Day of the Dead

Last weekend (11/11/07), we were invited to attend a traditional funeral ceremony. The man who invited us, Andre, is the director of one of RELUFA’s member organizations, and his family was gathering to commemorate the one-year anniversary of a relative’s death. Apparently, it’s traditional in Cameroon to wait one year (or more, if you need time to save money) from the date of someone’s death, then hold a large gathering wherein the deceased officially joins the ranks of ‘the ancestors.’ It’s a time to eat and talk with loved ones, to dance, and to remember those who have left this life.

Our colleague Guy came to fetch us and we took first one taxi, then another (on impressively bumpy dirt roads!) to a quartier on the outskirts of Yaounde. As we walked down the road toward the area where friends and family gathered, we saw drums and an balafon (big ‘ol xylophone) ready beneath some trees.

We were ushered into a house and seated in a room that soon filled with various male friends or family members. The occasional woman popped in too, including the widow of the deceased man whose ceremony this was, but only to give brief greetings or help with preparing the meal.

The small table in the room was soon filled with food and crates of beer, and we were invited to eat with the men. There was some delicious braised fish, pork, chicken, something wrapped in banana leaves (did not investigate), and some steamed plantain and yam. Then a bit later, hard-boiled eggs and slices of cake. While we ate, everyone else was doing the same in other houses nearby, on porches, standing beneath the eaves…there were easily a few hundred people packed into this small neighborhood for the event, many wearing matching outfits that had been specially made, either for this occasion or for the initial funeral a year ago.

The men in our house ate and discussed spiritedly, and Andre explained to us how in the villages, this ceremony can often involve disinterring the body of the deceased and taking the skull to be the center of a small shrine or altar, where people can come into the presence of the deceased to ask advice or favors. I thought of the decorated sugar skulls that serve as the centerpieces of Dia de los Muertos altars…definitely prefer the candy to the real thing.

After the meal, the widow of the deceased and a few other folks entered the room with framed photos of the dead man and of another ancestor (the woman’s aunt) being acknowledged. There were a few speeches (we didn’t catch much) then everyone processed outside and began lining up in the street behind the widow and a small boy (one of her children?), bearing the photos of the deceased.
Down the road, people began to play the drums, and everyone walked solemnly and rhythmically toward them. As the procession reached the drummers, it curved around ‘til everyone shuffled in a multi-layered circle. Counterclockwise they stepped, sometimes singing, changing their steps slightly as the rhythm changed. Most people looked rather solemn, although there were smiles as well, and the group playing drums and shakers in the middle of it all certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves. Someone began playing the balafon too, drawing some dancers toward the side.


We stood with some small children and some chickens on the front ledge of a nearby house, taking it all in, grateful that our colleague was snapping pictures with our camera so we didn’t have to worry about being all disrespectful and tourist-y. Night would fall soon, and I began to feel the occasional small raindrop hit my cheek or hand, so we eventually made our way back to the main road with Guy and another friend Michel. As we caught a taxi, the drums were still going strong, and the dancers still went ‘round, showing no signs of stopping. A circle of the living, joined to celebrate the circle of life and death.