Resting place of a stranger(my father)

by THUTO KGANYAGO (South Africa)

I didn't expect to find South Africa

The wind blowing on my face followed by a smell of cow dung by that I knew I had arrived at my destination,the birth place of my father of which I have never been to since I was an infant so the place was somehow familiar but strange at the same time. I looked out the window wondering what the place held for me,the death of my father did not come as a shock to me since he was already absent my whole life and the thought of going through the mourning process was just too much to bear."we need to get in and greet the elders"said my mom but i was not ready to meet any of my father's family especially in circumstance like this maybe at a mall or party would have been better. I had so much anger inside and the voices inside my head where screaming so loud I couldn't even hear my own thoughts,as I walked inside the house all I i could think about was how I should react to everyone,was I wrong to feel numb?was I wrong to not want to be there?should I cry or rejoice?I did not have the answers but I knew I needed a drink to ease up my nerves and maybe after a drink I could act in a manner I should.Every face I glanced at looked back with pity and remorse and every person I came across gave me a hug of which I just stood there and did not know how to respond to so I just went back outside to breath and look around the tent that was outside and people where busy going up and down. Everyone was going in and out of the house,shouting and singing,asking this and that,who was where and where was what...at this time my I blanked out and just listened beyond all the noise and confusion and heard the silent of the night with a few dogs barking from a distance,the owls calling and the water near by running.The place sounded like a peaceful place without all the noise and could be a place to come and gather all your thoughts and even start over if things went south in the big city but it was just too dull for a girl who is used to everything being fast like me. "it is time to come inside and sit with us Thuto"said my sister "the coffin is about to arrive we have to get ready"she said Ready?who gets prepared to see the dead?those were the thoughts in my head as I followed her back inside the house.It was an African tradition that every family member gets to be inside the house when the "body"arrives in the yard or house,everybody dresses respectively and the has to be silence to show respect for the family and the dead. Long dresses that cover the knees and the shoulders and heads need to be covered and the men wear long trousers and jackets,I always asked my mom why we had to wear like that but always got the same answer "it is our culture as black people and we have to respect and not question it" and I had to let it go go with it otherwise bad luck will come. Of course I never believed in some of the traditions we have as black people but I always wondered if I did not do some of them bad luck really came or all of this was just in my head.So the coffin came and I did as I was told but one thing I did not do was look at the dead inside the coffin,I believe I want to remember the person the last time I saw them not when they are silent inside a coffin,even though the funeral happened I still had questions for my father which was never answered and I had to make peace that they will forever be un-answered I still enjoyed seeing my long lost family and cousins but one thing remained that the place I went to and the people I met was never what I expected to find.