Day's Diary

August 8 , 2007 ~ A Funeral and A Wedding

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Someone once said that you know you are part of a community when you are invited to a wedding and you attend a funeral. If that is true, I am really a part of the community here because this past week I preached at a wedding and officiated at a funeral. In the midst of sadness and death was the joy of a wedding. I’ve thought about it a great deal this week, and I think that is much of what life is really like, a sandwich of joy and sadness. Both are essential ingredients in life and they often come sandwiched together.

On Friday, Thomas’ mother died (see journal entry from August 5 – Rhoda). We were there as she died. While I have been to funerals, this is the first time I have experienced it with the family from beginning to end. Dealing with death here is different than in the States. Here, the family takes the body to the mortuary if the person dies at home. As Thomas, his sister and aunt, who were at Rhoda’s side as she died, tried to cope with the reality and notify the rest of the family, his wife Jean and two friends prepared the body, carefully wrapping it in a blanket and then wrapping a bamboo mat around it for carrying it to the back of my truck. I was grateful that I was there with my truck to help with transportation otherwise it would have been difficult and costly. The grieving family piled into the truck, some in the back with the body and some in the cab. Once in the truck, the wailing began. Those closest to the deceased, at least the women, are expected to show their grief. If they don’t, someone will question their love for their loved one. From the wails, there was no question of the love. At the mortuary, Thomas and I made decisions about the casket and the timing of things and he made arrangements to collect the casket the next day for the trip to Balaka where she would be buried. The crying ones climbed back into the truck for the trip back to the house and time to pack up belongings to move to the family home about eight kilometers away from Thomas’ home, for the family vigil. The practice is that the extended family all stays together and sings, prays, and waits for the morning and the next phase of the funeral arrangements. Friends may come and join the vigil and especially the prayers. The crying and wailing accompanied us through all our driving. We dropped the women at the family home and Thomas and a friend accompanied me back into town. They were going to make transportation arrangements to take the casket and the family to the Balaka area the following day, which is about two hours north of Blantyre. The family comes from a village about 10 kilometers outside of town. Thomas’ father is buried there and most of the relatives still live in one of several family villages in the area.

Saturday morning my focus was the wedding, which was in Blantyre. Two couples from the college were to ride with me and several students wanted rides. Charles offered to go and be with Thomas, to help with details since I couldn’t be there, so he went to be a brother to Thomas. We dropped off him and one of our riders and headed for St. Michael’s church where the wedding was to be held. This was a joyful time. Takuzi Chitsulo’s sister was the bride (some of you may remember Takuzi who was a student at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary) and I had been honored by being asked to preach. Both Takuzi and his father are CCAP pastors; they could have asked many others but Takuzi was insistent that I preach and be part of the extended family. Takuzi translated for me. The pastor of St. Michael’s had commitments, so he arranged for another pastor to officiate. The service is very similar to the service in the US, with a few minor variations. The “wedding march” is quite different. Instead of our hesitation step, they do a side step that resembles a slow dance up the aisle. Everyone in the bridal party does this, from the smallest flower girls to the bride and her father. Another thing that is quite different is that photography is welcomed, with the photographers coming right into the chancel to get the best shots of the event, close and personal. Then the marriage license is signed there in the front of the church, immediately after the exchange of vows and rings. This is part of the ceremony.

After the service, the bridal party went for photographs and the extended family went to the home of one of the pastors who lives on the Synod grounds for lunch and “counsel” with the couple. While we were waiting for the couple to come from their photos, I got a phone call from Charles saying he and Thomas had run into a financial problem at the mortuary and they needed me, so I excused myself for a short time, to see what I could do. It seems that the mortuary had taken it upon themselves to embalm the body, since it was going to be transported to a hot area of the country, and that added an expense Thomas hadn’t counted on. There was a blessing in this. After I arrived and took care of the problem, we were invited to view the body for the last time before the casket was closed for transport. That was an emotionally difficult time for Thomas and I was grateful that Charles and I were with him. They then put the casket in a truck Thomas had hired and went to the house to gather the rest of the family and head to Balaka.  I went back to the wedding proceedings.

The next part of the wedding event is unlike anything in America. The families of the couple gather for lunch with the couple and as they eat, they take turns standing and giving advice to the couple about a successful marriage. The couple sits silently and listens attentively. After lunch and advice, the group moved to the reception. Again, this is unlike anything in America. It is like a Paper Sunday (April 2) for the couple. The hall is set up with rows of chairs and the stage area is set up for the bridal party. Once everyone is seated, the bridal party is announced by the Master of Ceremony and the fun begins. Just as with a Paper Sunday, there are tellers and baskets and money is offered, in small bills. One dances to the front and tosses the money at the basket or at the person holding the basket. Different folks are called to hold the basket for different reasons – parents of the couple, the maid of honor, the best man, officiating clergy, and of course the bride and the groom. The music is loud and fast and the dancing is joyful. The idea is to contribute to the couples’ start in life. The MC for this event was Finer Bakati from the Partnership. Toward the end of the event, there are speeches and thanks, a toast to the couple (with soda), and a light snack, including cake. The event lasted from 1:00 to 6:00 p.m. It is significantly different from what an American thinks of as a reception, but this is Malawi and this is Malawian style.

