Anyone living in Malawi cannot help but be struck by the
tender poignancy of funerals for the deceased’s families and the obvious
significance of these events for the broader community. Funerals are a “big” deal in Malawi. During our first 11 months in Blantyre, we
have been privileged to attend seven funerals—four held in tiny remote villages
outside of the city and three within the city limits. In each case, we were the only “azungus” in
attendance, or just one of a handful of whites. I have no doubt but what we were an oddity,
attracting unwanted attention, but the Malawians (including the families of
deceased) have, without fail, treated us with great respect as honored guests, even
though we had little or no contact with the families. Of those who died, we had only known Juliet
Simbeye well.
Of the seven funerals, two of the services were under the
direction of Church members. In the
other cases, the religious portion of the services were conducted by Catholic
priests (Sister Caetano’s deceased husband);
Mennonite ministers (Brother Chizola’s mother); leaders of the CCAP (Church of
Central Africa Protestant) church (Chris Sitolo’s father and President
Kanjala’s father); and ministers from the New Message Apostolic Church (Lucy Tembo’s
brother). As one might expect, the various churches
handled the services somewhat differently, but we have found that, irrespective
of the faith of the deceased, many of the rituals were fairly consistently from
one funeral to the next. The services, we suspect, have a combination
of religious and atavistic elements, some traditions perhaps having roots that
go back hundreds of years well before Christianity had been introduced to
Africa.
Many families prefer to bury their deceased, if possible, in
their family villages, the ties to the villages remaining amazing strong, even
if the family has been away from the villages for years. Sometimes this is not feasible due to costs
(transporting the body to far distant villages is very expensive) and the
inconvenience it causes when most of the family members no longer live in or
near the village. On occasion families incur
substantial debt to bury their dead—a practice the Church strongly discourages—as
it leaves the families financially encumbered with large debts they have
trouble paying off.
The following is a brief description of several of the
common characteristics we have seen when attending these funerals:
Everywhere funerals are intended to serve similar social
functions--to pay respects to the deceased and to support the remaining
family. They no doubt advance other social
objectives, even if they are dimly understood by those who are in attendance. They re-affirm the faith of believers in the
face of that great uncertainty that is death.
And even for those without faith, some of the rituals are intended as acts
of quiet defiance—showing man’s will to survive as a collective unit even when
one of its members dies, and even in the face of the inevitability of death. Sometimes, the funeral serves to
re-establish social cohesion or re-order lines of formal or informal authority,
especially when prominent individuals or family heads die, recognizing the passing
of power or authority from one generation to the next. So it is not surprising that funerals draw
together family members, from far and wide, neighbors, religious and political leaders
and prominent members in the community.
In this, Malawi funerals are not markedly different than funerals
elsewhere in the world.
But what sets Malawi funerals apart is their utter scale, as
measured by funeral party size, the length of the period of mourning, the
intensity of the emotions expressed, and the scope of the community support
shown for the deceased’s family. The
number of people attending the seven funerals varied in number, ranging from
350 to 550. Each of these funerals was
larger in size than almost any funeral we have attended in the United States. In
Malawi, it is very important for those who know the family, whether or not they
knew the deceased, to make an appearance at the funeral. Such appearances are expected, and families
can easily take offense, if visits are not made. As a consequence, Malawians are constantly
going to funerals—funerals for the elderly mother of a friend, for a distant
uncle, the father of a Church member—what is important is giving respect to the
family. Employers accept that their
employees need time off to participate in such events—funeral attendance is
something everybody “gets” or understands, and concessions and allowances are
always made to allow such support to be given.
But of equal, or greater significance is the time Malawians
freely take to gather, wait, and support the family of the deceased. Hours upon hours are devoted to supporting
families. It is not just about
attending an hour-long funeral service on the day of the burial—certainly a
break in one’s busy schedule but hardly a major sacrifice of time. In Malawi, giving family support begins
immediately after news of the death has been passed. Within hours of hearing of the death,
friends, family and neighbors begin to gather at the family home. Those who gather express their condolences
and then evidence their support by staying with the family, quietly supporting
them by sitting wherever they can find space.
This migrates into all-night vigils, held night after night, until the
burial itself takes place. Friends
have, of course, other commitments—they can’t drop everything while waiting for
the funeral, but it is not usually for husband and wife to alternate visits to
maintain a constant presence.
