(Editor's note: This column includes some pieces from the blog entry a couple weeks ago by the same name, but it's still very different. And much better.)
Life and death
By David Krueger
Last Thursday was really weird. My friends and I all attended the funeral for the late father of one of the members of our group. It was a sad day. I don’t think many people look forward to funerals.
We first heard of the passing on the 19th of August, which also happened to be the birthday of another one of my friends. She rearranged the plans so that we could all spend the night together. Meanwhile, another friend left work early to be with David, a local Sierra Leonean.
I did the only thing I could think of to help: I went to the supermarket and bought whisky.
Sometimes, you just need a drink. This seemed like one of these times. Plus, as an American, I feel like while abroad it’s my job to bring whisky to any monumental occasion, good or bad.
That night we all hung out at the YMCA, drank whisky, listened to music and pretended like it was any other Friday night. We were all thinking about the same thing, but didn’t say it. Eventually, the music (I’m going to choose to account the rest of the night to that…but in all honesty it was probably the whisky) led us down the street to Krio Wendy’s, our go-to bar.
We danced and laughed and had a legitimately good night.
For the next couple weeks we didn’t discuss the death of David’s father much. It was always in the back of my mind, but I didn’t know a good way to approach the topic. Heck, I didn’t know if I even should.
We learned that there would be a funeral on the 1st September and all pledged our support to David. One person went in the morning before she had to leave early to catch a flight to return to Germany.
That’s how great our group is. We’re like a family. When one person goes through a tragedy, we rally around that person to help in any way we can. Whether it’s with whisky, or something else.
I really don’t like funerals. I know that they’re meant to honor the deceased and say goodbye, but there’s no escaping the sadness of the day and the thought that the person is really gone.
I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised, but funerals here are a bit different from those back home.
The first striking difference was the presence of cameras. Pictures and video were taken, which doesn’t usually happen back home. Perhaps a camera may make an appearance at a reception after the service, but in the church there usually aren’t any pictures taken.
Before the church service started there was a gathering of family and friends at Josiah Square in Lumley.
There, everyone assembled and received programs and pins, something we don’t do in the States but I wish we did. I liked that way of honoring the deceased. It also created a sense of unity among those at the funeral, most of whom I had never met before.
While there, I was asked if I would be comfortable taking a picture with David, his father lying in the casket and the rest of our friends. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure I was. I had never taken a picture with a deceased person before. But, it was obvious that it was something that would help David, so all the guys in our group obliged. One of the four girls went up.
Then we waited as three vehicles took the large group over to the church for the service. Appropriately, the rain was pouring down, harder than I’ve ever seen it rain before in Sierra Leone. I couldn’t help but feel like God was sad, and crying along with us here in Freetown.
Eventually, we all arrived at the church and the service began. It was very similar to the funeral s I had been to in America. The family read bible verses and the pastor talked about how David’s father was now in a better place.
I feel like during funerals in the United States, there’s a lot more talking by the family, instead of just the leaders of the church. Usually a family member gives a eulogy, where he or she speaks to each person of the family on behalf of the deceased. For example, when my maternal grandmother passed away my mother read the eulogy, and said to my sister and me, “and to David and Emily, just know that your grandmother loved you very much and was very proud of you.”
In my experience, the person reading the eulogy rarely gets through it without crying. In fact, I don’t ever think I’ve seen that happen.
After the funeral we went to the burial in a nearby cemetery. This was almost identical to burials back home. The deceased is buried, as prayers and bible verses are recited. When my uncle passed away it was just like it. I even had a few flashbacks to that day during David’s father’s service.
Then it was time for a reception and some food, again, very similar to how funerals are done back home. The gathering was much shorter than it would be in America, with people getting some food, hanging out for a short time and then leaving.
At my uncle’s funeral people spent the whole afternoon and evening together. I’m not entirely sure that was planned though. Somehow we all just ended up at my grandparents’ house, and the number of people there grew and grew throughout the course of the afternoon, eventually resulting in my paternal grandmother not having near enough food to feed all those people dinner.
From all accounts, this was the first time in the history of the world that my grandmother had run out of food. Normally, when I go back to North Dakota and visit during the summer, there’s more food than I know what to do with. Rarely do I return home without gaining some weight.
In the end funerals across the world all serve the same purpose: honoring the deceased. That doesn’t mean it’s ever easy though.
I had a really strong desire to talk to my parents after the funeral, but was able to corral my nervousness until the usual Sunday night chats.
My biggest concern while I’m here is that something will happen to a loved one back home. I worry more about that than malaria, break-ins and food poisoning combined. It’s always on my mind back in the U.S. too, but here the distance seems to amplify the feeling.
It seems like there’s no shaking that feeling. Really, you just have to take solace in the fact that once someone dies they go to heaven (or whatever your religion’s equivalent is) and get to enjoy a better world.
I guess I always felt that death is kind of like a Monday. You know it’s going to come, and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it. So you might as well enjoy the weekend.
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