Funeral

*I wrote this yesterday, and the sun was shining again today :)*

The sun is shining for the first time since last Saturday.  Summer in South Africa is rainy season, and though the rains were late in coming, they came with a vengeance.  I confess (and this may shock some of you), that I did not mind having the coolness the rain brought for a little while.  But this morning, as I dragged myself out of bed at 6 to attend the funeral of my neighbor across the street, I was not very happy for the rain.  I never met him, but here funerals, like so many other events, are a community event.  Mama Jane and I were over there yesterday chopping cabbage for three hours.  Petunia had only recently been talking about how it is so significant for the community for you to attend events-seeing you at their weddings and funerals means you are one of them.  I kept reminding myself of that as I grudgingly pulled on more clothing than I’ve had to wear since I got to South Africa two months and one week ago.

We walked outside and our street had turned into an ankle deep creek.  There was no way around it, we simply had to trudge through it to get to our neighbors house, and then again to get to the bus that was hired to take us to the cemetery.  I may as well have not worn shoes, as my boots, socks, and leggings were immediately soaked through and through.  On top of that, I had left my umbrella at my friend’s house in Pretoria, and the only one Mama Jane had to offer me was her granddaughter’s umbrella.  I must have been quite a site-the only white person there, standing in the cemetery with a tiny pink Hannah Montana umbrella.  It was pretty classic.  The affair only last a couple of hours because all of us did not fit in the tent that was set up for the meal, so they gave it to us to go and sent us home.  I was steeling myself for an at least half day event (I have been to a six hour long graduation and a five and half hour long church service, so it’s not implausible).  We were not able to hear any of the sermon, and I never even managed to speak to the man’s nieces and nephew, whom he raised after they were orphaned by AIDS.  But I was there, which is all that matters to the community.  Yet another lesson in incarnational living-most of the battle is simply showing up.