Death in Senegal

Far and away the biggest event I've ever witnessed in my village was the commemoration of the end of someone's life. The funeral was for a villager I didn't know - Banga had been living in Paris for the last few years. It's generally not important to discuss how someone dies. When I asked, I was told he hadn't been well. My village pooled together money to have the body shipped back to Diakhaba.

That day, all the boutiks were closed and people came from many surrounding villages for the event, brilliantly dressed. I even had six couchsurfers visiting me at the time (www.couchsurfing.org), so the village was packed.

Shortly after lunch, all the men and old women went to the mosque to pray. Women still of reproductive age aren't allowed to enter the mosque, so we crowded under a tree outside, listening to the sounds of prayer, then lined the road as the coffin was brought outside, for which we ladies had to slip our flip flops partially off and turn our backs on the procession. The entire village then walked together to the family's compound. This is the only time in 4 months I've been amongst my villages without exchanging dozens of greetings. It was a solemn procession, some people crying, others chanting.

With the exception of the huge van that drove into the family compound to deposit the deceased's belongings, the rest of the ceremony was similar to other big events, like weddings. The men with important-looking kuufies sit in a circle with everyone else crowding around in any available shade. One by one these men speak softly to another person, who is the designated mouthpiece, and who repeats the same thing for us all to hear. This was a bit hard to follow, but I heard them mention many names of people in connection to the family, as well as the names of surrounding villages. Then people began filing out (men first), collecting dego as they left. Dego is a sweetened ground corn that's also given out at baptisms. People will grab handfuls and bring it back for family members who didn't attend the event (in this case, kids).

A mountain of delicious dego.

The actual burial remains a mystery to me, since not everyone attends this part. In fact, I'm not even sure where my village's cemetery is. It doesn't seem to be a place that is often visited, as in the States.

As for Banga, Allah mu aljanno daa la a yen. (May God welcome him in Paradise.)