find that the casket has already been carried away. The graveside
service was scheduled for ten o'clock in the morning. Although events
are nearly always late in African culture, this event was early. It is
not yet ten o'clock, yet the burial is already happening.
Today, Franco's 24-year-old brother Boaz is being buried. He was feeling
fine Sunday morning and attended church in Ndjamena where he was
attending school. Then he vomited and was dead within a couple of hours.
Hundreds of people have converged at the cemetery and the casket has
already been lowered into the hole. Several guys shovel dirt and pack it
down with the handles of the shovels.
I see my friend Aaron, one of the older brothers. He had come the day
before to ask if we had any scrap metal to make a grave marker. We
helped him cut and weld a little sign. Now Aaron puts it into the fresh
earth. We make eye contact. He motions for me to come talk with him
briefly. After the people leave, could I stay to sing a couple songs and
pray together?
The dirt is now arranged over the grave and the men call for a basin of
water. Two women carry it over and set it on top of the fresh mound of
dirt. The men splash the water around and wash their hands and feet, and
in so doing wet down the fresh mound of dirt.
Now a woman's choir arrives, each with a branch of leaves or seed pods
in her hand. These are the female relatives of Boaz. At the lead, a
woman carries a tall stick maybe 8 feet tall. Attached to the stick is
money they have donated to the family. This is their way of showing that
they love the family.
Most people leave, and there remains about 8 people. We clasp hands,
encircling the grave while Aaron leads out in a song. It was a typical
African song, simple melody, repetitive.
"One day he will be in Paradise
One day he will be in Paradise
There, he will be happy.
There, he will be healthy.
One day he will be in Paradise."
We sang this song several times. Then he said, "We will sing one song more."
"For our brother, it is finished.
For our brother, it is finished.
For my brother, it is finished.
For my Benjamin, it is finished.
For my Benjamin, it is finished.
One day, God will come for you.
But for my Benjamin, it is finished."
Families here often call the last-born their Benjamin. It is not his
real name, but a way to refer to the last child born. It was a touching
moment as he changed the words of the song from "our brother" to "my
brother" to "my Benjamin."
After a prayer in Nantchere and one in French, it was done and we
returned to the older brother's house.
There, I sit down on a tarp with a group of 50 or 60 men. Melody joins
the group of women. We sit and talk. Then we get up and leave. Back to
welding for now.
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