A Malawian Send-Off

My first week of orientation in Johannesburg South Africa was INCREDIBLE! The group I am with is amazing and this is going to be an incredible semester. There are a million things I could tell you about our 10 days here. Including a Homestay in the Soweto Township, speakers from the ANC, Afrikaners league, and a man who spend time as a political prisoner with Nelson Mandela on Robbin Island. But instead I’d like to go into detail about an experience I had on my homestay.
On the last day of my homestay I was privileged enough to get the chance to attend an African funeral. It was like nothing else I have ever experienced. When we first arrived to the house there were people everywhere. It was like the entire community came out and then some. They piled into the streets and then the casket came out of the house in a procession. It was a very simple casket with makeshift handles on the sides and carried by 4 men in the finest suits they could afford. The coffin was placed on a table outside the house and the singing began. A few short speeches were made ( the whole thing is in Malawian by the way) and then there is a dialogue between the preacher and the woman who was leading the singing. It seemed like they were having a debate back and forth on what the fate of the dead man was which I hope came to a happy ending. Then the men lift up the coffin again and put in on the back of a cow-drawn cart. And a procession starts. But this is not just walking, it’s like dancing. Its this stomping/marching movement that keeps time with the ongoing songs and chants. Once we clear the neighborhood and get to the street the coffin is put in the back of a car. Everyone else gets in a huge bus. This is when the funeral really gets rolling! This bus is like a block party; no joke. The ride to the graveyard is a whirlwind of sound and music and noise. They sing these amazingly powerful songs and chants and they hit the ceilings and windows while stomping there feet. NO ONE SITS. The songs are beautifully complex layers of overlap and the beats created are unique and somehow fit with the overall sound. Ironically we were so loud we probably woke the dead. Part of me wishes that I knew what they were saying, but the rest of me is glad I didn’t. We get to the site and not only do the songs and dance continue, but the get louder and even more passionate. Everyone gathers around the grave that his family had dug earlier. A prayer is said and then it is quiet. This is a time to just start singing any song you want and everyone with going in to sing and dance with you. Only the family sits. What struck me the most was the grief and power behind their song and dance. It was heart wrenching and hopeful at the same time. Some just collapsed in grief. During all this the coffin is lowered into the ground. Once it is, the family that can stand put the first shovel full over the coffin. Once they relinquish the shovels there is an eruption of movement. All the men come forward, be they 9 or 90, and pick up the spades. With no regards for their fines suits or white shoes, they wade into the dirt and begin to lay a final blanket over their departed friend. Some of the older men get tired and the teenagers relieve them. All the while the women are dancing and singing around the grave. The men fill in the hole with vigor and relieve each other as they get tired. Then the songs begin to slow as the grave reaches completion. They stopped and three women begin to sing a beautifully somber song while two men sculpted with their hands the mound of his grave with such tenderness that I was moved to tears. So softly as if they didn’t want to wake him. Flowers were placed on the fresh grave. Then a very elderly man from the family comes to the front and thanks everyone for coming then invites us all back to his house. And the funeral is over.
But it is Malawian tradition to invite everyone back and have a party to celebrate the lives of those still living. There are mounds of food and ginger beer everywhere. Malawians are a very hospitable people. Therefore it was apparently a big deal that I was there. They took me in the house and washed my hands and feet and fed me. It was the only time in Joburg that I felt truly safe and welcome. And not because I was white.