From time to time I run into
cultural differences. They are not big things but little surprises.
When they arise you say oh! I never looked at it that way. This day
I want to talk about funerals I attended the funeral of an important
man, a titan of media, an outspoken champion of the people, a priest.
People all over Zambia and the world would be attended. A group from
our Friary was going and I and Sandra with them. We were leaving at
730 hours for Ndola. I showed up in a dark suite. I began to receive
compliments on how nice I looked. I thought it nothing more than the
fact that they don't often see me in my dress up clothes. I looked at
the others gathered for the ride to Ndola, not a suite among them. I
knew that some of the men had suites. I'd seen them worn at church.
Common clothing or work cloths seemed to be what other men were
wearing. I said to a friend, I seem to be over dressed. He said you
are fine. This is what you would ware to a funeral your country. It
is fine. We would not dress this way because for us those are not
mourning clothes. They are business or celebration clothing. We go to
a funeral with the expectation that we will be given the privilege to
shovel, that we will get dirty. This is part of how we show respect
for the diseased. I have noticed that men from among the crowed of
mourners take turns covering the casket with earth, and that the
women cover the barial mound with a blanket of flowers.
