Hyala Funeral

So the day that we found Monica’s long lost father in Hyala, we also got to witness a pretty incredible tribal ritual. An elder of the community (in this case it was a very old women) had recently died, leaving behind TWELVE daughters and scores of other family members. Funerals, as I have learned, typically last 3 days here in Sudan. Most seem to be accompanied by large crowds of people drinking and dancing until well into the evening, but more than anything they are joyful celebrations of the person’s life rather than a mournful ceremony of their death. We caught this funeral dance on the third and final night. Before we left Kitgum, Pietro briefed Jeff and me on some security matters. He gave us a number of precautionary measures to take, but for this account, two specific points that he made kept popping into my head with big exclamation marks; 1. If you find yourself in a situation with a lot of people and a lot of guns, do NOT stay there! Get out as fast as you can; and 2. The third day of a funeral gets pretty crazy – stay clear of the area where the ceremony is taking place because you never know what might happen. Like I said, exclamation marks all in my head, but you only live once, right? And who knows when I’ll be in Sudan again to see something like this. I decided to take my chances, and since I am still alive to tell about it, I think it was a very wise decision. We’ll just not tell Pietro.

Since we were with Masimina and Charles (Monica’s father), and they seemed to have their run of the place, we had front row vantage points for the whole thing. We parked ourselves in someone’s front yard in the middle of the action. I considered this to be both good and bad – you know, like going to a boxing match and having seats next to the ring. You get to see all of the action up close, but you also take the risk of getting sprayed with sweat and blood and spit – mixed blessings. In this case, I was far more concerned with our proximity to the guns and spears the men were waving around than anything else that I might have gotten on me. (Since Hyala is right outside of Torit, a major city in the area, it was used as a large military base of operation during the war, and still today there is a large presence of soldiers in the village, not to mention a number of abandoned TANKS that the kids in the village enjoy playing on…riiiight…just like the jungle gym I used to play on outside First Presbyterian preschool in Concord). But, this front yard was the place we were told to go, so we sat behind a small fence that made one wall of the central square where the ceremonial dancing was taking place. There I remained in a state of anxiety and awe for the next hour.

There were men with big drums in the middle of it all and then varying numbers of concentric circles of dancers (depending on the drum beat that was being played) creating outside rings that moved in opposite directions. Our friend Veronica, who is also an elder in the community, dressed in the typical ceremonial outfit of an unmarried woman with a short (excessively short) skirt made of awesome tassel beads that went around her waist. Those women who are married wore a type of diaper looking thing made of animal skin. I liked the beaded tassel skirts way better. (Carolyn, imagine the “Stacey Dance” in a skirt made only of tassels!! Such possibilities!) The men danced around the circle with guns and spears and acted out dramas of war. This was what made me anxious. Having guns pointed in our direction or thrust up in the air while people drank and danced did not bring me comfort. On at least four occasions, these guns were fired into the air, and on at least four occasions I was ready to get the crap out of there…only problem was that to leave meant walking through the middle of everything…such a dilemma. Each time, though, Monica assured me that we were fine, but I was not convinced. One thing that very much interested me was the role that the old women played in the dance. They just hopped around the circle with handfuls of flour and put it all over (especially on the faces) of the men and young boys. Then they made this high pitched screaming noise…I’m pretty sure this was some type of blessing ritual, but not sure of the significance of the flour. With in 30 minutes, there was flour everywhere and in most people’s hair and entirely covering their faces. Why though, all of this warring drama at a funeral?? I wish I could have found out more. Right before we left, the twelve daughters of the deceased woman arrived in shiny bras and lots of beads. When they entered, the drums got very loud and then came lots of screaming and a whole new dance began…unfortunately, Michele arrived from Torit to pick us up just after the daughters got to the funeral so we didn’t get to see what I suppose would have been the best dances. But fortunately, Michele did actually arrive and we were able to gracefully leave before things got too dark and too out of hand. All in all, it was a great day. None of us got shot and I don’t think I will ever forget the scenes or the rhythms of the funeral dance.