After my dad's funeral, I came back to
Madagascar. However, even here I can't seem to escape death. Not only
do I constantly still think about my dads passing, but since being
back I've also been around other people passing away as well.
Shortly after I returned to my site,
one of the teachers experienced a death in her family. Ramatoa is the
teacher I work with the vast majority of my time. Her godson passed
away unexpectedly during the night. He was one year old. It was a
tragedy that rocked their family. It was devastating to me to see
someone I care about hurt so much due to a death in her family. That
pain for me was still so fresh and then I had to witness death hurt
someone else.
The Malagasy traditions vary in regards to what happens when someone dies. However, each time a member of my immediate community has died, the tradition has been relatively the same. The family of the deceased brings the body to their house. The body is then on display in a room where the family gathers as well. The family sits there all day, while visitors come and pay their respect. Each time a death has occurred, the same steps are taken. First, money is collected to give to the family then we go to the house. Once we are there, we stand outside for awhile, then when it is our turn we enter the room where the body and family are. We sing a few verses of a hymn then someone talks on behalf of the group, then we pray, and then we sing the rest of the song. The money is handed to the family, and we shake the hands of the family members before leaving. We then congregate outside the house again for awhile before departing. This tradition is called mainangy fahoriana, I would compare it to a wake in the United States. I have been a part of this tradition three times since being in Madagascar, twice just since being back.
The following week, the teachers went to the hospital on our lunch break to visit a student's mother. This visit definitely proved too much for me to handle. I was not ready to be in a hospital again. Although the hospital here looks NOTHING like the last hospital I had been in, the pain I felt was the same. The hospital room we were in had 10 beds in it with about half of the beds occupied. I realized on this visit that at the hospitals here, the families are basically in charge of everything but medical treatment. You supply your own sheets and pillows. These sheets are placed over a piece of foam which is your mattress. Think about how thin a sheet is, and how a sponge works. The stains on the beds that were not occupied were visible. I cringed. I was also super thankful for the resources the hospitals in States have. The families are also in charge of supplying meals for those who are sick. There is no hospital food to complain about. I was thinking of all these things as I stood at the foot of this lady's bed. I had never met her before, but I was brought to tears seeing the immense pain she was in. I wondered if she would have answers yet if she was in a U.S. hospital. I wondered how her medical care would be different. I was also selfish and thought of my dad, and cried for him. As we were leaving, we had to wait as a nurse and three other people, presumably family members carried a woman in a wheelchair up the stairs. No elevators in this hospital.
The Malagasy traditions vary in regards to what happens when someone dies. However, each time a member of my immediate community has died, the tradition has been relatively the same. The family of the deceased brings the body to their house. The body is then on display in a room where the family gathers as well. The family sits there all day, while visitors come and pay their respect. Each time a death has occurred, the same steps are taken. First, money is collected to give to the family then we go to the house. Once we are there, we stand outside for awhile, then when it is our turn we enter the room where the body and family are. We sing a few verses of a hymn then someone talks on behalf of the group, then we pray, and then we sing the rest of the song. The money is handed to the family, and we shake the hands of the family members before leaving. We then congregate outside the house again for awhile before departing. This tradition is called mainangy fahoriana, I would compare it to a wake in the United States. I have been a part of this tradition three times since being in Madagascar, twice just since being back.
The following week, the teachers went to the hospital on our lunch break to visit a student's mother. This visit definitely proved too much for me to handle. I was not ready to be in a hospital again. Although the hospital here looks NOTHING like the last hospital I had been in, the pain I felt was the same. The hospital room we were in had 10 beds in it with about half of the beds occupied. I realized on this visit that at the hospitals here, the families are basically in charge of everything but medical treatment. You supply your own sheets and pillows. These sheets are placed over a piece of foam which is your mattress. Think about how thin a sheet is, and how a sponge works. The stains on the beds that were not occupied were visible. I cringed. I was also super thankful for the resources the hospitals in States have. The families are also in charge of supplying meals for those who are sick. There is no hospital food to complain about. I was thinking of all these things as I stood at the foot of this lady's bed. I had never met her before, but I was brought to tears seeing the immense pain she was in. I wondered if she would have answers yet if she was in a U.S. hospital. I wondered how her medical care would be different. I was also selfish and thought of my dad, and cried for him. As we were leaving, we had to wait as a nurse and three other people, presumably family members carried a woman in a wheelchair up the stairs. No elevators in this hospital.
I asked for updates on the student's
mom often, and kept her in my prayers. However, yesterday we learned
that she passed away on Sunday. So once again, the staff and some of
the students walked over to their house to pay our respects. This was
the hardest mainangy fahoriana
for me to attend. I know what it's like to lose a parent too soon, I
sympathized with the girl who just lost her mom. When the father of
the deceased spoke to us and had to stop because he was crying
multiple times, I also cried. Many people in the room were silently
crying, it was an awful circumstance that we were all gathered. Later
in the day the staff went back again with some of the other parents
to pay respect to the family. We also witnessed the funeral (mamoaka
faty), which I didn't know was happening until preparations were
being made. People were seated and standing around outside of the
home, and the body now in a coffin was moved from the back room to
and empty room in the front of the house (it kind of looked like an
empty store front). A priest was there, and a small service was held.
While we were waiting for this to happen I kept my eye on our
student, a 10 year old girl. I thought about how hard this was going
to be for her to process at such a young age. Besides being so young,
the girl is Deaf and her family doesn't know sign language. How is
she supposed to even begin to process what is going on. I noted how
she was smiling and playing with her cousin. I hadn't seen her shed
one tear yet. At one point she went into the house and came out with
her grandma. As soon as she stepped outside she broke down sobbing. I
realized that she had just said good bye to her mom for the last
time. My heart broke for this little girl. Not only did she lose a
parent, but she was so young and I knew it had to be hard to
understand. I watched her crying, and cried myself. I cried for her,
and I cried for me. What a terrible and unpredictable thing death can
be.
Just completely unfair.
Just completely unfair.