The funeral is usually held no later than two or three days
after the death. The day of the funeral service can easily
consume at least five to eight hours, and this time commitment is on top of the
hours (including hours of all-night vigils) the friends and neighbors may have
already spent assembled at the family home.
The day of the internment friends, family, neighbors, community leaders
start gathering between 9:00 and 10:00 in the morning, hours before the service
is expected to begin, sitting quietly, usually on the ground, against walls,
under the shade of bamboo trees, small shade trees and in the lee of
outbuildings, patiently waiting for the service. Men and women are strictly segregated, never
sitting together, but grouped in small clusters—the women sitting on their
brightly colored chitenges, the men sitting directly on the ground, or in the
handful of chairs or sofas that have been brought outside. Most chairs and sofas are informally
reserved for special guests.
No one is in a hurry—no watching the clock or worrying about
a later appointment—though men frequently fiddle with their phones and other
electronic devices. Conversation is
quiet and respectful. Once the funeral
service finally begins an hour or so after lunch, it lasts an hour or so and
follows a fairly predictable pattern.
The program is invariably in Chichewa though most of the speakers are
usually bilingual—when it comes to matters closest to the heart, Malawians
revert to Chichewa to express their feelings.
And after the service, the funeral party—now gown in size to
the proverbial sea of humanity—stretches out, in a long line, heading to the
local cemetery, which is always within walking distance. In one case, the cemetery was over a half a mile
from the village, and easily 200 to 300 feet above the village in elevation, so
waves of mourners passed the coffin, from one to another, up the steep, rocky
path, winding between the lower village and the upper gravesite. On several occasions, the distances
between the family home and the graveyard were close to a mile, the funeral
party stretching out in long narrow lines, one or two people wide, threading
their way through the maize fields, past humble homes, up and down the narrow
ravines and gullies. At the graveyard
there is a second program, which does not begin until after the coffin has been
placed in the ground, and covered by the crew assembled to help with the burial. This group, usually 10 to 20 strong, works feverishly
for 20 to 30 minutes to prepare the gravesite for the final remarks and
ceremony. Khasus and shovels are used
to cover the coffin and mound the site.
Each funeral we have attended stretched between 5 and 7 hours—so it is
not an inconsequential commitment to attend.
Everyone understands funerals will be day-long events.
As we have watched these amazing events, I have been struck
by how they must have resembled communal gatherings, both formal and informal,
in the pre-industrial world—when huge crowds would assemble, over sprawling
grounds, for events lasting hours, as people gathered to commemorate major
events, news of which was largely shared by word of mouth advertising. These social events were precursors to
today’s modern-day equivalents—massive religious revivals, sport events,
political rallies, and music concerts.
What is however different is how long the Malawians wait for the
services to occur—it is as though they have nothing else to do or as though the
event itself is understood to be a major attraction that warranted queuing up
and waiting.
Another defining characteristic of Malawian funerals is that
they are preceded by one or several all-night vigils held at the home of the
deceased’s family. Immediately
following the death, the family sends out word of the passing. With today’s ready access to cell phones,
news can spread quickly. Everyone
knows, without being told, that the funeral service, and burial, will be held
within a couple of days, since the cost of preserving the body for longer periods
is prohibitive. Without being specifically
invited, friends, family and neighbors quietly gather at the home of the
deceased to pay their respects and to give support. Making these visits is considered
obligatory and is never regarded as a potential intrusion upon the family’s privacy
or a desire to mourn only with the closest of relatives and friends. The norm is well understood—you are required
to visit, even if they did not have friendly relations with the deceased of the
family-- if you do not do so, the deceased’s family will take offense and will
not attend your funeral or that of your family members. If offered food, you are also expected to
eat as it is considered rude to refuse such courtesies. Azungus are generally exempt from these
rules—because everyone knows they “don’t know better.”
Those who gather do not head home when it gets late or after
sharing a few words of comfort, but instead find someplace within the family
home, or more likely a narrow spot on the grounds, wherever they can find some
space, spending the entire night in quiet support of the family. Virtually all of the furniture is removed
for the home to allow more sitting within the family home. The women closest to the family spend most of
the night singing to express their grief and give comfort. These all-night vigils are repeated night
after night until the day of the burial.
As a consequence, family members, as well as close friends, get little
sleep over several days, other than a few hours each night when quiet finally settles
over the home. Many
neighbors may find themselves equally deprived of sleep, though often, with
this in mind, they share with one another the responsibility of keeping a
constant presence at the family’s home, shuttling back and forth to pace
themselves for what they know will be a long ordeal.
