One sunny afternoon

Alodia was 32 years old. She had been orphaned earlier in her life, but had married a lovely young man from a well to do local family in 2002.
They had three children. Their second and third born died in infancy. Their eldest died suddenly when he was 6 years old.

Today we attended her funeral. It was held in her parents in law’s shamba.
She’d caught severe malaria about 3 weeks ago and was transferred to Mwanza for treatment. Then she got meningitis (probably due to the malaria) and died.
Her father-in-law, our friend an colleague, Dr. Felix, is a rotund, jovial, kind man who works hard at Kagondo Hospital (and has done so for 40 years) and when off duty he runs his own clinic in nearby Kemondo. He lives in a large house in the middle of his banana plantation with his lovely wife, also rotund, jovial and kind. They have eight adult children, all professionals or studying to be so.
A month ago we were at their home being generously and happily entertained on the occasion of his daughters’ betrothal…it was poignant to be returning to the same place (same awning rigged up outside his home to shelter the crowd from the sun) for such a sad occasion.

The funeral mass was scheduled for 3.00pm (9.00 Swahili time). Today was hot, breezy and dusty. “Lifting” as many as we could, our car was overladen for the dirt footpath that we had to negotiate to get there, arriving at the same time as the priest.
Mr. Felix greeted us warmly. He can’t help smiling but it was sad to see his large round eyes so sorrowful. We shook hands and offered condolences and were seated on a bench with a front row view, together with our colleagues. Fresh cut grass had been laid down as a carpet, sweet smelling and slightly tricky as it is very slippery to walk on. We were seated near to the grieving relatives beside the coffin, which was painted white, adorned with purple and gold ribbon and Alodia’s kanga.
The service eventually started at about 3.30. We were the only wazungu there and the priest asked us (in “KiEnglish”, or Kiuingeresa) during his address if we understood the Kiswahili service. We were able to say we could without lying as we got the gist of it all.
At the end of mass, we were invited to pay our respects by viewing Alodia in her coffin through a glass window. She looked so pretty; quiet and peaceful in repose. We all trooped off to the prepared gravesite nearby, amongst the banana trees. The menfolk, led by Alodia’s husband, father in law and an uncle secured the coffin lid and collected the inscribed cross and her Kanga then she was carried to the graveside. Banana trees had to be negotiated, not to mention the odd boulder/slippery banana leaf. The men eventually were in a position to lower her into the grave. The earth was shovelled into the grave by her close relatives, using old jembes and spades, followed by her friends and acquaintances from the village, creating an increasing cloud of red dust glittering in the afternoon sun until the whole space had been filled in.
Now the women came forward and the men who had dominated the graveside stood back. The women all had their heads covered with bright scarves, the main mourners wearing white. The elder women scattered flower petals onto the grave and lit candles, which they planted into the soft earth. Then bright silver wreaths were laid on her grave by her husband and friends.
Alodia lay alongside the small graves of her children. Flanked by his brothers, her husband stood beside the graves of his family.