“…Rejoice because your names are written in heaven.” Luke 10:20

Tuesday 22 July 2008

Mrs. Kasonde – born 1943, died 2008

Our hope is in Jesus, and the place of hope He has prepared for us is called heaven. Today was our first funeral transport this year. Mrs. Kasonde was, by Zambian standards, a very old woman. We are told that she died peacefully in her sleep from high blood pressure. We know from the hundreds in attendance at her burial that she was a highly respected and well-liked woman from George Compound. To her family she was a pillar. Mrs. Kasonde attended the Jerusalem Church in Chipalakusu, which is quite a distance from here. We are told she walked there each and every Sunday to worship. At her burial, the choir members from her church walked to Kantolomba to sing of God’s glory and thanksgiving for Mrs. Kasonde’s life. We were never able to find out her first name. We asked her son, and he said, “I don’t know, I only called her Mom.” But everyone knew her, and it seems as though the entire George Compound is in mourning. She was in fact, Foster’s neighbor here at George. She left behind a husband, six children and ten grandchildren, siblings, nieces, nephews and cousins.

Our trek began around 9am this morning. As Ron swept out the back of the truck he noticed a large crowd forming just in front of the gates to the children’s village. As we pulled forward and the gates opened, people of all ages climbed into the back of the truck, many women with babies on their backs wrapped tightly in chitenges. We could see others running down the dusty road, hoping to make it in time to catch a ride. You see, the walk to Kantolomba cemetery is well over 2.5 hours. But, there were many, many people who made that long walk to Kantolomba, as a final tribute to Mrs. Kasonde, one last gesture of respect. It’s a walk along dirt paths, uneven with holes and rocks, and up and down several hills. And consider also, that most do not have shoes here. Burials are quite different here than in the United States. There is no funeral home, no embalming, no visitation hours, and no funeral director to handle all the arrangements. You don’t sign a book, there is no prayer card, and most often there is not a tombstone or even a grave marker (a privilege reserved for the very wealthy here). In their place we find great love, tremendous respect, gratitude to God for the life of the one now gone home, and praise and thanksgiving for the glories of heaven that await. And there is never one minister; there are always several, offering prayers and scripture readings. It is an experience that reaches deep within your heart, and you have never been more sure of the presence of God.

Once the truck was filled with mourners, we proceeded to the morgue of Ndola Central Hospital. It is a slow drive, with flashers going constantly, and officers at police check points motion for you to proceed without hesitation. As Godwin, chairman of George informed us “No, they cannot stop you.” This too is a matter of respect. At the hospital, most of the mourners exited the truck and remained at the front entrance to the hospital, joining others who were there for the same reason. Four women entered the hospital gates with us, a minister and the chairman. We drove to the rear of the hospital, following the signs for the morgue, where the women would identify and prepare the body for burial. We were sixth in line. Many more followed. The women entered the morgue carrying a small suitcase which contains rubber gloves (which they all wear throughout the process), soap and towel to wash and dry the body, powder which they sprinkle on the deceased once clean, and the best chitenge they can find for burial. After nearly an hour, Mrs. Kasonde was placed in the coffin – a tiny narrow wooden box, and carried to the truck for the long drive to the cemetery. The mourners climbed back into the truck, and flashers on, we joined in the long procession to Kantolomba. It was a procession of many, many different families with coffins in the back of trucks and cars, and even some small buses.

The drive to the cemetery is the same for everyone. Part of the way is on paved highway, full of deep holes, and bumps; followed by a dirt road – very rough with rocky protrusions and deep holes to constantly dodge. But the drive is inspirational. It is comforting. Almost everyone on the truck is singing. Some are crying, but most are singing. They are singing about God’s mercy. They are singing praises. They are thanking God for being our refuge. It is so very beautiful; strong and proud voices, harmonizing beyond belief, oftentimes the group echoing a leader. As we near the final road to the cemetery, the heart-wrenching wailing begins, as the finality becomes so very near and too real. Today the narrow dirt trail to the graveside is overflowing with crowds of mourners, and vehicles unable to move any further down the path. There is nothing to do but wait. And now we can hear the singing from many trucks, and see the crowded gravesides, so many gathered amongst the mounds of dirt which are the graves. It is unbelievable as we slowly continue down this dusty path to see the thousands and thousands of graves – so very close together and most marked only with the branch from a tree.

