Maasai Funeral

Last week I attended the funeral of a Maasai pastor that I had met the first time I came to Africa four years ago. On my first visit to Africa I came to teach at Pastor’s School. I also visited the medical clinic and the church where some of the members of our group were doing a VBS program for preschoolers. But I spent most of my days at Pastor’s School. I didn’t get to talk to each pastor personally…most did not speak English…but I did meet them all.
I remember Pastor Paulo because he is Maasai. Some of the Maasai pastors don’t wear the traditional Maasai clothing, but Pastor Paulo did. He was very friendly and I even took a picture of him with some of the other pastors and the Bishop. It has always been one of my favorite photos.

Last week Pastor Paulo died. His funeral was on Friday. Pastor Mbahsa said it would be proper for me to attend the funeral…to represent Pastor Rita…Pastor Paulo loved her very much.
There is so much I want to write so that you could be a part of this experience with me, but I don’t think I can fully express what I saw and felt.
The funeral was held in Pastor Paulo’s village…the middle of nowhere…Maasai land. I drove with Bishop Alfred, Pastor Mbasha, Janet (Pastor Mbasha’s wife) and on the way we picked up a few other pastors that jumped into the back of the truck.
When we arrived many Maasai Pastors surrounded the truck to greet us. They were so sweet. As soon as I stepped out of the truck my foot landed on a small bush full of stickers. I had stickers all over my foot. I was trying to gracefully greet the pastors without showing attention to the stickers that were in my foot.
There were so many people. All of them were African and the majority of them Maasai. Some of them were members of Pastor Paulo’s church but most of them were not. After greeting the pastors, the men walked in one direction and Janet and I went in another one. I realized at that moment this was going to be a different experience for me. Most of the time when I am invited to an African meeting…usually a church type of meeting…I am with other Americans and we are there because one of us is speaking. But today I was not invited by the Maasai to attend this funeral, I was not speaking, and I was not with any other Americans.
Janet walked me over to a tree where some women were sitting. We were away from all of the men and most of the other people. There were five women and a baby with us under the tree. The woman with the baby let me hold him and I played with him while we sat and waited. After a while two vehicles pulled up…one of them was the vehicle transporting Pastor Paulo’s body from the mortuary. After a few more minutes Janet motioned for us to walk towards that direction. As we approached a boma (Maasai house) we heard singing…they had begun the service. At the front of the boma all the men were gathered. At the back of the boma the women were sitting. We stopped where the women were and I sat on a tree branch. All of the women sat staring at me. A teenage Maasai girl sat next to me and brushed my hair with her fingers. A few kids saw her and came over too. I sat there listening to the men singing and looked at my surroundings. I began to imagine Pastor Paulo in Heaven. I have an idea in my head of what heaven will be like, but it is my American version of heaven. Pastor Mbasha always says to me, “Work now…rest in Heaven.” Pastor Paulo had worked hard in a very rough land…now he was resting.
At the end of the service the women stood and made a line to view the body. I got in line with them.
Afterwards everyone walked over to the grave site. Janet and I sat at a distance in the background. I watched as they dug the grave, laid the coffin in the ground, and as hymns were sung, one at a time the men threw dirt on top of the coffin. Then they completely covered the coffin with dirt and laid thorny bushes on top.

All the men walked a small distance away toward a group of trees and the women went in the opposite direction. Janet and I stayed where we were sitting. As the men passed by us, some of them stopped to shake my hand. They didn’t seem upset that I was there.
(Many Maasai have absolutely no contact with white people. We have a young Maasai guard working for us who said when he was growing up and he would see a white person he would run and hide out of fear of them.)

One Maasai man saw Janet and I sitting there and walked over to us. He shook my hand and called out to someone. The next thing I new someone brought water for us to wash our hands and two bowls piled high with wild rice and goat. Janet told the man serving the food that we would share one bowl…it was enough for three or four people. But the man insisted we have our own bowls. As we sat there eating the men began to return from eating. They came over and watched me eat my rice and goat…I had nicknamed my bowl piled high with rice “Mt. Kilimanjaro.” The Massai don’t use utensils so you can imagine how entertaining I looked to them eating my bowl of rice and goat. But they were happy as they watched me eat. More men came over to say hi.
I was full after eating less than half of my food. Janet kept saying to me, “kula dada.” (eat sister) So I tried to eat more. Then Johanna came over…he is a Maasai that works as a weekend guard at our orphanage. I handed him my bowl and begged him to take it. He smiled and nodded as he took it. Janet had stopped eating a long time before me…but no one was watching her eat. Pastor Mbasha came over and said it was time to leave. I stood up and a large number of Maasai came over to shake my hand.

Pastor Mbasha said it was good that I attended the funeral. I came and respected their culture and their land. I didn’t invade their private lives like a tourist with a camera. I came to honor a good man and did not get in the way but followed their customs of a woman and a guest. They appreciated that. For many of those men I was their first face to face contact with a white person.
It is hard to describe what was going on inside of me that day. But this experience did something in me. I am a little different because of my day with the Maasai. (I have visited Maasai villages before but this day was different.) I was allowed to be part of a private service to honor Pastor Paulo…I was there and they welcomed me.