Creepiest Cultural Exchange Ever

A week or two ago I attended my first Malagasy wake. Well, not exactly my first. My first was during training but it was with all the other trainees and there were so many of us that we just cycled in and out and I was probably only in the house for a total of about 5 minutes. So that experience hardly counts.

Anyway, the husband of a woman I’d farmed with a couple of times had died. My friend, Nicole, told me the news the day it happened and said that in two days we would go together to visit the family. I was relieved to hear that because I still wasn’t 4exactly sure what was culturally appropriate for the Betsileo people when it came to deaths.

At around seven the next morning, one of the daughters of the family showed up at my window and calmly told me that her dad had died the day before and asked if I would come with her to her house. Now, 7am is pretty early for me. I usually don’t even get out of bed before 7 because the earlier I get out of bed the earlier I have to figure out what to do with myself for the day. But for some reason I was up that morning but I still hadn’t eaten or gotten dressed so I really couldn’t just follow her out the door right then and there. So, not knowing how to explain I’d already made plans to visit the next day and fearing it would be offensive to refuse the invitation, I told her I would come later. “What time?” she asked me. I replied that I didn’t know but would come later in the morning. “But at what time?” she asked again. I was pretty taken aback by her insistence on me giving her a time since Malagasy people have zero concept of time and I’m usually the one asking for times of activities and then assuming that the planned event will happen somewhere within three hours of whatever time I’m given. So I again told her I wasn’t sure but I would come over as soon as I finished my morning chores. I guess she found this answer acceptable because she said ok and left.

Fortunately, I decided to get dressed right after she left because 15 minutes later she was back at my window with a bundle of flowers so huge she could barely see over them. “Ok, let’s go!” she said. “But I already told you I was coming later” I replied, slightly confused. “I know, so let’s go!” Seeing there was no way I was getting out of this one, I locked up my house and followed her wondering the whole time what I would have to do once I got there and whether or not I should appear sad since she certainly didn’t and I had never met the guy – I didn’t even know his name. On the way over, she asked me if I was afraid of dead people. I told her I wasn’t and she said that was good. This made me a little nervous.

When we got to the house, there were more people than usual but everyone seemed to be going about their daily routine. The daughter immediately left me upon entering to go clean up the house. The mother happily greeted me and led me into the next room where I found myself faced with her dead husband lying on a bed covered by a white sheet and another white veil. She led me up to the bed and lifted the veil so I could get a closer look at him, thankfully. His face was wrapped up in some kind of white gauze almost like a mummy.

After she felt I’d had a good enough look, she led me to a seat that was directly in front of the bed. She then proceeded to ignore my existence and go about the room straightening things up and talking to other people. I had never met anyone else in the room before and couldn’t understand much of what they were saying so I couldn’t participate in any of their conversations and everyone seemed to be perfectly content ignoring me. My chair was one of the woven little “stools” that are about six inches high which are so popular here so I was pretty uncomfortable and literally had nothing else in my view except this dead body.

After 10 or 15 minutes of sitting in silence not knowing what to do with myself and desperately wishing there was some sort of picture on the wall behind the bed to look at, the mother came up to me again and matter-of-factly told me that he had woken up at four in the morning, thrown up a few times and then at seven in the morning had died. I could have done without the details. She then left the room, I can only assume to do work around the house like everyone else. So, there I sat, with no one to talk to and nothing to do except continue staring at the body of a man who I knew nothing about except that he had woken up, puked and died the day before.

About an hour later when I was thoroughly creeped out to the point that I really couldn’t take it anymore, I started to think I would have to just get up and leave. Other people had been cycling in and out of the house all morning so it seemed that I should be able to as well. Plus it had become clear that I wasn’t actually expected to do anything and I was afraid that if I didn’t get up to leave, they would have me sit there all day. So, gathering up my courage, I got up, walked out of the room, found the daughter and told her I was very sorry but that I had already made plans to see my counterpart that morning and I had to go (a complete lie). She said that was alright and walked me home. That was it. No one was sad or upset. No one seemed to really be doing anything other than their normal routine or sitting in the room and chatting about everyday things. And to this day I still have no idea why they wanted me there so badly when no one seemed to take any notice of me once I was seated.