The funeral

While we have been in Albania more than a year and a half, I feel a bit like Ellie and Reni above -- like we are still sitting in the role of 'cultural observer.'  

To be sure, we're slowly adopting some ways of doing life here that appeal to us (as well as ways of life which are expected of us).  But there continue to be aspects of this culture that remain a matter of curiosity.  And for the most part we still enjoy the process of learning and understanding traditions and rituals that feel so very different from our own.

On Thursday one of our neighbors passed away.  His daughter-in-law had not been present at our Wednesday night ladies Bible study and we had heard it was because they suspected the end to be near.  So when we saw an ambulance back down their narrow alley Thursday midday, with no lights flashing or siren blaring, we knew the end had come.

Sure enough, within an hour, the foot traffic to their home commenced -- an endless stream of friends and family, all dressed in black, coming to pay their respects.  As time passed, our street became lined with parked vehicles as friends from out of town poured in.  It was truly remarkable to behold in our typically quiet little community. 

Friday morning we accompanied Genti and Shpresa to show our own respect for the family.  To be sure, we could have attended on our own, but it was easier to follow their lead.  The women were gathering in the home of the deceased, the men in the home of the deceased's brother, right next door.  Since it was morning, and we were in the middle of homeschooling, we brought the kids with us -- except we later learned children do not usually attend these events.  When Ellie and I entered the home, I quickly understood why.

We gathered in a cozy sitting room with a group of women all in black except for the occasional white headscarf.  Those closest to the deceased wore no trace of make up or jewelry.  Side by side, ladies filled the perimeter of the room, knees nearly touching the casket in the middle, just a few inches off the floor.  A blanket lay over the top, covering the shell of the man within. Someone arrived while we sat, laying a bouquet of flowers across the middle.  A sister shared some words, but for the most part, it was quiet except for a whisper here or there. 

We stayed about 15 minutes, then quietly walked the short 50 yards or so back to our home. Reni was a bit bummed that Ellie had more to see than he saw over at the home with the men. 

A few hours later, less than 24 hours after the ambulance had appeared on our corner, another vehicle backed up.  This time, it was a hearse. We watched from our 2nd floor perch as the numbers of men swelled around the car, waiting for the the deceased to leave his home for the last time.  

When the vehicle's back door closed, the car started rolling down the hill on the way to the village cemetery.  Nathan joined the group as all of the men silently filed into line behind it, a sort of silent parade of walkers off to take part laying the deceased to rest then perhaps join the family for lunch.

Since the women do not traditionally attend the graveside service, I stayed at home with the kids.  Reni let me know in no uncertain terms that he WAS a man and should have gone with his Dad to the cemetery.  No amount of logic or discussion could overcome his 5-year-old curiosity and certainty that he was missing out on seeing something really, really interesting.

As Nathan watched the im*m lead everyone through the prayers and the pallbearers raise and lower the casket three times before lowering it into the ground, he lifted his eyes to scan the dozens of tombstones surrounding them, realizing that there had probably never been a Christi*n funeral in our community, another sobering reminder of why we are here...