Death is a Part of Life.

Death is a part of life.

But in Africa, death is a far too regular part of life. 

The statistics of how many people, of all ages, who die every day in Africa is mind-numbing.

 

Malaria is the #1 killer. Not because it’s not treatable, but because people don’t have access to treatment or prevention.  Malaria frequently causes diarrhea, and for those people who don’t have access to clean water, dehydration along with the weakened body causes rapid death.

HIV/AIDs is traveling rampant across the continent. It is transported by the forces of naivety, cultural expectations, male-dominance, as well as through the innocent unborn. Millions of children are orphaned, and the cycle continues.

Water-borne illnesses plague those who don’t have access to clean water.  Because this is their only water source they blindly accuse evil spiritual forces.  It couldn’t be the water causing their village to die since this is the only water mother nature/god has given them.

This doesn’t include the ‘normal’ causes of death which people in developed countries face.

Since the day I arrived, people I have met or become friends with have been attending funerals.  Our morning devotionals at the Bible College regularly include praying for so and so who had to go to the funeral of their relative.  Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, fathers, mothers, cousins are dying. 

The fact that African families are large and tightly knit influences the regularity of funeral attendance, but it certainly does not justify the causes of these deaths.

This past week I had the privilege to be a part of the mourning of the death of my friend Ida’s father.  Ida and I had been working together cooking for a team of nursing students.  Her father died in the hospital at Zimba from cancer.  He was an older man.

The day that he died, I went with some of Ida’s friends and co-workers to visit her in their ‘funeral home.’  I didn’t have any idea what to expect, and I was nervous, so I invited Judy to come with me. (The nursing team leader)  When I was told we were going to the funeral home, I expected a separate building or church, but instead we arrived at Ida’s home compound. 

There were about five well-kept huts at her home, likely very well taken care of by her father the family’s patriarch, for many years.  The men were sitting outside near one hut on chairs.  I followed the lead of the women to go into a small room where the women were gathered.  Everyone removed their shoes at the door, though for whatever reason they told me and Judy not to! The women were sitting on the floor, backs pressed against the wall with their legs stretched out and crossed in front of them. We knelt down and silently greeted each woman with a hand shake.  I sat down next to Ida, and followed the lead of everyone else by staring at my feet. 

We sat in silence.  It was heavy silence. Sad silence.  Empty thunder rumbled outside.  I felt my heart well with grief for this family and wished that the women were wailing as I had expected them to be.  The silence was too much for me.

More mourners came in and greeted us in the same fashion and sat down in silence. 

Thankfully, one of the women I came with, Brenda, began singing hymns. Others joined in. Brenda is a pastor’s wife and is well trained to present the gospel.  She began preaching in Tonga.  Though I could only understand a few words, it was unmistakably a call to repentance and a message in the hope of the eternal salvation of Jesu Christu. 

After another woman prayed, we left the room.  Outside we greeted Ida’s mother.  She was sitting near a small straw thatched structure where I could just make out the blanket bound corpse of her husband.   We sat down for a few minutes out of respect for her mother, and then prepared to leave.  Even as we were leaving, dozens of mourners were arriving, likely having walked for miles to give their condolences. 

It is tradition here to give gifts to the families of those who have lost a loved one.  Usually this would include maize for making nshima and other food items.  With so many family members gathering from far and wide, extra food makes the several days of mourning more functional. As her employer, I gave Ida a financial gift equivalent of about $20. 

The mourning time will last for a few days before the burial.  Death is a regular occurrence.  People are very close with each other and their families.  Because of these two facts, people are constantly attending funerals such as this one. 

Death is a (regular) part of life…

But so is hope. 

And, somehow, my resilient Zambian friends are full of it.