Notes from a Funeral

Biking for a few kilometers, flat tire, heavy heat, sun
flies everywhere, the body and me in a concrete hut
handshakes around the room, women everywhere
sand, water
a burlap sac, the body on top, banana leaves covering the little boy
vibrant colors, chitengis, and dirty feet, life in the midst of death
mothers and women, friends and family
the men hammering outside, building a coffin out of a broken chair
bring it inside and women leave
wailing, fog horns
no tears, just shouts
she cries out into the horizon, yelling, hands verticle, lungs emptying with each shrill
little boy asks grandma "who lies under there?"
he crosses his dusty legs like an old man, pondering life as the choir sings outside
we sit for 20 minutes, men chase us out. hammering, the body nailed inside
"the prophet" strolls through the crown in a bright red robe
seeking money and a following
we walk, wailing to the burial plot
small hole for a small coffin
2 large sticks across, 2 piles of dirt
song, prayer, preaching
jump into the hole, lower the box down
cover it quickly, shoveling violently
pounding, sticks flailing
mother and father place flowers, turn and leave their son
Ashley called to participate
father speaks, and cries out at the end

Munsaka Cileleko ("Blessing" was his name)
September 16 2005 - May 16 2009

3 1/2 years of life. Death, once again unnecessary.