Grieving with those who grieve

There are some weeks that are hard to talk about and maybe don't make for the best blogs but they are part of my life. 

On Monday I woke up around 4:30am to the sound of wailing and crying close to my window and I knew immediately that one of my neighbors had died. I got up and dressed by 5am and went next door. When someone dies, the word goes out fast and the entire village comes over to that persons house to sit and some women to cook. Men normally sit in one location and women in another. In my Muslim community, inside the house where the body normally is, only men go. So from about 5am to 6am I just sat in the backyard with other women watching the sun come up and watching the endless array of neighbors come by. Even if you didn't feel a particularly strong bond to the one who died, the looks of agony on other's faces and their wails can bring anyone to tears. 

I left to get breakfast and then packed some food to bring over to the neighbors. When I came back, I saw more women that I knew sitting in the backyard crying and so we huddled together on a mat as they grieved. As I looked at my little friend named Atupele who helps draw water for me and her grandmother sitting there crying I realized I couldn't imagine their situation. There are hardly any words in English for such situations let alone in another language. So there we sat with tears and no words for all of the am hours until noon.

I found out sometime later that my neighbor had died in the national park nearby attacked by a crocodile while fishing which meant there was no body to bury. I think that news made it even worse for the family. Muslims sometimes set apart a 3-day grieving period so through the rest of the week my normally lively, loud village was quiet, calm, with no music, and no kids playing in the street. I've been to funerals here before but this was the first time a funeral was taking place right next door. It's a rather deep and painful experience. On Tuesday morning the grief still hovered outside the door around our houses. 

Normally my safe space is the health centre but all this week it has been closed because of lack of staff and on that same sad Monday the maternity ward experienced the loss of a newborn who came 3 months too early. So I left and biked to the tarmac road to spend the day with friends there. This same week on Thursday, there was another death this time across the street from my house to a family I didn't know as well. The ambulance came by to drop the body and the village faced another heavy blow. 

I guess not every day here is as bright as the Malawian sun. The past week has seemed so dim, so quiet, and has left me quite emotionally tired for the first time in a long time. There was nothing I could do to make things better. It's been a super hard week but my neighbors and friends are strong and know how to persevere. Tomorrow is a new week and may it be filled with a new hope.