Zambian burials

I never blogged about the recent death in Alvin’s family; last week was the first time I’d been to a burial since my teammate & friend Chilufya died over a year ago. Uncle Frank was never a well man since I’d known him. But he was always kind and welcoming; I will certainly miss his warmth at family gatherings.

Please see my recent observations:

- I had forgotten that once the casket is lowered down, it is covered with cement to deter anyone thieving bodies or jewellery
- Leopard’s Hill Cemetery is the dustiest place I’ve ever visited. I don’t actually know if women wear headscarves because it’s a tradition, or if they wear them only because of the dust. (This was an exceptionally windy day as well)
- I’ve decided to invest in a ‘funeral hat’; even if it’s cool and windy, the sun is always bearing down on this pale skin. I reckon a broad black hat would suit the sad occasions.
- The day we buried Uncle Frank, we were alongside four other groups of mourners. It was intense- can you picture it? Five graves dug in a row, several tents to shield the chief mourners from the elements, & a group of people doing everything from catching up on gossip to wailing to praying to singing. It was rather shocking to feel involved in our neighbours’ burial as our own. The saddest part was immediately after the group to our left vacated, another funeral procession was on its way to fill in the place and bury yet another loved one. We were left with no other option but to chuckle: “Is this what it has come to in Zambia”? Shame. Alvin thought the parking lot was busier than the busiest street in town, kind of hard to believe...

RIP Uncle Frank