A Village in Mourning

The women gathering around the home
of the grieving family.

I heard the sound of wailing and knew that something was happening in the village.  I walked through the dusty main street toward our home when I noticed a gathering of women in black abiyas.  They were sitting alongside the road on the rocks of granite jutting out of the ground.  I smiled to greet them but their faces were turned toward the ground.  

To my right were more of them until they formed a line on both sides of the road leading to the house where I had first heard the wails.  Someone had died.

I haven't lived in this village very long.  I'm not familiar with what's culturally appropriate yet for all of the life events that take place on a daily basis.  I continued walking with John and my friends breathing a prayer for each of these dear people.

We arrived at our apartment and began talking about what we had seen.  A friend told me that the whole village will go visit the mourning family and say a phrase to them which puts some of the sorrow on each person.  Then when the person leaves they are taking some of the sorrow with them.  

Immediately my mind went to the scripture where it said that Jesus was "a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief."

Oh, how I longed to tell them. To take the hand of each woman and look into her eyes and say, "There is hope!"  

The women running through the street.

A few minutes passed and the street filled with ladies who were in the house of the grieving family.  They had the body placed on a stretcher made of sticks.  The form was wrapped in plastic.  Suddenly, the ladies holding the body began running as fast as they could through the street toward the paved road leading to the cemetery.  All of the women standing on the sides rose and followed. 

I didn't know what to make of it.  My friend didn't either.  We understood that a Muslim must be buried within 24 hours of her death or before the next sunset.  The mourning or wails that we heard will continue for three days.  This public display of emotion demonstrates how loved the deceased woman was.  I have to admit it has an ominous sound when it continues through the night.

Our friend, Mustafa*, is coming over tomorrow for language study.  When he arrives, I'm going to ask him how I should respond over the next several days.  Until then, I will continue to pray for this family verses from Psalm 27 which says:

May the Lord be their light and their salvation;
    whom shall they fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of their lives;
    of whom shall they be afraid?

For he will hide them in his shelter
    in the day of trouble;
he will conceal them under the cover of his tent;
    he will lift them high upon a rock.

Hear, O Lord, when they cry aloud;
    be gracious to them and answer them!

I believe that they shall look upon the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living!
_____________________

*Not his real name