The late grandma, a strong member of the Womens’ Guild of the CCAP, died of Stroke. But what will remain “remember-able” is the village chief’s pronounciation: “Amayi agona apawa yawatenga ndi nthendfa yopha ziwalo, pa Chizungu amati kwa-shiyoko…” translating: “This woman has died of a body parts killing disease, in English called ‘Kwashiokor.“ 

The gathering murmured as the chief, using the highest of his pitch he could master, repeated his announcement.

About six chiefs, including one from a village about 200 kilometers away in the southern lake shore district of Malawi in Monkey-Bay, spoke. This is the village from where the deceased’s husband hails.

“We are very saddened as you have already heard the deceased was our son’s eyes. Her husband is blind and she was her daily guide around his life. It would have been better if the husband had died earlier other than her because now he has no-one to lead him about,” he said, causing more murmuring from the fathering made up of village and town folk.

And that was not enough, the Women’s Guild choir that took its turn to sing chose a very thoughtful message.

“The axe I have lost in the pool was borrowed and I do not know how to report back to the owner,” they sang, before unwrapping the message in a follow-up verse as: “This life we play with today is borrowed from Jesus, now that we have lost it, how am I going to report about the loss?”

More village daily-happenings continued. At the graveyard the ‘adzukulu’ (gravediggers) kept shouting at each other to bring sticks to measure about the exact grave position.

In his eulogy, the preacher, a minister in the area from the same CCAP, prayed: “What is the use for you women to be in polygamous marriages? If these men cannot suffice their women with good clothing and food, why do you think they will take good care of you? after these men ‘taste’ you, what do you gain? Why do you men think you can always bed every good looking woman? These women are just the same. No difference,” he prayed.

“Some of you here are prostitutes, witches and wizards, drunkards and your final place is hell. What do you benefit? This woman here is dead and it is just the body we have here burying today. Her spirit is already gone where it should go. It is now up to you and me to work at where our spirit will go when such a time, today, tomorrow or whenever, comes.”

As we walked from the graveyard and into the funeral village, a dog zig-zagged through the mourners, dashing away with a goat head.

An elderly woman shouted at us to chase and grab the bloody head from the dog. We ignored her. For us, the ‘meat’ was already spoiled by the canine’s saliva.

A few seconds later, the dog squealed and a young man walked back with the head, hunting for the woman who had called for its rescue.

Such was a funeral day in one Chewa village on the outskirts of Lilongwe.