Thursday, November 09, 2006

The Burial

07 Nov 06

Under the large weathered tarp tied to a corrugated tin roof supported by bamboo poles and decaying wooden beams, the stiff corpse of the 76 year old man lies in the pine box. The priest is saying mass in Ilokano and condemning the men at the funeral for gambling. “You might forget and gamble away your wife!” he warns. As the crowd patiently listens and mechanically responds to all the Catholic rituals, several short haired, mangy looking mongrels weave their way through the people both inside and outside of the open-doored house.

Standing outside under the slim shadow of the roof’s overhang, I can hear the laughing children just inside the house, running and playing games, unaware of the grave ceremony transpiring just a few meters away. I am struck by the natural beauty of the tropical greenery providing a living backdrop for this solemn occasion of death. I look down and notice feet. . . the majority of which are sporting slippers (thongs). Some are muddy, for they have trudged through mountains and muck to be here. Most of the toenails, on both men and women, have been manicured into long points, appearing more as claws to me than my western concept of nice toenails allows. But to the people here they are beautiful, and my blunt, broad nails are a source of snickers.

My, this priest has a lot to say. When will this be over? I am dripping with sweat. Fortunately, I brought my folding fan, which lends a little relief from the heat. One more song . . . Oh, I know this one . . . Amazing Grace how sweet the sound . . . I’ve always enjoyed singing this song, and I know all the verses. Yes! Oh . . . wait a minute . . . what’s this verse? Hmm. Oh yeah, I remember now. Back in our place we use to sing the 1st, 2nd, and last verses only. In the Philippines we sing every single verse and often repeat the first verse and then the last two lines of it! How ironic. Here, in the land where people love “shortcuts” –they shortcut everything except for song lyrics . . . and those they extend. How Filipinos love, love, love to sing!

But I digress.

So the mass seems to be over. We’re moving now. The teachers are pssting me to follow them down the hill. . . Ah, here we are on the side of the hill. We have a front row view of the freshly constructed concrete tomb, which must be placed where the head of the dead faces the morning sun. . . Never mind the ants climbing up our feet and legs. Let's sing another song. “Nearer my God to thee . . .”

Here come the men carrying the pine coffin. The lid is on and secured with a wooden peg sticking up out of the top. They’re setting it down and removing the lid. A long-haired man takes a white ball cap and places it on the head of the dead man. The priest says a few more words and now another older man is reading something about God (Apo) in Ilokano, probably some scriptures. He finishes and a man removes the ball cap from the dead man and wraps his head and face in the special burial blanket (white with a blue stripe). They place the ball cap on his chest and replace the lid of the pine box.

Time to close the box for good. Now they take wooden nails and hammer them into six holes on the corners and ends of the coffin. They hammer one long peg down a ways and then break it off and move it to the next hole and repeat the motion. One long nail works for three holes. I was told yesterday that the coffin is built using only wooden nails so that it will completely decompose along with the body.

The priest sprinkles water on the coffin, on top of the tomb, and inside the tomb. He hands the water bottle to the older man who read the passage earlier and has him repeat the sprinkles in all the same places. The ten men now pick up the coffin and maneuver it into the tomb. This is no easy feat, as the opening of the tomb is on the edge of a drop off and there is a ladder down the side of the mountain in front of it. But they manage deftly. Clearly these Igorots (mountain people) have spent their lives negotiating the ups and downs of this place.

As soon as the box is placed inside the open tomb, two men dump two bags of dirt and a bag of concrete out on the ground in the very spot where the coffin had laid. Two others grab shovels and begin mixing, and here come two more men with two buckets of water. They pour the water into the bowl-shaped mound and the men with shovels mix, mix, mix until the cement is the perfect consistency. Two other men place hollow concrete blocks in the opening of the tomb, and the master mason covers the blocks with the cold, wet cement, working it into all the cracks until at last it is smooth and complete.

And thus, the dead is laid to rest. His final bed is made.

Now, it’s time to eat.

2 Comments:

At 9:55 AM, Blogger Elanor said...

Tracy, You write so beutifully! I miss you, and need some face time!I hope you have a wonderful trip at Christmas. You know it will make great story-telling for NEXT Christmas here at home with all of us. We love you Gary sends his love.
elanor

 
At 12:28 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

The graphic descriptions almost make it seem to me that I'm there. It's really interesting to me to hear about catholic practices to in other countries, being that I'm catholic and all. :) LOVE to hear your exciting adventures even if they are sad moments.

 

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