Observing Malawian Grief

Another week of experiencing life here in Malawi - this time it was a little more somber…

The Business Manager (i.e. Controller), Foster’s, elderly father was here in the hospital with a dislocated foot after a fall several weeks ago. After initially refusing hospitalization and trying some home remedies he came back to the hospital and was admitted with some large burns on his lower leg and foot as well as the bones still out of place. Monday morning Foster came to me saying they were going to surgery to amputate his father’s foot! I was surprised – not realizing that gangrene had set in and the only thing to be done was cut it off. I went to the ward and prayed with the family before he headed to surgery – feeling bad and wishing there was more I could do.

Later in the day, around 3pm the chaplain/HR director came and found me to tell me that the old man had died in the operating room. I later found out just as they were starting to cut he stopped breathing. They did CPR and compressions for about an hour before Foster told them to stop. His father was almost 90 years old and earlier in the day had told them he was dying and that he was ready. It seemed like his “time to go”. I felt so sad and just had a hollow feeling in my stomach. We went and told Don and talked about what the hospital would do for Foster in this situation. I asked if it was appropriate for us to attend the funeral and the chaplain confirmed my thought that it was.

Not sure what to do or how to be helpful I went on about my “rounds” and was playing with a beautiful baby outside maternity when one of the CNA-types came to find me. She asked if I had heard about Foster’s father and then said there was a group of people waiting outside the OR for the body to come out and be transported to the morgue. [Note of Explanation: The morgue is located at the far end of the hospital and whenever a patient dies the family and “guardians” accompany the people transporting the body to the morgue. There is no way or desire to hide the procession. The grieving is loud and very noticeable to the rest of the hospital.] I told her I wasn’t sure what I should be doing and asked if I should join that group. She confirmed that I should go and be there.

I felt out of place but joined the group of mourners (family and employees) waiting. They were quiet, some quietly crying. When the body came out on the gurney and we started our walk I trailed behind and just tried to absorb the process. By now the news of this death had spread around the hospital and many staff came out of the wards and just watched as we walked by. Although they couldn’t leave their duties they took a moment to be present as the family and the body came by. There is a covered place next to the morgue for families to wait until they can transport the body where we gathered and sat quietly except for the daughter-in-law of the man who died. She was the only one crying loudly.

I stayed there for about an hour… just sitting. People came and went it seemed like they came to show support and when they felt they needed to get back to their responsibilities they would go. Women took turns comforting the lady crying [Note: all of the women sat together on the ground while the men sat in the wall window openings/seats – except for me] and everyone else was just quiet. I thought at one point, “well there is nothing I can do, so I should go” then I realized there is nothing anyone can do – that isn’t the point. The point is just being here and being present in this grief of the family. The vision of the culture in this situation was beautiful – as Americans we strive, write books, and even create a whole industry in being “present” and “slowing down” and here it is normal life! People stopped what they were doing and what was most important that afternoon was to be present for this part of the Malamulo family. I started to think they should all get back to work, but then really – what is important here?

Wednesday was the funeral… we drove about two hours away to the home village of the family where everyone was gathering. When I asked what I should wear I was told color didn’t matter but I definitely needed a chitenge (3m length of cloth that is wrapped like a skirt over the top of whatever is worn – it is also multi-purposed for carrying babies on the back, keeping warm, etc). There were more than 200 people gathered and the family is expected to feed all of the visitors the day of the funeral. Don and I sat in the chairs under the mango tree with some other “VIP-types” (apparently the place of honor since no one else had chairs). After some time a small group of us were taken to a house and fed nsima, beans, and cabbage (normal local fare). Then after waiting for a while longer the ceremony started. There were a few speeches, some songs by a choir, laying wreaths on the coffin and then we all walked to the graveyard nearby; again more speeches, family ceremoniously putting a bit of dirt on the coffin and then the grave diggers quickly burying the coffin. It seemed like the sermons emphasized hope and heaven and encouraged people to stay close to Jesus as he is the “resurrection and life”.

Death seems to be so common here that at times I wonder if people are immune to it. Their grief is expressed differently than I’m used to so it sometimes seems like they are not grieving. I had a discussion about this with Foster not too long ago, and he said that he does feel like he has become used to it more since working at the hospital since it happens so frequently. But he also explained for himself anyway, when his mother died he cried openly for about a week or so but it took him a full year to stop crying in the privacy of his home.

Before coming to Malawi there were different things going on that made me more aware of the pain of other cultures. One was the earthquakes in China; another was some pictures we had at Convocation in IL. Both made me realize that people in all cultures experience love and pain but express it differently. Just because they don’t cry the same as I do doesn’t mean that they love their families any less or are less affected by death. I value this insight (although it seems obvious) because I want to have compassion for people and to feel the pain that they do when their loved ones are sick or dying. One of the hard facts of life here is the death of children. Malaria and HIV is a big threat to small children and too often they end up dying. There are many factors but sometimes I wonder if parents grieve for their lost child when it seems to happen so frequently. Does that make it any “easier”?

These words continue to comfort me:

“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the old heaven and the old earth had disappeared… I heard a loud shout from the throne, saying, ‘Look, God’s home is now among his people! He will live with them, and they will be his people. God himself will be with them. He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.’” (Rev. 21.1, 3-4)