An Imageless Picture of Funeral #5

So.... my phone charger broke last night (ie. I'll be less accessible today and tomorrow until I can go to the mall and hopefully find a new iPhone charger). Therefore, I wasn't able to take any pictures today because I'm keeping my phone turned off and only using it in case of emergencies. I'm going to use the million-dollar adjectives (as I was taught to do for parables in preaching class) to describe what I did today so you can have a mental picture even though I don't have any actual images to share.

Last Wednesday, Mama Faith's aunt passed away after several years of illness. Today was the burial at the family homestead in the hill country. Pastor George pulled the car over on the side of the highway and we processed down to the chamba (farm) of bananas and coffee. Kenya is in the middle of the rainy season and so far this is the wettest one on record in decades. Step by step we cautiously tiptoed down the steep incline. Mud was sloshing and oozing as we half stepped, half slid down to the tents set up for the service. After reaching my seat, I noticed my ankles were now speckled by the mud that splattered on my feet with each step I took. Since we were in the countryside, the whole service was in Kikuyu - which I still don't speak - so I had a lot of time to take in the breathtaking setting that surrounded me.

A towering canopy of banana trees swayed in the brisk breeze as we listened to the greetings at the beginning of the service. The sounds of traffic buzzing by on the highway and birds squawking overhead were evident in the transitional moments of the service. The occasional mooooo or cock-a-doodle-doo interrupted reverent moments of prayer and reminded us we were at the chamba. An interesting fragrance of cow manure mixed with the coffee plants filled my nostrils throughout the visit.

Before too long the boisterous melodies of cucus (grandmothers) in matching kitenges (Kenyan dresses) led us in worship. The praises were unceasing despite the almost constant screeching of feedback from the thirty-year-old microphone. Despite the usual afternoon rain showers, the minister preached relentlessly over the pitter-patter of raindrops on the top of the tent. After the homily, shoulders jolted rhythmically, hands were lifted toward Heaven, and bodies bounced up and down to the rhythm of the traditional Kenyan drumming. The joyous praise only lasted for a while before the mood transitioned as we processed behind the casket to the burial.

Harmonized hymns were quietly sung as the parade processed downward and the casket was lowered into the ten-foot pit. The wailing women's cries seemed to echo in the valley below as the first handfuls of soil ceremoniously descended into the grave and landed on top of the casket. The thud of the dirt crashing on the wooden casket prompted anguished screams and uncontrollable sobbing as the mourning continued. Many of the daughters and granddaughters were carried away by family members into the house so they could grieve privately. After a moment, the women of the community resumed the traditional Kenyan choruses as the men of the family began to bury the casket deep in the ground. The drums pounded as if to keep all of our pulses beating as each shovel of dirt was dumped into the grave. After it was filled, the cross was hammered into the earth to mark the resting place of a beloved servant. Final prayers were lifted up and the gathered quorum took communion together in the form of rice and mukimo (mashed bananas/potatoes mixed with assorted vegetables).

The presence of God was on the hillside today.

~ Nell in Nairobi