We have witnessed a number of outbursts of inconsolable
sorrow at Malawi funerals, something we have found quite surprising given the
usual stoicism with which the Malawians seem to face many of their life
trials. Malawians rarely, in our
experience, express much emotion. They don’t talk much about their feelings, show
emotions or share much about their families or personal lives. Questions about their lives are often
answered narrowly—rarely do they volunteer information about themselves and
their families. Though this lack of emotion
and privacy are perhaps just the face they put on when dealing with
Westerners. In private, they are surely
more forthcoming and open with their feelings with close friends and family.
Whatever their natural instincts may be, funerals are
occasions where raw emotions are often expressed, frequently in dramatic
ways. The first time we witnessed this
was at Esther’s funeral in Mpemba.
Esther’s sister, who was then living in China, arrived late, after Esther
had been buried in the village cemetery and most of the gravesite program had
been completed. Her appearance was
sudden, dramatic, and over the top. She
threw herself upon the grave, sobbing inconsolably. Several women, close family members, sought
to comfort her, wrapping her in their arms, caressing her tenderly, whispering. She fought their restrain, breaking free
several times, flinging herself back upon the dirt, and it was only after an
extended period that she calmed down enough to allow the gravesite program to
be brought to an end.
Subsequently, we have learned that such outbursts of emotion
are not uncommon, but have been characteristic of most of the funerals we have
attended. Given the extreme nature of
the histrionics, I thought for a while that the families might have hired women
mourners to cry, scream and wail for the deceased, to give visible expression
to the private grief felt by the family, but we have been told this is not the
case. Two events seem most apt to
trigger these episodes: the actual burial of the body—symbolic of the “end” of
life and final separation of the deceased from the living; and the periods
during which women gather around the coffin in the family home, singing
religious and traditional songs, and chanting.
But these are not the only occasions when such grief may spill over the
boundaries of more normal expressions of sorrow. The other day, when we visited with Lucy, a
day before the funeral itself, several of Lucy’s sisters were beside
themselves, lying face down in the dirt, wailing uncontrollably, or screaming
as they staggered, like one drunk, through the small courtyard in front and alongside
of the family house. Perhaps these
displays of ragged feelings are in part due to the sleep deprivation the family
members experience. One can hardly be
expected to reign in one’s emotions after going one or several nights with just
an hour or so of sleep. But whatever
the reason, it is painful to watch these episodes of raw emotion, wondering
what, if anything, can be done, in the moment, to lessen the agony of those who
are in such obvious pain.
Such outbursts frequently prove to be contagious—as one
episode triggers another, each woman seemingly egging on another, until
something or someone mercifully is able to break the downward cycle of
emotional collapse. While men may no
doubt have as tender a feelings as women, they are never the ones out of
control. These emotional outbursts are
sex based—it is although the women have been assigned the role of expressing
and giving vent to the emotional anguish that all may feel. In
this way, they are representatives of the broader community. Men
are expected to keep their emotions in check.
No doubt similar expressions of grief, equally impassioned
and wild, may occur during funerals or periods of grieving in the United
States. But I think they may be less
common. In any event, I am certain they
are far less common t Mormon funerals.
One may ask oneself why this might be the case. Perhaps the answer is in part based upon
cultural and social expectations. When
families grieve, they should do so in private, and are expected to keep in
check their emotions during the public ceremonies recognizing and celebrating
the life of the deceased-- such as funerals and internments. Of course, one expects the family of the
deceased to feel sorrow and pain, but the expression of those feelings are
expected to keep within subtle boundaries. It is
not considered “proper” to lose control.
Most, I think, would point
however to a different, more profound, reason for the more restrained behavior
of Church members who grieving for their lost ones. The message of the restored gospel is one
of hope, grounded in the belief that Christ was the first fruit of the
resurrection, and that all will, in the Lord’s due time, come forth from the
grave. The righteous can look forward
to coming forth in the resurrection of righteous and all have the hope of
seeing and being reunited with loved ones in the life to come.
