On mourning

The grandfather of a friend of ours passed away and we went to pay our condolences to the family as is customary in the culture. Hartmut went to the house were the men were mourning, sitting outside in a big circle under the mango tree, while the girls and I went to where the women were. When somebody passes away the whole community comes together to support the family. As we came nearer to the house we could hear singing. The voices from the women who sat on the rocks, the steps and the porch outside the house mixed with the voices from the women inside. I could not understand the words but the melodies carried a message of hope and comfort. We were lead inside. The house was full; fuller than I had ever seen any house before. In order to find a place to sit, or simply walk, women had to move even closer to each other than they already were. The new widow sat with her back against the wall. She was surrounded and supported by those who are closest to her,  carried and lifted up by waves of voices who sang to her and with her.
I could not not cry in the middle of such raw beauty and could have easily sat there the rest of the morning. Unfortunately but understandably, the girls could not. They became fidget after they had had enough of the warm crowded dark room, the singing and being swayed by all the bodies who moved as one to the slow rhythm of the music.

We joined the women outside. Each one of them had carried a basket of food for the occasion. Seven big wooden mortars and pestles where placed in a big circle and seven strong women lifted and dropped their strong arms, creating a beautiful rhytm and fine cassava flour. I was invited to join them but my untrained arms did not create much cassava flour. All I achieved instead were fits of laughter from everyone watching because of my clumsy pounding. I left them to do what they are good at. Soon the mourners would be hungry and much food was needed as there were many mouths to feed. For this army of women who all showed up to help, it did not matter whether they knew the deceased well or not at all. In this community, when people grieve you come and help. They will help in return when you are in need. The community will take care of all the practical needs so that you can focus on your sadness.
In the mourning I saw a deep demonstration of the togetherness I so often experience in this place. A togetherness so enviable that I hope that it doesn't get lost in changing times.

My sister in law lost her mother this week. She was still young and it is hard for everybody who knew her. It hurts to see the people you love hurt. I wish I could be there to support her and my brother. I probably would not sing. I would definitely not pound cassava. But we could support in a way that is impossible through whatsapp messages and voicenotes. There is beauty in mourning together and on days like today I envy the people in my village who have lived here for generations. Whose families belong to the land as much as the trees and the rocks do. Whose grandparents have mourned and celebrated together and who know that their grandchildren will do the same.

But on days like today I am even more grateful to know that I can call the comfortor of the world my Father. He doesn't depend on whatsapp messages, kilos of cassava flour and songs of mourning to heal.hurting hearts. My prayer is that He will comfort our loved ones who mourn in a way that no human being, however well intended, can ever do.