My Other Day Job: Coroner in Sweya

This afternoon two of the village leaders (every 100 huts is represented by a leader) come to the Howell's home to ask for a favor. Someone has died in the village of Sweya and the family needs the body transported to the village of Shadi, about 6 kilometers away. Since Grace Baptist Mission owns some of the only vehicles in the area, this is not an unusual request. I am just settling down to check my email, when Rob knocks on my door, "Are you ready for another cultural experience?  Do you want to take a dead body to Shadi?" Since the strange is beginning to be normal around here, it doesn't take so long for the question to sink in, "Sure," I respond. I don't get to haul dead bodies around everyday in Ohio. Only he really means, do YOU want to do this. He's staying home. "OK."

Death is a common event here. The first or second evening after I arrived, a church member came over to tell Rob of the death of his ten year old daughter. It was matter of fact--the will of God. When someone dies the body is often taken to the village of birth as is the case today. I will go with Ferdinand and the two village leaders to collect the body. I have no idea what this entails. In addition to this, I will leave Ferdinand out at Shadi and drive back myself. Now this all sounds reasonable enough until you consider the extenuating circumstances: the van is right hand shift and drive, the roads are dirt paths and unmarked, and I will have no one who can speak English coming back with me. Rob hands me a cell phone in case I get in trouble.

The four of us start the van and head down a number of narrow dirt paths to the home pictured here. The two village leaders trek across a field and disappear. I hop out of the van and take a few pictures. I ask Ferdinand if I should take pictures of the transport of the body, and he says he will ask, but I tuck the camera away under the front seat. It seems a bit odd to take pictures of such an event. In about ten minutes a small procession winds its way through the underbrush. About fifteen or so people are accompanying the body. Four men lug an old mattress curled up on the edges. The body is wrapped in a blanket with the feet sticking out. Neither Ferdinand, nor myself, know exactly who has died and neither of us want to ask.

They place the body directly behind my seat across the floor. It takes some effort to get it in the van. There are men, women, and young teens in the procession, all dressed in their one best outfit. The clothes are colorful, no dark mourning attire. I am surprised when they all start clambering into the seats, since I thought we were only transporting a body. The van is packed to the gills and soon smells like a football locker room during halftime. There are three women seated directly behind me with the body touching their feet. Ferdinand turns the van around and we begin the bouncy trek to Shadi.

Almost immediately, an older woman begins to sing/chant a song in Swahili. The rest of the occupants join her, sometimes repeating the same line as a chorus while the older woman sings the verses. It is not a liturgy, but it is not a song of joy either. They sing all the way to Shadi. When we hit bumps, all their voices go up in unison with the chassis of the van. As for me, I am enjoying the moment, but I am also picking out landmarks at turns. I grab a pen out of Ferdinand's pocket and take notes: right at the newly constructed hut, left at the old German building, left at the red and yellow hut, etc. I don't want to get lost out here going back.

After about a twenty-minute drive we arrive at our destination--a small mud hut with a cluster of people outside. Our occupants get out and manage their burden. At this point I reach down and pick up the camera, taking a couple of pictures when they start down the path to the hut with their backs toward the lense. Ferdinand and I are both surprised when one of them suddenly turns and asks when we are leaving to go back. "Now." Word spreads down to the group quickly and several decide they want a ride back to Sweya.  I wonder if these are immediate family members--they seem to be.  If so, life goes on, and rather quickly at that.

In a few minutes the van is reloaded (well, one guy got a door shut on his finger and had to go to a clinic nearby, but that's another story). I ask Ferdinand to ask them if I can take a picture. One girl says, "Money." Ah, they know that English word. I put the camera back down and shake my head "no." This opportunistic American is not going to give in to an opportunistic Tanzanian. The others disagree, however, and Ferdinand tells me I can take the picture. The troop begins to sing, and we head back to Sweya, this time with me driving.

This is the first time I have driven a vehicle with the wheel on the right hand side, plus this has a stick--in my left hand. The travel books say trying this in London is simply suicide, but this is not London. The only other means of locomotion on these paths are bicycles, so I don't fear traffic, only pedestrians. In Mwanza, the vehicles have the right-of-way. We are headed the wrong way down this path so we need to turn around. Ferdinand points to a cow path. Nope, I'm not going to try that right out of the chute. I keep moving along until I come to a gateway that is large enough to get turned around with only a few "ups and backs." I drop Ferdinand off at the orphanage work site in Shadi and turn back toward Sweya.

Now I suppose this is no big deal for some people, but it dawns on me that I have just arrived in Africa, that I am driving through the country with a van full of people that don't speak English, and that I am not altogether sure where I am going. At least my passengers know the way back to Sweya and how to point. The path is full of deep ruts and run-offs. I can only get it into third gear once or twice, puttering along in second most of the way. Sometimes the path is so narrow that branches scrape the side of the vehicle.  At one point, we actually meet a pick-up truck coming from the opposite direction. I naturally begin to move to the right of the path, then catch myself, and move back to the left. They laugh at me when I begin gesturing before turns to make sure I am going the right way. We make it back in one piece and a young man stays in the van to make sure I get back to Rob's house without getting lost--a nice gesture.

When we arrive at the Howell's, I pull the van into their neighbor's driveway and honk. Someone is supposed to come and open the gate. Nobody does. I sit there idling. After a few minutes I pull out the cell phone and call Rob. "Hey, can someone open the gate and let me in?" All the way to Shadi and back and the biggest hurdle was at my own front gate.

Comments

[Paula]

You are such a great story teller. And with all those pieces of the story -- just arrived, van full of non-English-speaking people, don't know the directions -- your first drive was with a dead body in the vehicle! Did you think to yourself, "this stuff only happens to me?"
Like Dr. Seuss says, "Oh, the places you'll go!" God bless.

[Deb]

Jon, I see I have a lot of reading to catch up on once I get back home. I've pulled up your site here at my sister's, but too much going on to concentrate. She did point out the pic of the baboon to me--such a great picture!

Didn't it work out good that long months ago your cable got cut so you could go buy yourself a laptop? It seems to have been worth every headache and penny!

[anuja]

Harris and I have been following your adventures. Your descriptions of the traffic, the people walking everywhere, and the haggling with vendors bring back memories of our own land--Sri Lanka. We also relate to your feelings of being a foreigner. Cannot relate to the transportation of dead bodies though. I see a book in sight... "Trainer's Travels", a pastor's sojourn in this world. :)

[Ann Rees]

Wow!!! Your descriptions are wonderful. Having just been there, you make it all come alive again in my mind.

[jon]

Paula, Like I said to Rob while driving across the rugged terrain of Tanzania and feeling like I was in the western United States, "I feel privileged," with every experience.

Deb, Hope you can catch up with the reading. The laptop has indeed been handy. One drawback here though, for some reason my Mac does not interface with their wireless network (sorry, Jeremy). Thankfully, a woman returning to the States the day after I arrived graciously allowed me to keep hers.

Anuja, Glad to spark old memories! If only I can find the travel company that will pay me to go around the world and write. I think you would have done a better job at the market bartering though.

Ann, Happy to be of service. Your team is well spoken of and cherished.

[Jeremy]

Does the wireless network name appear in your airport list? If so, the issue might just be password encryption. If you can't see the wireless network, I'm not sure what could be the problem.

[Doug]

Not your typical pastoral duties. I am sure, as time goes on, someone in your home church congregation will pass away. However, I don't think the church membership will require you to pick up their dead relative.

One more thing to add to your long resume...corpse removal services!

[jon]

Jeremy, Thanks for your offline help.

Doug, Death is so sterile in our world. Here it is up close and personal. There is no getting around its stark reality.