Msiba: Funeral

The only major cultural event I hadn’t experienced yet was a funeral and this past Saturday, I was invited to attend the funeral of the father of MTCEA’s principal in Ngope, a small village about two hours drive from here. Our planned departure time of 7am was delayed to nearly 8am and the only thing I could think of was the precious minutes of sleep I was missing out on. I was fortunate enough to catch a ride with my host parents in a small car and leave an extra space for someone on the bus reserved for our students and staff. We hit the dirt road an hour later and it was slow-going from then on as our driver attempted to avoid the worst of the potholes and large rocks in the road. I volunteered for the back middle seat – bad move. My knees were killing me until my host mum insisted on switching with me. At least her legs aren’t as long as mine.
Along the way, we passed numerous large groups of young men armed with spears, bows and arrows, slingshots and bags of stones jogging alongside the road. We slowed and asked one of the young men what was happening. Turns out the neighbouring Kuria tribe had attacked an area nearby, burned down 100 homes, and stolen livestock belonging to the Luo tribe. These Luo men were on their way to avenge the Kuria attack and assured us we were headed opposite to the where the fighting would take place. It was intimidating to drive by these fierce-looking warriors on their way to do battle armed with traditional weapons. Women and children passed us trying to escape the anticipated fighting, burdened with babies, mattresses, and bags with some belongings. It was a strange sight in a country that is otherwise so peaceful. Tribal connections remain strong among Tanzanians and long-standing disputes sometimes flare up into serious conflict.
We arrived safely at the home of the deceased and his family. It was a large property with two homes and a yard now covered by nearly 3,000 plastic chairs, a few tents for added shade, and a growing number of various types of vehicles stuffed with people. Everyone lined up (the first time I’ve ever seen an orderly cue in Tanzania) in front of a small tent containing the coffin and the grieving widow accompanied by her sisters. The coffin had a small glass pane to see the face of the deceased and once we saw his face, we paid our respects to the widow and her sisters. I sat with my host parents, the MTCEA staff, and my students in a tent towards the back of the gathering. An usher hurried over and announced we were to seat ourselves in a different section, what I called the ‘VIP’ section – special guests, Mennonite Church representatives, and us!
The program stated that tributes would be given starting at 9:30am until 3:30pm and the order would be as follows: friends, in-laws, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, Church representatives, and the widow. I barely understood more than a handful of what was being said and chatted with my students instead (I scanned the crowd beforehand and this seemed to be acceptable behaviour). By 11ish, we were starving! Thankfully, we were called to eat in one of the homes. As special guests, we ate the better food consisting of rice, beans, and a pot full of cow parts. The various innards were scooped up first. My job was to open everyone’s sodas (no tin cans here, just glass) and figure out how to scoop my bowl of food into my mouth with no utensils. We returned to the funeral service and the tributes were still in full swing. Small groups of people would move towards one of the two eating areas and in this way nearly 3,000 people were fed in about 3 hours – seriously impressive, especially considering that no stoves, microwaves, or other kitchen appliances were used!
When it came time to bury the body next to the main house, I found myself in the front row of onlookers until I was pushed behind a row of pastors and bishops. One of my students tapped the shoulder of the Don King look-alike in front of me to get me a better view. A few prayers were said and hymns sung before the body was lowered into a cemented and tiled grave. A handful of dirt was thrown on the coffin, the hole covered with wood planks, the widow and family ushered forward to place ribbon wreaths on the grave. And just like that, it was done – at 2:00pm! It’s the first time I have ever left a Tanzanian event early. I was fully prepared to stay until 4:30pm at least. My host parents and I spoke briefly with Theo (the Principal) before heading home in the opposite direction we’d taken that morning. Fighting had broken out in the area we’d passed through and, to avoid any unnecessary involvement, we passed through the village of Shirati.
The irony: I attended an impromptu wedding ceremony at our church the next morning. I don’t think I’ve ever attended a funeral and a wedding back to back. Only in Tanzania! TIA!!!

French Toast and Burritos, TZ style!

I finally convinced my host mum to let me into her cooking domain and give her a day off. I made sure to pass on a detailed shopping list in Kiswahili to my host father several days before so they would know what to buy. Saturday morning arrived and I whipped up a storm in the kitchen using the kerosene jiko and squatting on a stool, flipping French Toast. It was all very entertaining for my host siblings who had never seen me cook before. They loved the French Toast and my host mum promised to try making it herself next week.
Next up were the burritos. For this meal I enlisted the help of my host siblings. They’re experts at starting a charcoal fire in the jikos and it’s not something I’m too familiar with. Everyone had their task: Neema was in charge of the beans, Paschal took over the rice, and Neema, Clara, and I started on the chapatti. We had a great time cooking together and listening to Paschal, aka Mr. Bean, tell silly jokes and stories. My host mum was seriously impressed with how well we did. Her kids don’t often get a chance to cook because she prefers doing it herself.
The best part was watching them each attempt to create their very first burrito. I had to explain the concept of rolling the chapatti before eating it. I demonstrated and they followed suit. When they realized they’d have to pick up the burrito to eat it, they broke out in laughter. Eventually, everyone got the hang of it. It got very messy but they were all game for seconds! My host father declared it a delicious meal and let me know he was no longer concerned about Dan starving once we’re married. My cooking skills passed his test :-)