“You should celebrate that you are burying your mother and not the other way around.”
My emotionless face concealed the flow of anger within me. I looked at them, the Umuada. These were mostly married women who had come to ‘take’ the rites from the daughter of the deceased. Yes take. They are ready to take as much as is possible.
The Umuada. under the ideal circumstances, were a great force for good, but greed has taken over and many things have gone bad.
It didn't matter that I was in mourning, and the knowledge of what my late mother would want was the only thing holding my broken heart together. She’d want me to hold my head high and show them that I could not be broken, at least not by them.
Many of them held folded bags to share whatever they were given and take back home as loot from the celebration of death. At that point, I could only watch them argue with my aunt, my mom’s immediate younger sister. I watched her battle with the pain she felt. This was the third sibling she was burying within 10 months. And for each of these pains, the women have gathered to collect; they had come to celebrate the deaths of her siblings.
I watched her deny receipt of the list they gave. The list contained items to give them because I was about to bury my mother. The items included bags of rice, tubers of yam, some quantity of beans, a crate of malt drink, some cooked food, and some money. This is the part of the list I can remember now, but I remember laughing humorlessly.
Here I was, dressed in black, with a wrapper tied at my waist, a proof of how deep I was in my mourning state. I was told I could be fined if I didn’t dress accordingly. Humorlessly funny.
My aunt and me - Picture from my gallery
“You should celebrate that you are burying your mother and not the other way around.”
The lady who was in charge of the group of women said this. She said this to me in response to my aunt, who bargained with her, telling her I was an unmarried young woman with no husband to support me in providing the items they requested.
They let her know there was no way they were leaving without some key items. These were women who, I was certain, didn't know my mother’s middle name. Women who I wouldn't recognize if I passed by them on the road. Yet here they were, celebrating my mother’s death.
I was so desirous of the success of my mother’s funeral that I just wanted to please them so they could leave me alone.
My elder brothers were dealing with the elders of the land and their exorbitant requests, which included a full, live cow. This was part of the ritual, and I was facing mine.
When my aunt refused to dance to their tune, they threatened to leave, saying we should have told them to stay back at their homes; they didn’t come to be disrespected.
As they stood to leave, I burst into tears. All I could think was that I had failed my mother. I looked at all of them and was certain that in all their glory or lack of glory, they didn’t measure up to my mother, be it in life or death.
I rushed in and brought all the money I had in my bag and gave it to my aunt.
“Give it to them; let them eat!” I sobbed.
They must not leave with the thought that I couldn’t honor my mother. May it never be said that my mother was not properly buried. God forbid.
My aunt shouted me down; there was no way she was giving them all of the money. My tears had broken her too.
“They are not up to my mother,” I told her. “Give it to them. They won’t dishonor my mother in death.”
Finally, they accepted the offer my aunt made. Minutes later, they were sharing the loot. Yes, loot.
Soon, I and my siblings were called for prayers. They said that as we have buried our mother honorably, so may our children bury us honorably too. I didn’t know where the honor was. The mere thought of my daughter passing through this was scary.
“Amen,” I said.
In my tribe, it is considered a thing worthy of celebration when you bury your parents, fulfilling all the requests from the people of the land. After the burial ceremony, people congratulated us for burying our mother. No one saw, and few cared about the scar we would forever carry in our hearts. You see, about three months ago, our mother slumped on her way back from her shop and was pronounced dead before the evening was over.
Celebration of death - Picture from my gallery
Our lives would never be the same, but her burial was celebrated. It was tough, but it was what she would have wanted: to be honored even in her death, even if it came with an ill-placed celebration.
Almost the same way of doing our burial too, please where are from?
Abia state
This is sad and heart wrenching.
Some traditions should be discarded into the lagoon
Sorry about your loss
Thank you, @jjmusa2004.
It's sad what counts, but it's part of your culture. There are beliefs that must be followed, even if we don't agree with them. The important thing is that you were able to bury your mother in a better way. Wherever she is, she will surely bless you. Greetings
Thank you. Yeah, but beliefs and traditions without empathy are toxic.
You went through a lot of grief dealing with the Umuada after the loss of your mother, what a terrible experience! In this difficult time, at least you were able to lay your mother to rest in a respectful manner. Your dedication as a daughter is touching, and from the photos it appears that it was a beautiful celebration of life! Thank you for sharing your story with us, don't forget to engage with other members of the community as well!
Thank you!
This is so bad!
This thing is becoming a culture to every part of NIGERIA because it wasn't like this before.
Burial these days are now seen as warehouse to loot and cart away with all manners
Sad.
This brought back memories.
They should put an end to this wicked extortion in the name of burial rites. They have no pity for the bereaved. Imagine during my mum's burial one yeye woman opened her mouth to say that imagine a whole ichie wife burial and there was no enough chicken.