This hope is the antidote to the inconsolable grief one
might otherwise feel upon the death of a loved one. Those who have a testimony of the restored
gospel, while grief-struck upon the loss of a loved one, are still able to look
beyond the moment of personal loss, and take comfort in the hope of a brighter
and more glorious future. This hope does
not eliminate the pain, but softens the anguish. It gives a long-view perspective not
otherwise possible. Ultimately this perspective is grounded in the
faith of those who remain. The greater
the faith, the greater the capacity to hope for the future. I
thought of this when attending the gravesite service for Brother Chizola’s
elderly mother. After a period of mourning at the family home,
the coffin was carried, by waves of mourners, up an extremely steep, windy,
mountain path to the village cemetery. While the undertaker’s helpers were covering
the coffin with dirt, a small choir of Mennonite members encircled the grave,
singing one church hymn after another.
The singing was in Chichewa. And
while I did not understand the words, I felt the spirit of hope that small
choir was trying to share with those in the funeral party. It was the hope of a glorious future for
those who die in Christ and who have lived a righteous life. Part way through burial, one or two women,
whom I could not see, were overcome with raw emotions--screaming, wailing, conveying
a spirit of fear, anguish, and terror, primitive and elemental in
character. Nothing could have been more
at odds with the music of the small choir and the spirit of peace they intended
to convey. But those who mourned seemed
to be beyond their reach. For a moment,
it was as though that small group of the faithful Christians (though not Church
members) were trying to keep at bay the hopelessness to which mankind would
otherwise succumb were it not for the good news of Christ’s resurrection and
the hope of the atonement’s cleansing power.
It is likely true that were it not for the gospel’s message, all of us
would be as full of terror, as inconsolable, as raw, as devastated, as lost, as
the mourners who were outside the circle of the believers and who took no
comfort in their message.
Men and women do not sit together or mingle during funerals
or during the home gatherings that precede them. This is not surprising because a similar
segregation of the sexes prevails during church services. While visiting the family home prior to or
during the funeral, men congregate in clusters, sitting on the ground wherever
they can find space, often in the shade of small trees or up against the walls
of the outbuildings and other homes. They
visit quietly amongst one another and wait patiently, supporting by their
presence the bereft family. The
pattern for the women is not much different.
The clusters of women spread out over the space around the family
home—next to the family home, across the street, up against neighboring homes
and outbuildings, in small copses of trees.
In addition, a group of women—consisting of family, close friends, and
church members—gather around the coffin, which is placed in the center of the
main room in the family home. The women
in the room change from time to time, as some leave for food or breaks and
others come in to pay their respects to the family. The family removes all of the larger
furniture—chairs, sofas, beds, tables—from the home before the coffin is
delivered by the undertaker—to free up space within the home to accommodate the
largest possible group of mourners. The
women converse quietly and often sing, sometimes hour upon hour, during the
day-time and deep into the evening.
Occasionally, the women, as a group, leave for food, and then they are
replaced by a similar group of men who resume the constant vigil over the
coffin. Rarely however do the men and
women mingle, other than casually. This
segregation is however not strictly practiced during funeral services conducted
by Church members. Then men and women
come together as an informal combined choir.
The guiding principle seems to be quite simple—the bereft family should
not be left alone, between the time of death and the burial, but should be
constantly encircled, supported and embraced by as many friends, family and
neighbors as possible. Strength is drawn
from being together at this time of mourning.
It is the strength of the community in the face of death.
Men conduct the services, whether at the home or at the
cemetery. It is rare to have a woman
speak, but it did happen at the funeral of Sister Caetano’s husband. The family of the deceased looks to others
to do the funeral arrangements, conducting the meeting, giving remarks,
expressing gratitude. The funeral is
for the benefit of the family, so, as in the United States, others are expected
to step up and handle the mechanics, removing that burden from the family so
that they can focus on greeting others and dealing with their own feelings of
loss.
Apart from the public gathering at the family home
(including the all-night vigils), the funeral itself consists of two programs:
one held at the family home (shortly before leaving for the cemetery), and the second
conducted in the cemetery. Once each of
these programs commences, it is not inordinately long—usually lasting little
more than an hour. What takes the time
is getting ready to start and the waiting between programs. Malawians are extraordinarily patient,
sitting hours on the ground or in battered chairs or old sofas, in quiet
conversation or devoted to personal reflection, waiting for things to get
going. Waiting is certainly not thought
of as wasted time, but instead is an important way of showing respect and
providing support. During the family
home service, women first, and then men, are invited to file through the
coffin-bearing room to pay final respects to the deceased, not unlike a public
viewing of the coffin before a funeral service in the United States. At Jacob Tembo’s funeral, there was a line
of over 50 women, dressed in their colorful chitenge, lined up to pass by the
coffin, and off to their side, in the middle of the road, six priests from the
New Apostolic Church, wearing frayed and ragged white and red robes and slashes,
preparing to deliver their remarks and prayers, once the final viewing of the
deceased was completed. The colors,
pageantry, and diversity of the scene were amazing—I will, however, never be
able to capture those or similar images in photographs. Carole and I try very hard to be respectful
of the privacy and sensitivity of those with whom we visit. We are grateful for their willingness to allow
us to be in their presence and don’t want to be a distraction or abuse in any
way their trust.
