The Funeral

Saturday, February 14, 2004

On Friday morning I received a call from the head of our crack security team, Ousmane Sy, that Maximilien’s wife had died last night. I hardly know Maximilien. He is one of our security guards and has worked for the Dakar campus for about a year or so. He is young, probably mid-30s, and I can assume that his wife was probably even younger. I asked what she died from, but in Africa one rarely gets an answer to that. Had she been sick? No, I was told. I immediately conveyed my sympathies and asked Ousmane to keep me posted on arrangements. I then spoke to my assistant, Felix, concerning proper protocol. He suggested I send out a condolences memo on behalf of Suffolk, and drafted the following, which I put on my letterhead, signed, and had circulated:

Vendredi 13 Février 2004

AVIS DE DECES

Nous avons la profonde douleur de vous annoncer le décés de Madame Marcelline Sanka, épouse de Monsieur Maximilien Diatta, agent de sécurité á Suffolk University.

En cette douloureuse circonstance, le Directeur Executif, l’ensemble du personnel et toute la communauté de Suffolk University présente ses condoléances les plus attristées á la famille éplorée.

La date et l’heure de l’enterrement vous seront communiquées ultérieurement.

Dr. Lewis Shaw

Directeur Executif

Suffolk University Dakar Campus

I then called Moussa Diof, who heads our English Language Program and is the representative of the employee association. He had not heard of the death, but would follow up and keep me posted. I also asked him to inform me of what proper protocol would be for me in my official capacity. Shortly after that, Ousmane came to me with a hand-written request from Maximilien for a loan in order to pay for the funeral, about $400. I immediately authorized it and the check was cut.

Suffolk Dakar employs about a dozen security guards. They are not armed and basically are stationed at all entrances, 24 hours per day. I am not really sure what they do, but every house in Dakar has them, so we do too. Their salaries are very small, so it is certainly not a significant expense.

Maximilien is a member of the Christian minority in Senegal. He is also ethnically a member of the Minkilane, a small tribe from the Casemance region of southern Senegal. We have many employees from that group, since Marcel, the original General Manager of the campus, was noted for hiring his own. I have heard a bit of criticism of this, as these people are different from the typical Wolofs of Dakar. I don’t know how big a factor this is, but it has been called to my attention several times.

I want to change the subject to another important event taking place this weekend in Dakar – WAIST. This is the West African Invitational Softball Tournament, no kidding. It is sponsored by the US Embassy here and is mainly for the Peace Corp volunteers in West Africa. I am told that over 200 will be arriving for three days of softball and partying, well deserved. I have been asked if they can use our new soccer field for softball, of course, and if we can homestay any of the volunteers. Since I have four extra bedrooms, I agree and am assigned six young women to host. There is a spaghetti dinner at the American Club on Friday night, where I can meet and retrieve my homestays.

I meet them there. They are all volunteers in remote areas of Senegal. Each of them lives in a hut in a village and works on various health education issues. They are in the early twenties and remind me very much of Lorraine and my daughters, which makes me a bit homesick. They are thrilled with showers, hot water, a stocked refrigerator, electricity, clean sheets, etc. I am happy to provide this and am really enjoying their company. Friday night and Saturday night they went out to various parties being sponsored for them. I guess they get home at around 3 or 4 in the morning, then take off for softball all day. Oh to be young !

On Friday evening when I get back from the American Club, I get a call at my residence from my driver, Manga, to inform me that the funeral has been scheduled for Saturday at 12:30. I inquire whether it is expected of me to attend. He says no. I then call Moussa at home and tell him of the funeral. He says he is not sure whether I should attend or not, and that they typically last many, many hours. He says he will be on campus in the morning, and we agree to talk then.

I arrive on campus Saturday morning around 9 AM. No one else is there, so I go through my e-mail and head to Marcel’s office. Marcel is holding court with Moussa and Manga in the office. I do the requisite greeting thing and we switch to English for my benefit and discuss the death and the funeral. Maximilien is a relative of Marcel’s and of course he will, as Suffolk’s representative, attend the funeral. He thinks I should also go. Done. The funeral is scheduled  for 2:30, but we agree to meet for the funeral procession after the service, and not go to the church. Moussa and Manga are Muslims, so I assume they won’t go into a church. So at 3:30 (in the middle of the final match of the African Cup of Nations soccer tournament, between Morocco and Tunisia) several employees arrive at my house and we head to the cemetery to wait for the procession. I am wearing a dark suit and a tie. There is a range of attire, from sloppy casual to boo boos to coats and ties.

Manga drives us out of the city, heading towards NGor and the airport. We get off the road, go along a dirt road lined with a little shanty town and piles of rubble to a large cemetery. We sit in the car, listening to the rest of the match, waiting for the procession. After about 45 minutes it arrives. The coffin and the immediate family are in a black minibus. That is followed by an assortment of cars and car rapides that have been hired to transport the mourners. Everyone piles out of the cars and lines up behind the black minibus at the entrance to the cemetery. Then everyone, probably about 200 people, slowly walks behind the vehicle through the graveyard to the final resting place of Maximilien’s wife. Along the way, several women pass the graves of their dear departed and collapse on the graves wailing. (I suppose I also should note that I am the only Toubab (white person) to be seen.) I can’t see much as we circle the grave site. There is a priest standing next to Maximilien and he is praying, followed by a choir chanting. It is nothing like the revival gospel music I have heard before. It is closer to the Gregorian chanting of Keur Moussa. Two grave workers come along on a horse drawn wagon, get off and start covering the grave.

The ceremony at the grave site takes about a half hour and then we all walk back to our cars. I see Maximilien standing near the entrance of the cemetery, so I walk over to him and take his hand in both mine. I look at him deeply and express my condolences. I must admit I feel a very strong energy coming from him as I hold his had and gaze at his face. He is truly greaving. I am feeling quite moved. I look at the cars leaving the cemetery, and I see a motorcycle exactly like the one I had for many years when I lived in Israel over 30 years ago. It may even have been the same one. I can’t describe how that felt, almost like I had been hit by lightning. One could easily draw mystical conclusiona, so go ahead of you are so inclined.

The assortment of cars, motorcycles, mopeds, and car rapides piled full proceed out along the dirt road to the main road. Whoever is in the first car pulls over, gets out, and stops all traffic for the procession to the house. We wander through several Dakar neighborhoods and a huge Satuday clothes market until we arrive at the family’s house. The family, about thirty people, have assembled outside, seated on plastic patio chairs and a very long line has formed, waiting to pay respects. The line moves very slowly. When we get to the family, we all shake everyone’s hand. At the end of the reception line is a basket of coins. I didn’t know that contributions were expected and I didn’t have any change. Next to that was a woman who handed out little baggies with four buscuits and a mint in them. We all took one.

We walked back to the car, piled in, including a few additional people who we were giving a ride to, and off we went. We went through several more neighborhoods and dropped off our passengers. Finally we arrived back at my residence at around 7 PM. I was drenched, since this is not the best climate for standing in the sun for a few hours in a shirt, tie, and dark suit. I am glad I went to the funeral and hope that my presence meant something to Maximilien, his family, and to the employees of the Dakar campus. I think it did. And I need to note that Marcel did not show up at the funeral at all.

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