An Ndjuka Funeral

Saturday morning is my favorite time in Diitabiki. I rise early, wash in the river, and make pancakes (or, as I call them, “mancakes”) while listening to the music I grew up with. Last Saturday, however, on my way to the river, I met Captain Baya, who glumly reported, “everyone is dying again.” Da Sawtu, whom I did not know, had passed away in the night.

To begin the Ndjuka funeral ceremonies, the chiefs formally announced the passing at the mortuary, and at the first mention of the name of the deceased, the women started to wail. In the next few days, visitors appeared to attend the ceremonies, which continuing with grave digging.

Digging the grave can take up to three days. This is by no means contingent upon how many gravediggers participate, but rather on how much gasoline the family can afford to buy to transport the workers by motorized canoe to the burial ground. Indeed, about eighty men participated in digging, or at least in drinking for moral support as others dug, and for Da Sawtu, the work took the full three days. While the gravediggers dig, villagers are expected to cook for the workers, and the chiefs provide the essential rum. Upon return from a day of long, hard labor, the gravediggers came singing in canoes while women gathered by the river’s edge and beat the water with branches until the entourage reached the shore.

Upon arrival at the village, the gravediggers reported to the chiefs. They marched in a line, singing while drumming a large paddle and several machetes in rhythm. They circled the mortuary several times before announcing their progress. The head gravedigger, a rather important person in Ndjuka society, addressed the chiefs in typical formal conversation through an intermediary to inform them that while the party had labored intensely, the grave had not been completed and another day would be necessary. The chiefs responded that they had heard and kindly asked the gravediggers to continue the work the next morning.

After the second day of digging, the rum was gone. The head gravedigger requested that the chiefs “allot his men a box, not an empty box, mind you, but a full case, of rum to complete the work.” The chiefs replied that this was too much; the rum they had given was all they would provide for the gravediggers. Attempting to negotiate, the head gravedigger implored the chiefs twice more for a decreasing number of bottles to no avail. Finally the head gravedigger said that he would not trouble the chiefs any longer. They would settle for a single bottle. The crowd erupted with loud but nervous laughter, for the chiefs had already refused three times. Captain Baya expressed displeasure at the gravedigger’s audacity, but nonetheless bestowed six additional bottles upon the thirsty workers.

After another day of grave digging, Da Sawtu was buried. Three days later libations were poured in his honor, and after three months libations will be poured again. The day after the first libations, a food offering was prepared in the mortuary. Children surrounded the food until a signal was given and then ravenously fell upon the victuals piñata-style. Next January, Da Sawtu and the rest of those who have died in the past year will be honored with a Brokoday, but that is another story.