The service is then conducted by a representative from the
undertaker, and a church leader. Customarily,
several speakers are invited to make short presentations. An honored representative of the family,
often a maternal or paternal uncle, speaks on behalf of the family, giving a
short eulogy of the deceased. The local
chief or village head man, or a representative, speaks for the community. One of his responsibilities is to
acknowledge the donations of friends and neighbors, made to help the family defray
funeral expenses—100 kwacha from one family, 1,000 kwacha from another, 350
kwachas from yet another. These
donations are made directly to the chief and not to the family, and the chief
is responsible for seeing to their proper application These public acknowledgements are considered
important, and each funeral we have attended have included such recitals. Also the local political parties may have
representatives present who convey their condolences. The services are in Chichewa, so neither
Carole nor I have ever known whether the remarks were either comforting or
included much in the way of a traditional eulogy for the deceased.
With the exception of Esther’s funeral, all of the funerals
were conducted at the family home, within walking distance of the
cemetery. Despite the length of the
service, the crowd does not tend to thin out during the long day. Though people certainly come and go during
the day, for the most part people seem to stay throughout the long services,
showing their respect by patiently waiting for the services to conclude. So the crowd of mourners going to the
cemetery is packed—with a long line of mourners filing behind the coffin as it
makes its way to the cemetery.
Usually, the church members of the group conducting the service sing as
the coffin is carried to the cemetery.
Malawians are jealous to preserve the dignity of their
funeral processions. If the family can
afford it, a flatbed truck may be hired to convey some of the mourners to the
cemetery. Usually, at city funerals, there
are several cars in the funeral procession, one carrying the coffin, but the
vast majority of the mourners walk from the home to the cemetery. Indeed, for most village funerals, the only
way to get to the cemetery is by foot.
Where there is a car procession, a handful of young men are dispatched,
as a vanguard in front of the crowd, to clear the way for the mourners; they do
this by waving broken branches before them to signal to the traffic that a
funeral process is coming. Everyone
they encounter on the way--from cars, trucks to foot passengers—is expected to
pull off the road to allow the process to pass by without disruption. Even minibus drivers—notorious for their disrespect
of others’ rights on the road (indeed, they are as bad as cab drivers in New
York City)—have the good sense and decency to pull over the road, waiting for
the procession to pass completely by.
One of the few times we have seen Malawians truly upset was when a few
people failed to show the proper level of respect for a passing funeral
party.
Once the crowd reaches the cemetery, the customary segregation
of men and women occurs. Men on one
side and women on the other; but sometimes the pattern is more piebald. It is the Malawi practice to drop the coffin
into the grave, fill the hole and then cover it with a large mound of dirt
before starting the gravesite service.
This backbreaking process is done by hand, using traditional khasus and short
shovels, and handled by floating crews of men.
Often men in the crowd volunteer their services, as instruments pass
from hand to hand, while the grave is filled and prepared for the final service. On one occasion, cement was mixed at the
site, and poured into the grave, over the coffin. Later we were told this precaution had been
taken to deter would-be grave robbers from desecrating the site by digging up
the coffin for resale. Again the
funeral party is expected to wait quietly, often sitting in the hot sun;
usually it takes close to half an hour to prepare the site for the
service. Village cemeteries are typically
found in small copses of narrow trees, providing a little shade, but city
cemeteries are usually in open fields—perhaps because most of Blantyre has long
since been logged. Services are again under the direction of both
the undertaker and the church in charge of the program. Several talks are given; a second discussion
of donations—this time a short explanation as to how the contributions have
been applied. One of the final rituals
is to invite family members and others to come forth to place wreathes (usually
paper wreathes) on the grave. Church
groups frequently sing, while the funeral crowd spreads out, again in clusters,
segregated by sex, sitting and waiting for the final benediction.
