to beat the drum and a few bowls and rattles. After about three-quarters of an hour seemed to be over the show, and people got up and went out into the field. I could not see much because I was in the middle between the women. Hundreds of feet through the high stress the grass. The wind tugging at her skirts. The grave is located in the field, a big hole, and at the bottom of the hole a second, smaller one. To the grave and the Coffin stood around men. The women were sitting further back in the field. According to another thunderous response from the priest, the coffin was lifted into the small hole down, and then they put a few posts over the transverse hole and a few straw mats on the posts. And then they filled the big hole with soil. The young men grabbed a shovel and started digging, and when one was slower when another came from behind to relieve him. Aidan was with the men at the grave. I was sitting further back with the women, about the same height with Babalwa, who like other spectators sat anonymously in the crowd, still as a statue. Next to it there stood the church women, and while the men were shoveling a the clergy and the choir heitzte, threw more thunderous words to the crowd and left the woman choir sing a song again. When the grave was shoveled were on the women and walked past the grave, and each threw a handful of earth on it. Then they went back to the tent, and on the way there they washed their hands in a large washtub.
When all gathered again in the tent, the women began to issue food. They formed a long line and passed the cup on to the Theatre of the men had eaten up all the men. While the full plate still left in the hands of the immigrant women who migrated to the empty right back into the kitchen. An assembly line of women. Then came the tea and bread. And finally Amarheu, a local drink. And were operated only when all the men and already started to get up and go, the women came to the series, which all along had been sitting patiently in a tent on the ground. And again everything from the beginning. Aidan and I have always special, I got a plate of food were served during the men, and we sat side by side on the floor and shared a plate. No matter how often you refuse, you still get food - it is impossible to say no. And probably rude. Behind the tent, in the two houses (the House of Babalwas family), the children played. And everywhere, dogs running around. So many people. All were delighted that Aidan and I took part, many women came and shook my hand and asked how I was and where I live and where I come from.
Since most men were already broken up, we decided that we would probably now be allowed to go too. We said goodbye to Babalwa, which was still busy in the kitchen, and started on the way back through the village. It's funny - I've seen anyone cry. The death seems to live simply for belonging. He is not as avoidable as in our Western civilization. Here, people just come to die. And life goes on.
0 comments:
Post a Comment