At 3 am, just as my house-mate was getting in from the Big Night Out, I started to get ready for Emmah's arrival. I was told to wear a dress, and to cover my head. I borrowed a scarf from Erin as I was leaving the gang the previous night. It is getting cold now, so I decided to dress in layers. Under my skirt and suit jacket, I put on a pair of leggings and a long sleeved shirt. As a last minute thought, I wrapped a wool shawl around my shoulders before putting on my coat. I then wrapped my head in the scarf, and made a cup of coffee while waiting for Emmah and Rodwell to arrive.
"We are on the way over", the next message read, followed by "Let's go".
We stopped to pick up Rodwell's aunt. The four of us then drove about 45 minutes to the village of Thamaga.
We parked on the road and walked a couple of minutes to the house. There were already several cars there. Rodwell went to join the men by the fire. Emmah, Rodwell's aunt, and I joined the other ladies sitting in the courtyard. Some were camped out on plastic chairs, wrapped warmly in blankets and shawls. I could see steam and smoke rising from the floodlight lit outdoor kitchen, as women pounded corn and beef to make samp and seswaa. Emmah and I huddled to keep warm. Someone tried to tape a picture of a woman above the door to the house. It took a couple of tries, but it finally stuck. Soon more people joined us, and as the sun started to rise, the funeral began.
Following a viewing of the body in the house, the coffin was taken to the yard and festooned with flowers. A minister delivered a sermon in Setswana, followed by speeches by select members of the crowd.
I looked at a brochure handed out to me, with pictures of a woman with her hands in prayer; in a uniform, tending to flowers; standing arm in arm with another lady. A woman of faith. A care giver. A friend. There was a picture of a crocodile -- her totem -- in the corner of the brochure. I glanced at the section outlining her life and gleaned what I could from the Setswana text. She was born in South Africa, trained as an Auxilliary Nurse, and later, as a Family Welfare Educator, serving families affected by HIV and AIDS.
Mme Mangwegape was also a mother and grandmother. She was the mother of Rodwell's sister-in-law, who herself, is a mother of 3 small children. Tears streamed down my cheeks as someone read a letter from Rodwell's sister-in-law to her departed mother, written in English. No matter how old you are, no matter what your circumstances are, it is always hard to lose a mother. I felt for her.
She was taken quickly, in a car accident. The same fate as her departed husband, not long ago. She was not yet 60 years old.
The funeral procession moved from the yard to the cemetery, where we were joined by hundreds more. Fellow villagers, paying respect to a dear family and a departed friend. I have never seen such an overwhelming display of support. Following more speeches and hymns, the casket was placed in the ground. The crowd sang and clapped in rhythm as two men worked to cover the casket with soil. Clap, clap, shovel. Clap, clap, shovel.
As the casket was placed in the ground, two white doves swooped down, hovered above for a few seconds, then perched on top of the tent that was sheltering the family members. Once the casket was fully covered, they flew away.
We returned to the house for the feast. I asked Emmah, "Were the doves part of the service?" She said, no. They just happened to be in the area. I explained that I have seen a lot of birds in Botswana, but never white doves. In my culture, they symbolize peace.
I discussed this with Rodwell's aunt, and asked if doves symbolize the same thing in Botswana. She said yes -- to her they do, at least. We agreed that the doves were sent by Mma and Rra Mangwegape, to let everyone know that they are now at peace.
Leaving the cemetary. I didn't take pictures of the service, out of respect for the family, even though they said they didn't mind.
Beautiful and touching story Steph, giving me insight into the culture you're experiencing.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing.
Cynthia