Once we are able to pull off the road, we begin the long walk to the grave. There are too many burials in the same area today, so the service is held in tiny clearing, and mourners crouch on ridges of dirt, in what once was probably a field of maize. There is much singing, the choir using hand motions and stepping to and fro in rhythm with the music. There are many prayers – strong voices calling out to God – thanking Him for His mercy and grace and for giving us His son, Jesus Christ who died for all of mankind. There were many scripture readings, but the main focus was Revelation 20:11-15. And the minister concluded by asking the profound question “Will your name be found in the book of life?” Then it was time to pass by the deceased for the last time. The top portion of the coffin was opened, revealing only the face of Mrs. Kasonde, and mourners passed by, first the men and then the women. During this time the choir was singing about the day we will be with Jesus, and sing with Jesus for all eternity. Many made the sign of the cross as they passed by, all heads were bowed and eyes lowered in reverence. Several of the daughters were near collapse and were literally carried past the coffin, as their grief consumed them totally. Their wailing, their cries for their lost mother, their pain was pure and honest, and beyond anything I have ever witnessed.

The procession to the gravesite followed. The gravesite is small, only large enough for the burial, with a narrow foot path between each grave. The cost we are told is 5,000 kwacha – the equivalent of approximately $1.50. As each mourner passed by the coffin they climbed the small hill to the grave, where the men were still busy with their picks and shovels; strong arms chipping away at the hard earth. They measured the coffin using a long piece of bamboo and would periodically drop it into the grave to calculate how much more they must dig. Six men carried the coffin on their shoulders to the grave, escorted by the choir as they sang “Welcome home to Jesus.” We looked on as the brother of the deceased climbed to the top of earth mounded next to the grave and crumbled the large clumps of dirt, hard as stone, into free flowing, smooth soil.

As we waited for the grave diggers to finish, the choir continued singing, and I was suddenly struck with the beauty of this day, the beauty of this service and our surroundings. The choir, wearing long green and yellow robes, standing tall, voices strong and filled with the Holy Spirit – the rolling hills of Kantolomba behind them, the coffin in front, the sun shining brightly, and the sound of the pick axes striking the hard clay ground, and the heart wrenching wailing. It reaches deep into your soul, and your spirit knows things it never could have known before.

The ministers continued with more prayers and songs, and then the coffin was placed into the ground. Two men stood inside the grave at opposite ends, carefully lowering the coffin deep into the ground. It was mostly young, strong men who then quickly covered the coffin with the dirt they had just dug out, and mounded it to a height of about two feet. A few of the ladies came forward and knelt beside the grave, carefully removing any remaining large clumps of dirt and any stray twigs or roots. They raised their arms towards the heavens as they joined the choir singing, ending quietly with “Amen.” Names were then read from a list held by the brother, Joseph. As each family member’s name was called, they stepped forward to receive a flower or a small wreath. Each knelt beside the grave and lovingly placed their last remembrance on the top of the mounded earth. Somewhere in the middle, after husband, children and grandchildren, Joseph called for me to step forward as the representative for OMNI. Placing a flower on the grave of the deceased is a privilege usually reserved for family members and church elders. Nonetheless, I was given a single, perfect, pink rose to place on Mrs. Kasonde’s grave. It was an honor I did not take lightly. I knelt close to the grave and carefully placed the stem of the rose in the dry soil alongside the others. At the conclusion of the service Joseph spoke of OMNI, first in Bemba, and then in English so we could know. He thanked us for taking the time to assist their family with their needs at this most sorrowful time. He thanked us for truly caring about them. He thanked us for caring for the children of Zambia and all of those in need here. And his final statement which concluded the service was “May God bless OMNI richly in their efforts, may God bless those who work with OMNI and give of themselves, may God bless the OMNI Children’s Village and all of the children there, and may OMNI continue to grow and succeed according to God’s will.” Once again we were in awe, and we were greatly humbled. We are so grateful to God, grateful that He has opened our eyes and our hearts, and so very grateful for bringing us to this community we have come to know and love.