Funeral

The death of a woman in a nearby village was cause for me to attend a funeral a few weeks ago. A christian Kipsigis funeral is quite different from those with which I was familiar, although iit bares a few similarities. When there are school-aged children who were closely related to the individual (second-cousin or great-nephew count), then at least one teacher from the school must attend the funeral representing the school and showing support for the child. Thus, I attended along with one other teacher, since there were about 5 students related to the deceased. Also, a funeral cannot be held without at least one political figure—who then uses the opportunity to give a political speech to the family and friends gathered, in hopes of future reelection.

We arrived at mid-morning. People were sitting under makeshift tents, while hymns were playing and some young men were digging a hole for the casket. The funeral service began around noon and takes place throughout the afternoon, since in generations past, the Kipsigis believed that their god was behind the sun. The body must rest at least one night in the home and then be buried in the yard (also six feet down). I’ve been told twice since coming, once by a child and once by a teacher, that to bury a person in a cemetery and not in their yard, is disrespectful and like throwing them away. Then their spirit will haunt you.

Like a familiar service, it included hymns and a sermon.
Unlike familiar services, all of the family members were introduced and there were many speeches---lasting about 3 hours. At about four, it was time to remove the casket from the table that it had been placed on, and lower it into the ground. Each family member threw on some dirt and then the younger men shoveled on the rest. At this time we were all served tea and then the guests who had come continuously throughout the service, numbering a few hundred standing around the tents and some down the road and against fences, began to disperse. It began to rain as they were covering the casket and I was reminded of the familiar words to a song, There’s holes in the floor of heaven and her tears are comin’ down. They were coming down. While some cultural practices differ, some things will always be the same all over the world. Saying good-bye is always hard.