Saturday's funeral was one to remember.  It wasn't the burial itself that stands out our memories.  It was the aftermath.

We were five in our group:  Papa Jim, Mama Alice, Francis our cook, Doris our domestique/cook's assistant, and Eric our favorite taxi man.  The trip out to the village took a bit longer than we had anticipated.  And were it not for a funeral banner, we would have driven right past the last turnoff and would probably still be wandering around out there somewhere.  

Did I ever tell you about funeral banners?  They are all the rage.  This  newest addition to the growing list of "must have" for Cameroonian funerals consists of a plastic banner that is tied to whatever telephone pole or tree that is available, and then stretched across the road to a corresponding pole where it is tied off.  With a colored picture of the dearly departed at each end of the long banner, and important information written in-between such as the name and birth and death dates, it's actually helpful for knowing which road to turn down.  All burials take place in villages.  So it does have a function, but it is also another expense that even very poor families have to bear at the time of the loss of a loved one.

We intentionally arrived fashionably late and were ushered to the VIP seating area.  We greeted others sitting around us whom we know:  Guy's Aunt Evelyn and two of her adult daughters, Guy's mother Mama Katie, our Pastor and three men from our church who were with him.  Guy is part of the leadership team at our church, so they came to support and encourage him.  

Since Doris speaks a neighboring language and therefor understood much of what was being said, she was our interpreter.   It was nice to be able to ask "OK, what's happening now?" when a group of women jumped up and ran towards a man who was speaking and began dancing and shouting in a disorganized group around him.  Or "Why do those people have dried banana leaves tied to their heads, and what are they chanting?"  While understanding most of the words, she understood none of the cultural significance, but she was still valuable to us.

Funerals last all day.  There are many parts to the occasion and each part must be completed in it's turn.  Throughout the day people are doing a lot of drinking.  Predictably, before long those who have singing, speaking, or dancing roles are becoming increasingly inebriated.   The results would be funny if the emptiness of their lives weren't so sad. 

As things were finally winding down, the large crowd of "in-laws" sitting across the clearing from us were presented with two goats.  Doris informed us that Marie's father never fully married her mother.  And now at the time of his burial, the mother's family must be appeased.  We don't really know all the details, but we do know that they never had a church blessing.  So the goats were given to keep the "in-laws" from starting a drunken brawl.  And they were slaughtered right there in the clearing in front of our amazed eyes.  Have you ever watched two tipsy men slaughter a goat and cut it up into equal parts for distribution to all the various clans with nothing more than a machete?  It's  probably not something you want to put on your list of "must see before you die".  Again, it would have been funny if it weren't so pathetic.

When the last of the last of the burial event was finished and the casket was lowered into the ground and covered with dirt, then it was time for the funeral feast.  Many people show up for burials just to be well fed and to get drunk.  We were invited into a specially prepared room where the VIPs were fed.  And we discovered in the process that we were the most VIP of all the VIPs.  We helped ourselves to fried fish, fried chicken, and baton de manioc, plus boiled plantains.  And we were offered our choice soft drinks.  We took our plates back to the VIP tent where we had been sitting and began eating.  Village dogs, whose ribs could easily be counted and who had never seen a veterinarian in their lives, were wandering around,  taking full advantage of any morsel of food that dropped on the ground.  Village dogs are never fed.  They, along with pigs, chickens, and goats, must scavenger for their meal.  

After eating we decided to have our picture taken since our team was altogether and everyone was dressed nicely.  As Papa Jim and I turned from the picture taking event and headed back towards the car, it hit me like a ton of bricks.  I grabbed his hand and announced that I felt like I was going to vomit.  We managed to get me inside the car and soon were on our way back to Shiloh.  I knew it would take us an hour and a half to get back home.  I was feeling miserable and just kept praying that I wouldn't be sick in the car.  About a half hour later we pulled off the road and I opened the car door, hung my head out, and lost everything I had eaten that day.  Feeling much better, the trip resumed.  I was finally able to talk and interact with people.  All but the driver began dozing off.  When we were about two minutes away from Shiloh, I came to vomiting violently inside the car, all over my dress, the back of the front seat, the floor, my shoes, etc.  It was dreadful.  There was no point in pulling over.  The damage was done.  Not soon enough we were at Shiloh and I was being helped out of the car, inside the house, up the stairs, and to our bedroom.  I went straight to the shower and then to bed.  For the next six hours I could keep nothing down.  Even a spoonful of water came back up within the hour.  Papa Jim, my cheering squad leader, kept saying "That's good!  You need to get all that food poison out of your system.  You'll feel better when it's all gone."  I couldn't even moan let alone throw a shoe at him.  But finally it happened just as he said it would and I fell into an exhausted sleep.  Sunday was spent in bed.  Lots of sleeping.  Drinking water.  Cautiously adding in mint tea.  Eventually having  a bit of yogurt.   And then Monday I woke up fit as a fiddle, having lost weight.  We have terrific weight loss programs out here in Cameroon.  If we could just find a way to market them in the U.S., we could get rich, right?  When Francis came to work yesterday he announced that it hit him on Sunday morning.  He spent a long and miserable day being sick too, but was back in the pink of health in time to come to work on Monday.  So we won't be forgetting this particular funeral any time soon!