Cameroon and a funeral

I am in a place where I am content to wait on God’s plan. I am trying
not to worry about anything, but instead pray about everything. The
word “surrender” has meant a lot to me in the past few weeks. I am
slowly learning to give up the control I so crave and let the chips
fall where they may. It’s hard to approach a period of change again
with that in mind. I don’t want to plan too much, because I want God
to take the reins, and yet it’s scary to think I will be back in the
states in less than 4 weeks and I have as of yet no solid plans for
the next few months. But God will provide.
And meanwhile, life goes on as normal.
On Saturday we went to Cameroon to see elephants. I stood near a heard
of over 200. They are amazing creatures.
Today I was at a funeral. Our neighbors’ 23 year old son was mentally
handicapped and has severe epilepsy. On Friday he went to the boutique
to get batteries for his radio and didn’t come home. They found his
body on Saturday night.
The grieving process here is intense. It’s really hard to know how to
feel and how to write about the wailing, tam tams, and massive
funeral. I want to respect the grief, but in some ways I find myself
wanting to study it. I wonder if I should try to take some extra
anthropology courses. I am fascinated by the way ceremonies develop to
cope with live and loss. So anyway, I’ll try to let you in on a
glimpse of the process:
The waiting started Friday evening. Mom went over to give condolences.
And we prayed that Serge would be found. Saturday night at around 23
o’clock the wailing started. It was a guttural sound of pain. Hannah,
Mom, and I went over on Sunday morning before Nasarra church (the
English/white service that happens every two weeks on a white
compound) to grieve with the mother. By this time they were already
setting up a canopy for the men that blocked the whole road.
The women were all sitting on mats in the courtyard surrounding the
mother. When we entered we were ushered to her to express our grief
and then take a seat nearby. Gradually we made room for the other
grievers, woman who enter wailing and screaming with tears running
down their eyes. There was no embarrassment about grief. After about
an hour we left to walk to church (our gate was blocked by parked
mottos, so no way of getting the car out).
Today there was the funeral. There was a cow outside this morning.
When I got home from work at 9 o’clock they were setting up a couple
hundred chairs in the street. At around 10 Mom, Dad, and I walked over
to take our places for the funeral. The woman and men sat divided, but
Dad got to sit with us because of the fact that he is white, has poor
language skills, and they placed us in the shade in the front row.
Interestingly, the women have power over the grieving. The body is
placed in their midst, and they are the primary grievers, but the
speakers all turn their backs on the woman and address the male
guests.
The ceremony lasted 4 hours. There were two sermons, a lot of singing
in French and local dialects I can’t understand, along with a
processional viewing. What was most moving for me was to see how
Serges’ community, both the mentally handicapped students he studies
with and the local kids with whom he plays soccer, were included in
the ceremony and not shunned. His soccer mates even placed a jersey
and a new ball on his coffin.
After the service people left to go to the internment and we came home
to power for the first time in 4 days, lunch premade by our house
help, and even a little bit of air conditioning. Sometimes the world
is filled with polar opposites.
Tomorrow I am going to the tailor with my newest fabric to order what
will probably be my last outfit. Its design is going to be more North
American, because right now I’m planning clothing to bring home with
me. Maybe I should ask for a sweater:).