Takuzi and his wife joined us on the way back to Zomba and Takuzi decided that he wanted to accompany me to the funeral in Balaka on Sunday. At the time I wasn’t certain why, but God had his perfect plan. We had arranged for the college truck to go with my truck and we would take as many students as possible. So at 9:00 a.m., we set off with 24 people in the two trucks – six in the front and six in the back of each. We arrived at the village after stopping to ask directions and being led by a helpful fellow on a bike. We went into the house where the casket was and all the women were sitting singing and crying. As is usual, any furniture had been removed from the house and bamboo mats put down so everyone could sit around the casket. We offered prayer, one of the students preached briefly and we left. Charles met us outside and ushered us all into another small house with bamboo mats on the dirt floor. We dutifully sat on the mats and waited for him to get Thomas so we could offer condolences. Thomas came and thanked us for coming and spoke with us briefly then left to join the other men of the family who were sitting outside the house we were in. The students followed him out and were seated on mats under a tree while the clergy (Takuzi, Anderson Juma, fourth year student Kananji and I) waited to hear about the service. Finally elders from the Balaka CCAP church came to report that the abusa was away and so we, the four of us, would be responsible for the service, with the assistance of the church elders from Balaka and several from Blantyre who had come from Thomas’ home church, Mpingwe. Takuzi took charge and put the service together. He wanted me to preach but I declined, so we agreed that he would preach, I would pray and Juma would lead the singing. About an hour later, the elders came to tell us that all was ready, so we robed and stepped outside. We were joined by all of the elders, our students and the mvano who had come from both the churches. The casket was brought from the house and placed on a mat on the ground under a tree. The mvano gathered around the casket, the students and pastors circled behind them and the family stood or sat under the trees. Before the clergy began, the village chief made remarks about Rhoda and her life and then called one of the young granddaughters forward. Her mother and her aunt presented her to him. There is a ritual in the village for someone who has died who has led an exemplary life. A young member of the family is given the dead one’s name and is told that he or she is to grow up to live into the legacy of that name and live in the character of the good person who has just died. This is only done when the deceased is a very good person. The village chief gave this granddaughter Rhoda’s name and charged her to live up to it. It was a moving tribute to Rhoda. Then the clergy took the service. Takuzi did a wonderful job of preaching, using the Emmaus story as his focus.

After the prayers and hymns, we moved to the gravesite. This was an operation. The grave was about four kilometers from the village. We used the college truck for the casket and the immediate family members and my truck for the clergy and some of the older folks, moving in slow procession behind the mourners who walked. We could only drive so close and then we had to walk in procession with the casket about a kilometer back a path into the bush. As we walked and the mvano sang.  Thomas came beside me and as is the Malawian custom to show closeness, he took my hand and we walked in silence to the grave together. Again, things are very different at a Malawian burial. First there were speeches of thanks from the village chief and a representative for the family and the elders from Balaka. Then the words of committal are spoken, the casket is lowered and the clergy put a handful of dirt in on the casket. This time, Takuzi invited all the students, including Thomas, to join us and we all placed the dirt together. Then those who dug the grave cover the casket as the mvano sing and the mourners watch. Once the casket is covered, wreaths are placed on the grave by those who are close to the deceased. Thomas’ uncle, his mother’s brother, placed one, Thomas and his sisters placed one, and then Baxton Maulidi, the Student Chairman, and I placed one on behalf of the college. Thomas’ eldest sister had a difficult time doing this. She had been weeping for much of the service and at this point she collapsed on grave and her sisters carried her away from the grave. Before the closing hymn and benediction, the mvano placed flowers on the grave that they had picked and arranged. That concluded the service and we walked back to the trucks to reverse the procession to the village.

When we got back to the village, we planned to leave immediately, but were told that there was food provided for us. The clergy and a few students were ushered into the small house again, to find two sets of bowls, one of nsima and one of relish each. The rest of the students found the same arrangement on the mats under the tree. This is a village practice of sharing a common plate. We washed our hands and sat on the mats to share a communal meal from communal bowls. Takuzi insisted that he take a picture of me, saying he wanted proof that I had truly become Malawian. I smiled and thought to myself that I was becoming Malawian, but it wasn’t because I was willing to eat from a communal bowl but because I was being allowed into the inner circle of people’s lives, to share with them in their joys and their sorrows. I was part of the community.