There's a bit of an empty space in Bastion now that wasn't there a week ago. Richard, a young man who I've had a lot to do with, died suddenly and very unexpectedly on Sunday evening. He would have turned 30 on Dec. 9. He had had epilepsy for many years, poorly controlled, and didn’t do himself any favours in his younger years, using alcohol, and maybe drugs as well. He was somewhat disabled from so many seizures, with partial paralysis on one side, looked like he’d had a stroke. He was well known in the community of block 6 in Bastion, all the youth knew him, and he became part of our lives 3 or 4 years ago, coming to the church, almost never missed and present at all events. He was always the first one to sign up for an outing, of any kind, was always at camp, as a camper or as a maintenance helper. He was usually alone, but that seemed to be okay. But whenever he had a seizure, and they were quite frequent, the boys would be by his side in an instant, lying him down, and holding him until it passed. They were very good to him.
I took him to emergency one night in March, and he was sick enough then that I wondered if he would live, but he did, and we got his meds adjusted and got him back on track, and he’s been doing well, even got a job working in a little restaurant the last few months. But then I got a call early Monday morning to say he was gone. He had what seems to have been a cardiac event of some kind and he was gone by the time they got him to the hospital.
And I was thus introduced to a whole new part of this culture, all that takes place around a death. All of it very very different to what I'm used to in my own culture. It started with the "velorio", much like an old fashioned wake, I think. On Monday evening we went to his home, and the entire front of the house had been cleared and transformed to a mini-funeral parlour, with the coffin at the front and rows of chairs set up. We went in, and sat down, and that seems to be all you do. You don't pay your respects to the family, visit awhile, then leave. You come and sit and stay, some would stay all night. We did sing 3 of Richard's favourite hymns, the idea of a few from the church, but that's all. People came in, went to the coffin, crossed themselves and then went and sat down inside or with the many outside too. Many of the tough street guys came and went. At 10, after 2 hours of this we decided that it was time for us to move on, but Richard's mother wouldn't let us go until we had been fed, the customary "rosca", hard dry breadstick rings, and a piece of cheese. And cola. And then we left.
The burial was the next afternoon. We all met at the house, and in due course the coffin came out on the shoulders of some men and was carried out of Bastion, with all of us following on foot. When we got to the main road outside Bastion most of us got onto pickup trucks, and others, mostly men, with 4 still carrying the coffin on their shoulders, headed off along that busy main highway to the cemetery. It was quite a long way, and it was incredibly hot in a full blazing sun, I just don't know how they did it. This is a custom that the poor have brought with them from the country, and have held onto, carrying their dead to be buried. Walking all the way, doesn't seem to matter how far it is. Along the way I was shocked to see how little respect was shown the procession by passing traffic, they just honked and pushed their way through as though this was just some annoying slow moving traffic. I was really surprised to see that in this very Catholic country, I didn't expect it.
(I have to confess that in the midst of all this, part of me was wishing for my camera and a way to take a few photos invisibly. Here was this procession, a little decrepit pickup truck leading the way, with a middle aged gringa perched up on the side in the back, hanging on tight, followed by the walking men, with the coffin wobbling aloft, followed by another 2 or 3 trucks with the rest of the mourners packed into the back. Accompanied by the ever-present vendors trying to sell bottles of water, and the traffic roaring by us, or at us!)
Finally arrived at the cemetery, where there was a little trouble getting someone to open the gates to let us in, and then we proceeded on foot to the grave. Cemeteries here consist of stacks of cement cubicles, not graves in the ground as we know. When we arrived at the right spot, there was a priest waiting, he put on a gown, got a table organized and got underway. It was a mass (Richard came from a Catholic family and this is how they do it). It took a good hour, with everyone standing there. Lots of rituals, all new to me. He had a message too, about how to try to be better people, and the solution to it all was love. And then the coffin was opened so the family could say a final goodbye, and while that was happening I noticed a guy standing by with a bag of cement and water and trowel and bricks, and I realized what that was about. As soon as the coffin was closed up again and slid into its cubbyhole, he got to work, sealing it in. With everybody still standing there, watching. We saw the job through to the end.
It was a sad day, but I was thinking about the many memories I have of Richard, having seizures, being alone, being so sick, I can remember looking at him as he lay on the stretcher in emergency in March, and wondering what the future looked like for him. And he was apparently depressed, one of the boys told me. And now all that’s over for him. He will never have another seizure, he is out of the poverty and difficulties that he faced in life, and he's at peace and happy, in the presence of his Saviour.
This was the first time I've been there when the kids are in class in the school. This school was crumbling badly and last spring 2 groups from Canada came and worked with the villagers to reconstruct much of it. It's a huge improvement. 
What do you think, could these older kids use some better desks to work on??
There are some astonishing bugs in that part of the world, this guy showed up inside the house one morning. It was just a little smaller than my hand. 
