3 Proposals at a Funeral

Funerals here are a big deal.  It takes a week to prepare, with loads of cooking, setting up tents, digging the grave, organizing the program of events.  Lots of work.  Funerals are on Saturday mornings, they start at the deceased's house, move to the graveyard, and back to the house for food. 

This weekend I went with my mom, Middle School Principal and lots of educators to the funeral of one of the teacher's mother.  It was one of seven funerals in my village that day. 

At 6am I was walking with my mom to the funeral.  A passerby picked us up and for the next 8 hours I tried not to be the center of attention as the only white person around.  For over 2 hours we sat in chairs under the tent listening to different speakers with lots of singing and dancing throughout.  Lots of women were wearing the "uniform" of their church.  Usually a red, black or blue graduation gown with a white sash.  One church's uniform is a black graduation gown with a leopard print hat.  And one was red with the most intricate sash with lots of badges, they looked like very accomplished Girl Scouts.  There was a song and/or dance about every 5 minutes, usually led by one of these women. 

More singing as they carry the coffin to the graveyard, some preaching and more singing as all the men take turns burying the coffin.  I was standing with 4 other educators for the long 2 hours that took.  It was getting hot, but women must cover their hair and shoulders at a funeral out of respect.  I was wearing a hat and jacket, but it got very warm even before noon.  So I had to be respectful in my hat, but the women I was standing with must have gotten bored and starting talking about their bodies.  Next thing I know, I look over and see them fondling each other's fat rolls and and drumming on their boobs.  Respect for the dead?

Finally, we walk back to the house and dash to secure ourselves a chair.  The men are sitting under a tree and the women under the tent.  We listen to a little more talking, then the food starts.  There is always a lot of great food at funerals, like rice, pap, samp, gravy, chicken, beef, goat, cabbage, butternut squash, and more that I don't remember right now.  I went with those same women to a neighbors house that helped with the food and was able to bypass most of the line to get my plate.  A small girl became enthralled with me, and stared at me eating.  When I spoke a little Setswana to her she giggled and became quite the little chatterbox for the rest of the meal.

I thougth we'd leave soon afterwards, I'd been to a couple other funerals and we'd always dined and dashed.  But this time the Principal said we must stay and mourn with the family.  Translation: sit under a tree and drink lots of beer.  Now, Peace Corps told us to NOT drink in the village.  To be taken seriously, especially as a young woman, I should not be seen drinking.  I've taken that advice to heart, but at the funeral I definitely felt more harshly judged for NOT drinking.  All the educators who knew me were like "Gina, what are you having? What will you drink?" and taken aback when I said Coke. 

Sitting in a big circle under a tree, I nursed my coke as everyone talked about me in Setwana.  One man tried to start flirting with me by saying something about how drinking coke would kill my life electricity but he could be my boyfriend and fix that (accompanied by some rude hand gestures).  Another guy came over, started talking, and asked "didn't I have a ..." a what?  He meant boyfriend, and asked if he could come "visit" me.  I said yes, of course, we'd sit in the house with my mom and brothers and visit.  That wasn't what he meant and he didn't talk to me again.  I was very uncomfortable, so when I saw my mom walk by I jumped up and asked if she was going home.  We said our goodbyes, and she tells me that the educators were upset I was leaving so early.  Oh well, I'm tired and the only sober one at this point. 

The taxi driver who took mom and I home asked about me, and if I wanted a boyfriend.  Three offers in one day!  A new record.  My mom shoots him down for me, then has a long conversation with him and another woman in the taxi about how they need to get me married soon so my husband will pay her labola.  Labola is the opposite of a dowery, the man pays the wife's family to take her from them.  I disagree with labola, it seems to put a strain on a new marriage when you have no money because the wife's family demanded so much for her.  But I figure I'm worth at least 20 cows and a few chickens.  ;)

It's almost 3pm when I finally made it home, I said hello to my brothers and collapsed into bed for a long nap.  Funerals are exhausting.