Children

I have had the chance to witness a few funerals in Kenya and continue to be amazed at the stark differences from what I am used to. When someone dies it does not matter how little money a family has, they spare no expense when it comes to the day of the funeral. The body will sit in a mortuary for a few days while arrangements are made. The evening before the burial (what we call a wake) you can hear people wailing and screaming long into the night. The more people who gather and wail represent a sort of status symbol of the person who has passed. The next day the family home will have tents, plastic chairs, and speakers set up all around. People will come from every corner of Kenya to attend a funeral with buses sometimes chartering people in. There will be music blasting as the people gather and drink the soda (a posh luxury) that the family provides. If it was the husband who died, he is to be buried on the right side of the house. If it is his wife, she will be buried on the left side of the house. Often there is a procession of people, and buses, making noise, wailing, and screaming as the body is moved from the mortuary to the family home where a crowd has already gathered throwing their arms in the air and singing while the music is blaring from the speakers. Another key ingredient is livestock. Cows and goats must be brought to the gravesite, and if it was the husband who died, one will be sacrificed. The coffin will then be lowered into the hole that has been dug on the appropriate side of the house and the family will provide a meal for everyone who attended the funeral. The meal that is provided is comparable to what would be served on a major holiday such as Christmas. Chickens, goats, or a cow will be killed, sodas will be passed out to all, and people will eat and sing and dance often into the late hours of the night. I have been kept awake all night to the thumping bass of reggae tunes as funeral attendees danced up until 7am the next morning.

I was sharing my story about what funerals are like in America with one of my colleagues when it occurred to me to ask the question “what do they do when a child dies?” Most families have ungodly amounts of children to which they cannot afford the healthcare for. In my home visits during the polio campaign a man told me he wanted nine children, and the reason was because if three of them die he is still left with six. This is both a testament to the high rates of child mortality but also to the value of a child’s life within the family structure. The answer to my question of “what do they do when a child dies” was just as dismal as the question itself. When a child dies, they are buried that day or the very next. They are placed in a coffin and buried somewhere behind the house or a short distance from the family home. They are not taken to a mortuary and there is no money spent on a funeral. A few family members may gather to say a prayer as the coffin is lowered into the hole. The end.