A Story in Contrasts

I just left the funeral of the oldest elder in the JL Zwane church. Tembile Silimela was 88 years old, a remarkable age for a community where the average life expectancy is 54. His funeral was an amazing contrast to that of Nokuzola (Rosey) Kokoana, age 34, which was held yesterday. (Rosey is the woman who I've been writing about for the past few weeks.)

Rosey's funeral was held at her house, as the family didn't think many people would attend. They were right. Only about 40 people came to the funeral, and most were family members. It was a very modest affair - it had all the pomp and circumstance of a regular funeral, but less of the pathos that I've seen before. It became apparent why, when the neighbourhood leader spoke. He explained that Rosey had shut out many members of her family, telling them not to come to her house when she was sick. This is why most of her family were never around during the time I've known her. The neighbour also told of a time when Rosey had moved back to the Eastern Cape and let others stay in her house. These people apparently created all kinds of trouble for the neighbourhood, making noise and getting up to bad mischief. The neighbour called Rosey and told her to come home to take care of the problem, and she refused, telling him to mind his own business. This created much ill will in the neighbourhood, and the bad feelings still exist today.

This is a very different story than what I had heard before. I'm sorry for passing judgment on the family before I knew the facts - they were not as uncaring as it seemed, just estranged because of what Rosey did. This estrangement is also the reason why most of the family did not want a big funeral (in fact, some didn't want anything) and why it was a very modest affair. It turned out to be a nice celebration, and I think everyone was pleased when it was over and done.

(I don't know what interaction I will have with Amanda and Bonga now that this chapter is closed. They have new family members to depend on, and I don't think I'll be needed any longer. I'm sad about that, but I'm glad they can have a more stable family situation now that the bad feelings are evaporating. Amanda may still be looked after by Yvonne's disciple team, so we'll see what happens in the future.

(Also, it's customary to have a picture of the deceased at the funeral and on the programme the family has printed for the service. I was very surprised to see what Rosey looked like before I knew her. I knew she was tall, close to six feet. I didn't know she was a big woman, probably more than 200 pounds in the picture. When I first met her she couldn't have weighed more than 130 or 140, and at the end she had to be under 100. It was a rapid and dramatic change and it set her up for a bad outcome.

(Another somewhat bizarre thing happened as we were leaving the luncheon. Someone from the family, or maybe a friend of Rosey's mother, came up to the car and said Rosey's mother wanted to see to get the cause of death. I was a little stunned, and before I could say anything the women in the car told her that it was confidential and that they should go to the hospital and ask for the death certificate. I think she was trying to find out if Rosey was HIV-positive, which I only know because Rosey told me. I have never heard the official cause of death, so I couldn't have answered her anyway. It could have been from the TB, or it could have been a stroke, or it could have been a brain infection, or any number of other things. I hope she is able to get her answer.)

Mr. Silimela's funeral, on the other hand, was the largest and most celebratory I've seen to date. He was loved and revered by his family, friends and the congregation as a whole. The service was filled with song and testimony, with over 400 people taking part. Because it pulled in people from across the community it was also filled with colour, as well. Members of may different ladies' auxiliaries were present. There were white hats and black berets, leopard-skin pill-box hats and multi-coloured scarves. White coats, red sweaters, green-grey plaid wraps and traditional African dresses were scattered around the hall. There was even an honour guard in their red sashes that spoke on his behalf.

One of the touching moments was when his white jacket from the men's auxiliary was passed to the family. First, the men paraded the jacket around the hall accompanied by a very spirited hymn. Then, a long speech given and the jacket was handed down to a member of the family. It was like they were retiring his number after a long and storied career.

I first met Mr. Silimela in 2003 on my first visit to JL Zwane. He always had a smile on his face and kind and welcoming words for strangers. When I came back in 2006 he remembered our first meeting even if I didn't and had the same smile for everyone in our group. He was a great steward for JL Zwane and he will be greatly missed.

In celebration of his life, the church is serving a lunch today. It should be a big affair, with a few hundred people possible. As one person put it, it will be just a little chaotic today. An understatement if I ever heard one.

More to come.