AN INVITE
We were invited to attend a funeral in
Gouyave, the fishing capital of Grenada. Our friend Nicole, who is a security guard at Spice Island
Marine, suddenly lost her 58 year old mother. She tripped and fell Christmas eve, hitting her head and dying.
Paul of Best Cabs, who services the cruisers and is a friend of Nicoles', drove us the 20 miles up the west coast of Grenada to Gouyave. It's an incredible ride in that it winds up and down and in and around the mountains. When we arrived, a lot of
people were standing, sitting, milling about outside the Catholic
Church. Gene and I moved to the side and just stood there until we noticed
Steve and Hope, s/v Starshine, slip inside the church. "Let's follow them," I said to Gene. Once inside, we just stood there not sure what to do or where to do. We couldn't see Steve and Hope. The funeral was in session, we had arrived late.
Jenny, a Grenadian who works for Spice Island Marine and who was on the bus also, waved to us to come and sit down in the isle in front of her. We did. The priest was talking about "our sister, our friend." It was only later that I realized that what I thought was a table was actually the coffin, and we weren't that far back in
the large, high ceiling church.
Even though we were late, as I said, we didn't miss the tithing, and then came the congregation offering, "Peace/Peace be with you." (Even though we're not Catholic, I used to go to church with Sandy so I could get a Froster Freeze chocolate dip cone afterwards on our walk home.) Many shook our hands and offered us Peace. One lovely woman in a beautiful hat pointedly moved down the aisle to give us this blessing. Then it ended with the narrow, simple dark brown nice wood coffin being carried out by four guys.
People were beautifully singing a "Bye and Bye
. . . the glory something" song. Nicole walked by, head down, not looking at anyone. Jenny motioned for us to cut in line and
follow her! So we did.
Outside all the people who didn't come inside and all the
people who were inside were all singing and then they started
walking. Jenny said that we should go in the bus, so we got in our bus. If I had realized that the people walk
to the cemetery following the casket singing, I would have rather done that.
It was probably a mile walk to the cemetery and we followed suit and walk over and on top of other
graves up the steep,
muddy and grassy hill to the hand-dug grave. The loud wailing and crying was unsettling, as our American funerals seem to be so under control. I thought this is like a scene in an older time movie. Sad, of course, but fascinating to us foreigners; at least to me and Gene.
The time came and the men lowered the casket into the
6-foot deep hole. The priest led the Our Father prayer and a couple of move, and then men with mostly pitchforks started throwing the clods of dirt that were on pieces of plywood around and in back of the grave into the resting place on top of the coffin. The sound of the heavy dirt thumping the coffin was profound. Profound and final.
It took quite awhile to fill in the hole. All the while people sang. A song would end and then a man would start another and people would sing as the hole filled up. Another man seemed to be in charge and made sure the large mound that had the perfect shape for what was Nicole's mother's final resting place. They mounded it and made it oblong (like a
hotdog bun) and patted the clumps of dirt and grass down hard, fitting it
all into shape.
Hope was next to me and suddenly jerked and looked down. I
looked down to see a land crab crawling across her foot! Hope didn't scream or anything . . . I might have.
When the grave was properly
finished, family members and friends came forward and
decorated the mound with halos of gorgeous flowers as you can see, and that concluded the service. Nicole's mother's resting place was left with love and exotic flowers God created.
On a lighter note, with all the events and holidays over we were getting ready to make tracks: the crossing to Carriacou, stay tuned!
