Day's Diary

March 21 , 2007 ~ The Funeral

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Charles Kilowe is a second year student and a natural leader. He is involved in most of the college activities. He heads up the Scripture Union Bible study that is held at 5:30 a.m., is involved in the student government organization and is academically one of the strongest second year students. I got to know him the first month of school when he approached me after class one day to ask if it were true that I was driving to Blantyre that day. (There are no secrets on this campus!) I said yes and he asked if he might ride along to take some things back to his home. He had thought his wife would be joining him and had brought many of their things with him, only to learn that second year wives were not to come, so he needed to take the things back and there too many for the minibus to allow him to take them that way. With the understanding that Silas and I were going and coming right back, we loaded four large bundles of things in the back of the truck and set off.

On the way we learned that he had only been married a month when school started and this separation was difficult for him. His bride was now living with his mother and making the best of everything. When we dropped him and his things off, we met his mother, a frail lady who spoke no English but smiled and shook my hand as Charles explained that I was his teacher. His wife was leading a neighborhood Bible study. We made arrangements to meet him for the return trip and went on our way. He was at the appointed location at the appointed time, with his wife who had come with him to thank us for bringing him and their things.

About a month ago, he came again to ask me if I were going to Blantyre. That day plans had changed and I was not. He was very disappointed, saying that his mother was sick and he wanted to check on her. I offered him transport money. He reluctantly took it; he really wanted to check on her since he had no other siblings to look after her. When he returned to school, he came to thank me and to report that she was very ill but was refusing treatment. He asked if I would pray for her, which I willingly agreed to do.

Two weeks ago on Saturday, the Scripture Union Bible Study became a Scripture Union chapter, at the leading of Charles. I was invited as guest of honor, to declare the chapter officially open. Of course, it didn’t hurt that I live close to the chapel, the venue for this event, and my kitchen might be available for the ladies to use to cook lunch for everyone, which of course it was. Rev. Reynold Mangisa, a good friend, spoke and it was a wonderful event. Charles took care of all the details and then left for Blantyre. Before the event began he had gotten word from his wife that she had taken his mother to the hospital. After his responsibilities, he went to be with her.

Here in Malawi, when a family member is in the hospital, someone from the family must be there to care for the patient and prepare meals for them. Hospitals do not provide food. Charles’ wife offered to do it so he could return to school, since it was near the end of the term. Wednesday she called to say that his mother needed surgery and was refusing. He went back to Blantyre then phoned on Friday morning to say that she had died.

Many of the students were concerned for him and wanted to go to the funeral to support him. Four went down to be with him as he made the arrangements and to sit all night with him, which is the practice here. I offered to take a group with me, since I wanted to go and support him, too. Another group came in the college truck after their morning class. There were 24 of us in all there. Several of us were invited to participate in the funeral service.

Now, I had never been involved in all the details of a Malawian funeral. I had attended a service at a church once, but that was all. This was all new to me. We arrived about 10 a.m. We thought they would be at the house with the body by this time, since the service was scheduled for noon. There were 3 vehicles just leaving the house with the coffin for the mortuary to claim the body. (The coffins are just wooden boxes, shaped for a body, much like the ones shown in old Western movies.) We joined the caravan. Once there, Charles had to go to the morgue, identify the body and sign for the release. Then his friends placed the body in coffin. In the meantime, the mvano (women’s guild) of St. James church who had come along, were outside weeping and singing. Once the body was in the coffin, one of the students prayed and then several of the others carried the coffin out to the women. I was asked to pray there. We loaded the coffin in one of the vehicles and proceeded to the family home. Many more mourners had gathered while we were at the mortuary. The crying and singing intensified as we arrived and the coffin was carried into the house.

The house is very small and there was not room for all the mourners to sit with the body until the service, which is the practice. Those from the college were escorted to a nearby home that had been offered to shelter us. We were the honored mourners. The rest stood outside the house. This, too, was a very small house, and when 15 of us crowded in, it was cooler outside than in. By this time, it was Noon. We sat for an hour. Then we were served a meal of nsima (stiff maize porridge) and relish (cooked cabbage in this instance), and a glass of water. We waited. The word was that the church had scheduled a session meeting and they were hurrying through business, but things take time. At 2:30, word came that the pastor and elders were on their way. Rev. Chingadza arrived and set to ordering the service. Since the mourners were mostly Chichewa speakers, he asked one of the senior students who is already ordained, if he would preach and if I would pray the main prayer. He selected the hymns and assigned other parts and the procession was ready. We (about 40 people by this time), processed to the house, singing as we went. The decision had been made that the service should be held outside, to accommodate everyone. There were at least 200 people there by this time sitting in the grass and standing among the maize plants or on the road beside the house. Rev. Chingadza whispered to me that we would need to stand in the sun because of the positioning of the body, and so we did.

The service included some unusual elements, from an American perspective. After the opening hymn and prayer, an elder read all of the gifts of comfort that were offered to the family, down to the tambala (a coin worth a fraction of a penny). There were speeches of varying lengths. The mvano sat on grass mats around the coffin. The elders stood behind them, except for the worship leaders, who stood at the head of the coffin.

By the time we got to the sermon, we had been standing about 45 minutes in the sun. I began to feel faint. I prayed but the feeling continued. I stepped back, behind the group of worship leaders to lean against the wall of house. My thought was that if I propped myself right, even if I fainted, I would not fall and would not be a disruption to the service. I didn’t know what else to do. One of my students started walking towards me and I motioned her to stay. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Three students grabbed for me. There was no hope of not causing a disturbance, as I fainted against the wall and they rushed to move me. Talk about embarrassment! What kind of a pastor faints at a funeral? My students attentively moved me to the shade, away from the congregation. I sat out the rest of the service, resting against a neighbor’s house. I was fine by that time, but Rev. Chingadza took the prayer. I stayed put through the benediction.

Then it was time to go to the grave site. I needed to drive. I was feeling well enough but there was great discussion as to whether I should or should not. I did. The procession was 4 vehicles. The college truck was pressed into service as the hearse as well as the purveyor of mourners. The rest of the mourners walked the 4 miles among the vehicles to the burial site. Driving on rough roads or non-existent roads is difficult enough, but doing so around a hundred people who are trying to keep their footing is a challenge. When one of the vehicles got stuck in the mud, the mourners just stepped behind, pushed it out and continued with the procession.

At the burial site, the ZTC students served as pall bearers and carried the coffin to the grave, placing it on the 3 poles that had been placed across the opening. The committal service was much the same as in America until the end. The men hired to dig the grave got into the grave and lowered the coffin in. There was about 3 feet of standing water in the grave, so they placed a grass mat down before placing the coffin in. Then they began to fill the grave as all the mourners stood and sang. This took about 20 minutes. When they finished, they placed a cross on the mound of dirt. The family and the mvano then placed flowers on the grave with great ceremony, as everyone sang. I was asked to give the closing prayer and benediction, since I had failed to at the funeral. The procession then reversed the 4 miles to the family home for final condolences.

I was aware of two things (beyond being certain to bring water with me to the next funeral). One was that we in America have insulated ourselves from the painful view of death with our funeral practices. We don’t see the body in the worst state and we certainly don’t have to place it in the coffin. We don’t stand until it is buried. We are sheltered from much of the physical pain of death. The second thing was how much the church here is the body of Christ in visible ways during the funeral, standing with the family all night, serving their needs, literally walking with them through the various parts. Death here is much more “tangible” than it is in America and is definitely a community experience. Charles is an orphan now, but he has brothers in Christ who stood with him and will continue to do so in the weeks ahead. That is the body of Christ.