Tënjjkat yi

'The mourners.' (continued from the last entry)

No time was wasted the morning of Jean's death. The men of the house, being Jean's son Christian and Ernestine's brother Denis, moved straight into action as if the routine had been built into their bodies beforehand. After only a few moments of weeping, doors where propped open, the furniture hefted over to the neighbors', and plastic chairs rented out from across Mermoz. I tagged along, occasionally trying to ask how I could help.

In a matter of no time people were flowing into the house. At first I thought that as a member of the family, my presence was needed by my mother and grandmother. But with the entrance of each of Jean's or Ernestine's relatives or friends, I felt more and more estranged from the family.

I think now I better understand the limitations of fitting into a family in this culture. At the time of Jean's death, I'd lived in the Kayounga household for 4 months. I'd helped out with household chores and been helped a whole lot more with my own. I'd chatted and joked with Ernestine and Meme over lunches and dinners. I'd sought consel, been scolded, and given advice. I'd known Jean better than many in the last few months of his life. But when it came down to it, I wasn't flesh and blood. And there's no getting past that.

I was confused by the cultural rules and traditions governing the events after Jean's death and frustrated by the distance between me and the women of the house. While before I'd constantly chatted with Ernestine or Meme, now I could only offer hushed and formal greetings amongst a sea of guests. My presence in the house felt almost like an affront to the family. I was an obvious stranger surrounded by the hushed and disapproving mourners. I could not possibly explain what the heck I was doing amongst the family.

But let me get away from these gloomy meditations and explain what actually goes on in a modern day Senegalese-Catholic-Cap Verdian-Mankagne funeral. Beginning with Ernestine's simblings and friends from Dakar and ending with Jean's entire extended family from Casamance and numerous dignitaries from various stages of his life, the house filled to the brim with guests, and then overflowed.

I never thought I'd end up citing my Senegalese Society and Culture course, but a passage from Mariama Ba's "Une si longue lettre" stuck in my mind in the first days after Jean's death. After the death of her husband, Ba describes the friends and relatives who come to pay him respects once dead - and coincidentally, to drink and feast - guests who had never once visited him while sick. Ernestine had told me the story of how Jean's friends had abandoned him once he could no longer leave the house, and I could only bite my lip as those who'd never visited during my stay in the household now came to occupy it.

(more to come when I have the time.)