This was my backyard since I moved here in January. Swanky, eh? All was cool until sometime last Thursday when someone had to go and die. It wasn’t long until I awoke one morning to the happy sounds of rusty shovels scraping cement outside my window. Armed with a cup of instant coffee and my own mordant curiosity I crept out of my house and assessed the situation. I carried the cat along too, just in case the scene grew ugly and we needed to evacuate suddenly.
A gathering of men, young and old, had mysteriously appeared in my backyard/cemetery. They had been toiling since dawn in the construction of yet another grand funerary monument to awe the Ages. One called up at me and demanded an offering, so I brought them down a jug of water and sat a while. In such a project, much of the energy consumed is done so through sitting. This cool energy keeps oby and im bredren from getting too close. The constant sips of white rum help too.
Eventually the council deems the hole adequate and begins hauling bags of cement and buckets of water down the treacherous gullyside. The cement is mixed on the dirt with generous doses of sand and white rum, then used to assemble a strong block box that will ultimately hold the casket. Not really wanting to mess with the spirits and participate in the actual digging or blocking, I busied myself by sweeping off the graves and getting water down to the workers.
The work went on, with more and more relatives pouring in from Town and lining their cars along the treacherous curve of road. At least a hundred people were gathered on my street and in my yard. I did my best to show the flag and be a respectful interloper. I think it worked. They let me take pictures.
And this is the finished product, the only thing missing is people.
But this story is far from done, for the Jamaican funeral something to see. It is a celebration of life. The family has been hosting friends and sharing old stories for over a week now. Tomorrow night is the “setup”, the wake, and it will be a psychosomatic journey through the human soul that will throb and blaze through these hills until sunrise. I’ll be lucky to get any sleep. On the other hand as an honorary participant, I don’t think I’m supposed to.
TiJ 