Funerals and Featherdusters

Before I begin… It’s OK for kids to read this post. (My mom told me I need to tell everyone these things.) Oh, and sorry for the length.

Last night, Kim, Heinrich, Daniel and I went to the funeral celebration of a woman who died while we were gone. I say funeral celebration because it was after the three days of mourning that they do. After that, everyone comes from all over the villages to dance in the mangott—the village center.

We’d seen people the night before heading over to the village. In fact, Husa was darn-near empty because they were all over dancing. People were just flowing by in their crazy dancing get-ups. This is where I wish I had pictures. It’s so hilarious to see how the more developed world’s influence has seeped into Lopit.

The people, especially the men, get decked out in any and every colorful thing they have. The munyimigi (mun-you-me-gee)—generally the 20-somethings of the men—are the best. They were these goofy straw hats that look like upside-down buckets. The stick feathers in the hats—the more the better—and if they’re really special, they’ll have something they’ve picked up from Nairobi or the trash. The best? This guy had a pink feather duster—one of the really long ones you use for fans—tied onto his hat. I wanted to die laughing. Then you’ll see pom-poms. Or these weird tassel things in such manly colors as pink and teal and bright purple tied onto their arms. Ace bandages strung around their upper arms. Argyle dress socks pulled all the way up to their knees, with another pair of socks—the brighter the better—puddled around their ankles. Neckties tied around their foreheads or necks, with the body of the tie going down their backs. I even saw a few cell phones clipped to their belts—a sign of prestige. This especially tickled me, since there’s absolutely no cell coverage out here. Many of them had ash or mud smeared all over their upperbodies, and during the dancing the women would smear more on them. Sometimes they’d shove it over their mouths and stuff.

The ladies wore more traditional dresses with no tops and beaded belts. The best was they never wear bras during the day, but they bring them out for dancing. They weren’t quite as decked out as the men, but you’d see the occasional colorful baseball hat from the 80s. They had bells around their ankles and one really awesome lady was wearing just a cowbell on her butt. The lady who has the strongest husband in the village wore just a small blanket but carried a stick with a red flag on it. They honored her by covering her in ash.

It was funny to see how their “bling” was all these normal, every-day things from the States.

They started the thing with the men acting out something in the middle. There were at first just a few, dancing/running around with spears, acting like they were killing or hunting something (I think). Slowly, more and more came and eventually they signaled to the women, who flowed from the “audience” on the rocks and into the dancing place.

They had the drums going in the middle, with the women circling around them, then the men circling everything. The munyimigi led the dancing, which sometimes turned into an all-out sprint in this circle. It was scary, seeing these pregnant women and small children in the mix of things, especially because all the men had spears. If the little kids tripped, they stood the chance of getting trampled, but it was amazing to see the old women just reach into the throw and yank them out. We were wise to go early, because I’ve heard that these things get really out of control as the night goes on. They dance and dance and drink and drink and seriously whip themselves into a frenzy, possessed. We see them the next morning, dragging themselves home. The men and women kept asking us to dance, pulling on us to come off the rocks and into the center.

It’s hard to see this all from the Western perspective because I don’t understand—and can’t comprehend—what’s going on. I wish someone could explain to me why they do what they do and what all this means. (And maybe someone else could explain to me where they got that big feather duster.)

But it was harder to see it from the Christian perspective. The woman who died wasn’t a Christian, and all these people dancing around in her honor also aren’t Christians. And so they’re just dancing their way to eternity in hell. So, once again, I’m reminded of why I’m here and am forced to rely on the sovereignty of God and the power of the gospel.