Laying to Rest

Our neighbor John Mukidi died on the 19th of May, just before we made it back from our short sabbatical. He was 78, and held on much longer than we thought possible in the face of cancer, heart failure, a hip fracture, hypertension. For almost 15 years he had been a presence of wisdom and whole-hearted belief in us, the kind of fatherly pride that we needed as we learned our way into the culture. I will always remember him in the first days of the ADF, strolling into our yard wrapped in only his kitengi from sleeping, the sun filtering into a new day and all of us breathing a sigh of relief that we had made it through the night. In the later years we made middle-of-the night runs to his bedside, administering that last boost of lasix that would pull him along for another month, or two, or more. We ate many, many meals there, or just came to sit on the porch and greet. His son John is one of our kids' good friends, and a boy whom we have taken on responsibility to sponsor.

Today his spirit was honored by a meal in which those close to him came to eat at his home, a final closure on the period of mourning. His older son Simon, has now become the head of the family, somehow symbolized by this ceremony today. The chairman LC5 showed up at today's festivities, in honor if Mukikid's status as an elder and of his step-son Sangayo's status in local government. The clan choir of men alternating with the church-ish choir of girls alternated loudly ALL NIGHT, right up until dawn. Then they rested a few hours and at noon it all started up again, stomping, dust, gyrating, call and response song. We were ushered into a room to eat, and then to the newly-cemented grave to watch the dancers and take photos. The sight of slight, young John, becoming a man, with his mother and stepmother and sisters, standing by the grave, made me teary. But no one was really crying, the mood was upbeat.

The mourning is over, at least officially. This is a week steeped in memories, and their weight pulls me down, weary.