The Adventures You Don't Want

One of the reasons people chose to work in overseas development is a desire to live and learn about a different culture. But there are some cultural experiences that you wish you didn’t have to experience.

Like attending a funeral.

Two weeks ago we lost a member of our staff, David, the driver, who you may remember was the brave soul who was eager to help me learn to drive on these uninviting roads (and also get me into church I hasten to add).

When people ask what he died of, I only have a one word answer: Africa.

You see we don’t know why David died, but most likely through a combination of an inadequate healthcare system and not enough money for the drugs or to stay in hospital. He was sick, and then he died. That is what we know.

Out of all the national staff I was close to David, him being the only person to help me find my way around Freetown when I first arrived. He introduced me to his family in Freetown and Bo and unlike other staff would share food with me, helping me get a taste of Africa. He helped me find medicine when I was sick and even offered to give me his spare mosquito net when I couldn’t find one. He was kind.

And so yesterday it was only right that I paid my last respects by attending part of his funeral. Seated under a canopy outside his humble home Christian songs being amplified, I watched amongst his family and friends as his casket was brought in and rested on a table amongst us. Each of us there having identical badges pinned onto our chests placed there by family when we arrived. A laminated photograph of David, lying close to our hearts.

The casket was carried by 10 men, to mitigate for the rough terrain underfoot, making their task even more difficult, and music stopped while the people stood and sang a traditional hymn, clapping along. It was then opened for us to be able to get our last look at David, and as it was, someone doused the body with strong perfume, to mask the smell of the decomposing body which was now laid out in 30 degree heat. An act that was repeated frequently in the hour that I was there.

Surprisingly people started to take photographs and short film clips. At first I thought this was strange, but then I got it. This was their last opportunity to see David, capture his memory and take a momento of the day when people came far and wide to pay their respects. He looked at peace and so why shouldn’t they, I reasoned

People in Africa show their grief more openly that in Europe. We’ve all seen news footage of women and men screaming or beating their chests, after some tragedy in a far off place. But to be stood next to a 14 year old girl screaming for her daddy and watch her collapse at your feet, while trying to reach out to grab at his body, simply wrenches your insides out. There are no words.

And the hardest thing about yesterday was not lamenting my own small loss, or watching the raw anguish in his  children. No, it was the knowledge, having already been warned, that people in the congregation believed that in some way the organization may have contributed to Davids suffering in the end, by not giving him money for drugs. I do not know of any truth in the accusation but it was what was being said by by the staff.

And so there I was stood amongst his nearest and dearest, representing the organization as one of the rich ‘boss mans’, someone who, to them, could possibly have saved his life and their pain.  But they did not know that I was there, just representing me, and in a small way to share their grief. To say my goodbye to David, my friend. 

But I am left to wonder could I have done more?