We’re walking through the streets. It’s dark, desolate, and we are silent. Turn after turn goes by and we reach a street with a crowd of people. Some people are standing; some are seated in the middle of the street; and someone has gone to get more chairs for us. We sit and I start trying to gather cultural clues on etiquette and what is happening.
I knew we were going to a wake, but it’s nothing like in America. A couple of people are serving coffee and sweet bread. I don’t know what’s going on. There’s a crowd of people gathered near an entrance. Maybe they go in to the grief stricken family in groups. There’s singing… bad singing. It’s coming from what sounds like a very large group of women inside. A native song, something cultural. We’re sitting and waiting.
Then it hits me. This widow has died and her six children are going through a wake in their home with crowds of people at nine o’clock at night, just singing at them. Who thought this was a good idea?
I start telling Jesus all of this and asking, Why are we here? How can clueless Americans make this better? No amount of singing- good or bad- will take away their pain or bring their mother back.
I’m still wrestling with these thoughts when it gets worse. We go inside. All thirty of us.
It’s dark- the sad, gloomy, creepy kind of darkness. There are people sitting on plastic stools everywhere. We’re led to the childrens’ room. Two of them are playing cards, and they don’t care that we’re here. A very old woman walks in. She’s grieving and crying and sits down by one of the girls. The little girl is temporarily out of the game, but she seems unphased. This very old woman is crying and holding the child- the orphan- and speaking to her.
I wonder, is she grieving like this with the child because of the great sadness of losing a loved one? Because this child won’t get to learn about cooking and dresses from her mother? Or is she grieving over the loss of a certain future for these children? Is she crying and holding the child for what might happen to them? She leaves and the child returns to her card game amidst songs from the other side of the wall.
And it gets worse. We’re led out of the childrens’ room to what I assume was the living room. It’s now the place of the wake. The coffin is massive. It’s pearly white with touches of gold. It’s very beautiful. There are white roses and other white flowers surrounding it. There is a picture of Jesus behind the coffin the size of a Barack Obama political banner. It’s the largest picture of Jesus I’ve ever seen. So the flowers are around… the picture is behind… the coffin! Their mother’s body is in the living room…
We’ve taken up the whole of the living room. German gives a sermon and asks Mel Jo to sing. We all sing with her. One of the older sons stands up. He speaks softly, staring at the ground. I don’t know what he said. All I could think was that I’ve never seen and heard such strength and such sadness in one person. In every word. We pray, we walk past the coffin, and leave.
We’re walking in the dark streets, and we sing Amazing Grace.
