Mozambican Funeral

Earlier this week I attended my first Mozambican funeral.  It was for one of my organization’s members’ sister.  I did not know her, although I have had a handful of conversations with the member, who is soft spoken and very friendly.  The funeral started out at someone’s house, where prayers were said and songs were sung, however, in true Mozambican fashion my supervisor and I were late and got to the house just as everyone was leaving to go to the cemetery. 

Much like in the States everyone in attendance travels to the cemetery together and as the processional passes on the road everyone, cars, bikes and people stop and allow the processional through.   

In Mozambique, the body is often put into the back of a pick-up truck, which is marked with a cross and often carries several people as well.  That pick-up truck leads the processional.  Then the rest of the people, pile, and I mean they pile into the back of other pick-up trucks, sometimes as many as 20 people per truck.  There is also normally a large crowd walking behind the trucks as well, as there often isn’t enough vehicles for everyone. 

In this particular funeral, because the cemetery was over 4 miles away no one walked in the processional.  There was a huge flat bed truck that took at least 70 people or more and then a few smaller pick-up trucks carrying people.  I rode in one of the pick-up trucks, standing in the front of the truck, holding onto a pole, there was probably 20 other people in the back of the truck with me.  The mood was serious, some people were crying, some were singing, no one was really talking.  The processional took about 30 minutes, because it was far and we were going very slow. 

Once we got to the cemetery, we all got out and went to the burial site.  The service continued immediately.  There were some prayers and more singing, some in Portuguese and some in the local language.  There were several outbursts of screaming and crying as well.  Then everyone was given a flower to implant into the dirt that covered the casket. 

Once it was over, everyone immediately got back on the trucks.  I got my same spot back, as some Mozambicans made some room for me.  The ride back was much more spirited.  There was a lot of talking and laughing, as the people in my truck were all family members and told stories of the past.  Almost like a celebration of life.