Death is ever present
Perhaps an issue which is obvious to most of the western world. Where there is poverty, there is death. Caused by disease, famine or even suicide the culture and climate I am from just couldn't care less. It is not newsworthy and hence is not reported in the western world.
In the last two weeks, two members of the local community I have been working in died from the latter reason. One, a 15 year old girl and the other the son of the president of the community. He left his wife and three children behind.
The cause was apparent. Both had taken poison which is readily availible, but in both cases the reason was not obvious. There is no business of ours asking the question why, but only offer your deepest sympathy. What, however, we do know is that the man had had an argument with his wife. Nothing more needs to be said. The whole concept is quite distubing enough.
Soon after, a girl who was no older than five too. This time of a disease which could have been prevented if she had had the necessary injection when she was younger. Parents in indiginous communities have serious sceptacism on the local doctors here.
When two other volunteers went to pay their respects, they were in for a terrible shock. Here, the communities bring the body back to the house for friends and family to pay their respects.
As they entered, not realising what they would see, they stoped and jolted. It must be similar to the feeling when you nearly get hit by a bus. You just want to get back home as quickly as possible to somewhere you know and love. Here you are vunerable, and not quite sure how to react.
There flattend out in a coffin, no bigger than a baby´s craddle lay little Natalie. The cradle was handmade, white and the girl was dressed in a cream dress. Surrounded by dirt and dust of the house, it was the cleanest bit of furniture in the room. And naturally was the centre of the room. Surrounding were people with a motionless face. Glassed eyed as if drunk. They were. Offered on these occasions is an incredibly strong alcoholic drink to, I assume, numb the pain. It is a perspective of life that would be considered horrific in our culture. The idea of getting pissed watching your dead daughter lie silently is shocking. If not morally wrong. But this is the way of dealing with death here.
"You couldn't help but cry", said one. A 27-year old from New Zealand who stature as a character is such that it was no average comment. He was asked to take pictures of the scene, which naturally too, was very difficult. "Just felt like a tourist that wanted to get a snap for friends back home."
The other volunteer, a 19 year old from Canada, couldn't turn off the water works. There was no room for words.
In the last two weeks, two members of the local community I have been working in died from the latter reason. One, a 15 year old girl and the other the son of the president of the community. He left his wife and three children behind.
The cause was apparent. Both had taken poison which is readily availible, but in both cases the reason was not obvious. There is no business of ours asking the question why, but only offer your deepest sympathy. What, however, we do know is that the man had had an argument with his wife. Nothing more needs to be said. The whole concept is quite distubing enough.
Soon after, a girl who was no older than five too. This time of a disease which could have been prevented if she had had the necessary injection when she was younger. Parents in indiginous communities have serious sceptacism on the local doctors here.
When two other volunteers went to pay their respects, they were in for a terrible shock. Here, the communities bring the body back to the house for friends and family to pay their respects.
As they entered, not realising what they would see, they stoped and jolted. It must be similar to the feeling when you nearly get hit by a bus. You just want to get back home as quickly as possible to somewhere you know and love. Here you are vunerable, and not quite sure how to react.
There flattend out in a coffin, no bigger than a baby´s craddle lay little Natalie. The cradle was handmade, white and the girl was dressed in a cream dress. Surrounded by dirt and dust of the house, it was the cleanest bit of furniture in the room. And naturally was the centre of the room. Surrounding were people with a motionless face. Glassed eyed as if drunk. They were. Offered on these occasions is an incredibly strong alcoholic drink to, I assume, numb the pain. It is a perspective of life that would be considered horrific in our culture. The idea of getting pissed watching your dead daughter lie silently is shocking. If not morally wrong. But this is the way of dealing with death here.
"You couldn't help but cry", said one. A 27-year old from New Zealand who stature as a character is such that it was no average comment. He was asked to take pictures of the scene, which naturally too, was very difficult. "Just felt like a tourist that wanted to get a snap for friends back home."
The other volunteer, a 19 year old from Canada, couldn't turn off the water works. There was no room for words.
posted by Tom Nicolson at 1:34 PM
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