Went to Alfredo's sister's funeral tonight. She died of AIDS at the local hospital (THE hospital) and this was the third night of the mourning. But that's making it sound like it was all tears.
People sang and talked and laughed, the family entertained many friends and others, and by the end of the night, when we said goodbye at the Canadians' house, I had forgotten why we had ventured out in the first place. Not to say that the dead are forgotten, but death is dealt with much more smoothly than in the West. And with more food. In this case, goat made it into the bean stew which I ended up eating. We'll find out in about 3-4 hours whether or not my body can handle it.
And the service wasn't that run-of-the-mill either. We were in a covered area behind the family's house, men seated in chairs facing the capulana-bandana'ed women seated on reed mats on the ground. A priest gave a brief Changana service, accompanied by Changana songs that spoke of the "spirit" that is so central to their lives, that it's synonymous with "wind".
I still maintain that I want my funeral to be the biggest party possible, catering to the tastes of as many as possible. Screw something meaningful, spiritual, or deep - there's nothing like a good time to remember someone by.
Mozambicans have a pretty good head start on this one...
Peace
John
