A few weeks ago, I lost a colleague to the cold hands of death. The funeral program clashed with my activities but I was going to be available for the third and final day for the lowering of the casket to the ground.
Where I’m from (and it’s where my late colleague comes from too), it’s usually a three day funeral program.
On the first day, there’s usually a church service and sometimes a “lying in state” in the town home of the deceased. If is often followed with a wake on same night.
On the second day, the body leaves the town home for the country home (we call it Village) for a wake.
On the third and final day, the casket is lowered into the grave after a church service or Catholic mass; depending on where the deceased worshipped before their call. This is usually at dawn.
And so, while it was still dark on the morning of the third day, I set out for the village, it was a fifty minute drive. I got to the village and asked for directions to the exact compound, I was shown a narrow road to follow and a guide; “Just a little drive, you’ll find a small market and then it’s a little further on the right”.
With the company of my car radio, I set out for the little drive. It had rained the previous night and so I was glad that some farmers had come out to till the soil for planting because this was no little drive, the road wouldn’t just end.
I paused after fifteen minutes to inquire from the fifth farmer I had just spotted. “Yes, you are on the right track, it’s not far, just ahead” he assured me. I continued on the small, dusty, lonely (but for a few farmers) and rocky road for another ten minutes and then I reached the small market. It too twenty five minutes to find a place that was said to be “just a little drive” ahead.
I remembered that I was told to go a little on my right and so I braced myself for another “little” drive. I arrived my destination in sixteen minutes. The little drive took me forty one minutes.
I was able to catch up with the final activity. The deceased had been a well respected person, and so a lot of people had a lot to say. All these had to be said before he would be lowered into the ground and so the delay was in my favour.
I recall this story today as I compare my patience with that of the folks back home in the village, I realized that the forty one minute drive that seemed like forever to me was just a little distance to them, and they often covered that distance on foot.
I wonder how many times I may have missed out on some opportunities just because I couldn’t wait a little longer, go a little further. What is it exactly that I run off to? My couch back home? A movie I want to see? I think city/modern life and it’s distractions have played a major role in this impatient person I have become.
I envy the folks back home.
Mimi's Thoughts 