Today’s Entry: Life and Death
1.
I woke up at 5:30 one morning several weeks ago to the sound of the town church bell ringing continuously. This was new to me. Normally, the bell only rings to announce Sunday morning services or a surprise visit from the local pa’i (priest). I didn’t find out why the church bell had been rung so early until I ran into my 17 year-old neighbor crying in her front yard. A young man from Prettyview, whose brother is one of my neighbor’s colegio classmates, had been killed in Ciudad del Este the night before. His body had been brought home to Prettyview early the next morning.
2.
Death is one of the stations of life that I haven’t had much cause to experience yet. My father’s parents have both passed away, but I had lived across the country from them my whole life and was not present at either of their funerals. My mother’s parents, who I am closer to, are still alive and I have been lucky enough never to have had a close relative or friend die prematurely. Therefore, the events that unfolded last month in Prettyview were the first time I had closely experienced death as an adult.
For a few reasons, I was fairly involved in the various death rituals. The 20 year-old who was killed in a motorcycle accident (the leading cause of mortality in Paraguay) was the brother of Miguel, my fourth grade buddy who hangs out at my house and helps me in the garden. Miguel is very interested in planting trees and really won my heart over when, looking through a Time magazine I gave him, he pointed at a picture of Jake Gyllenhal and commented Ha ha’e katu la protagonista (And he is, maybe, the protagonist). His family also lives close to me. Even though Prettyview is a small town, it definitely is split into neighborhoods. Especially since women generally don’t leave their homes much, the relationships between neighbors are usually quite strong. I should also admit that I participated in part for the somewhat shameful reason that I was curious and wanted to immerse myself more deeply in the communal observance of death than I had done previously in Prettyview. (I was frustrated at the beginning of this year by language problems – I couldn’t understand what was going on and when it was happening). And finally, I wasn’t the only person eager to show up and support the family of the deceased. This was undoubtedly a tragic death, and Prettyview seemed to respond much more strongly than when the elderly or the sickly have passed away.
3.
The inevitable aging of my grandparents and other family and friends have made me think a lot about death, and specifically the difference between a sad death and a tragic one. I hope that all deaths are sad for at least someone. But not all deaths are tragic. Though we often forget it, dying is a part of life. If we have had enough of life, either in quantity, quality, or both, leaving it does not need to be tragic. But Prettyview’s most recent death was a tragic one.
4.
Life in Prettyview begins in the local Puesto de Salud (Health Post) and very quickly gets sanctioned by a baptism and guarded by godparents and, typically, lots of siblings, aunts and uncles, and extended family. When life ends, the first step is the vela or velorio – the wake. The body of the deceased is prepared and placed in his or her coffin and guarded for the day prior to the funeral. Somebody must stay with the body at all times, and, during the daylight hours, dozens of people may be present to mourn, comfort or distract relatives, and watch over the casket.
The next morning, the family and mourners proceed to the cemetery. Prettyview is lucky to have its own in a pretty, sparsely populated area on the outskirts of town. Cemeteries, even those in poor, rural areas, seem more opulent and elaborate here than their counterparts in the United States. Families often have a mausoleo, a brick building ranging in size from that of a small doghouse to a large crypt reminiscent of those that wealthy and ancient American families build. The houses are all plastered and painted in different colors. Cemeteries are much more colorful and, I think, more beautiful, than our somber ones. When a person dies, the family mausoleum is dug up from behind for the burial and then plastered over later.
5.
Death is hard to negotiate in another country for many reasons, including language barriers. I had to learn the Guaraní for “my condolences” (Chemba’e mbyasy). I also learned that the Guaraní word for “to bury” is ñoty, which is deployed normally to mean “to plant.” The familiarity of the term made me feel incredibly sad when I was invited to go with Miguel’s family to plant his brother in the ground.
6.
After a short service and burial at the funeral, family and neighbors go home and prepare for the ñembo´ehape (prayer gathering). This custom, called the novenario in Spanish and observed in many other Spanish-speaking cultures, begins the day after the funeral in Paraguay. Every day for eight days, mourners gather around 4:30 or 5:00 at the home of the deceased’s family to pray. In Prettyview, most people arrive early and sit in circles. Men and women are usually apart, with kids of various ages in their own small groups. The family often sits on their porch, crying or talking. Behavior for others is often much more lax than an American funeral. Small children may play games or sports and adults may laugh or gossip. Of course, everyone tererés. I think that this is in some ways a courtesy to the family, a way to give them insularity and privacy – and perhaps some levity – in their grief.
At the appointed hour, everyone files into a room where an altar composed of many steps leading up to a photo of the deceased is displayed. The steps are usually covered in cloth, candles, artificial flowers, photos, religious artifacts, statues, etc. A cross from the mausoleum is also present. The mourners begin by singing a religious song and then, led by an appointed cantor, move through a set litany of Our Fathers and Hail Marys. I stand in the back, clasp my hands, and remain silent. After the prayers have ended, the mourners return to their chairs and the family passes out small cookies and candies to each person present. On the ninth day of the novenario, the prayers are said closer to midday and the family feeds everyone a big meal. It is not unusual to feed hundreds of mourners in Prettyview, a town of no more than 800.
Following the last ñembo´ehape, the mourners take the metal cross from the altar and convey it back to the mausoleum, where it is shut into the front doors or windows of the structure. This is the end of the death rituals for neighbors, but it is customary for some families to continue mourning for months or years. Certain colors of clothes, playing of music, and other expressions of happiness are forbidden for periods of time that vary with each person’s relationship to the deceased. Miguel is not allowed to wear blue, green, or yellow for six months.
7.
This recent death in Prettyview was, for me, the occasion of some of the most unalloyed human suffering I have ever seen with my own two eyes. No parents should have to bury a child in their twenties, and no sibling should have to say goodbye to a brother or sister so young. Even though I had never met the young man who died, I cried thinking about how I would feel if my own twenty-one year-old brother were to pass away.
I won’t discuss all that happened at the wake, funeral, and novenario out of respect for the family involved. However, one big difference was the acceptance of loud screaming and crying. In the United States, even very distraught family members attempt to “hold themselves together” when a loved one dies. Our culture seems to glorify a few silent, controlled tears. The wild keening and moaning alongside neighborly chatting and gossipping I witnessed here seemed to be much more honest and cathartic than the way Americans often comport themselves at funerals – a muted anguish for almost everyone involved.
8.
It is Spring now in Prettyview. The vegetation is budding and sprouting, with almost indecent growth after it rains. Everyone is involved in the planting of summer’s mandioca, peanuts, corn, and beans – and, with some encouragement from the local Peace Corps volunteer, green manures and trees. It is natural and clichéd to think about life renewing itself at this time. Yet coming into contact with death in Paraguay has in some ways made this time more special for me. It brings to mind one of my favorite of Hannah Arendt’s incidental comments, her definition of mortality in The Human Condition as movement ´´along a rectilinear line in a universe where everything, if it moves at all, moves in a cyclical order.´´
