Accidentally Pro Mental Health: What Zambian Funerals Get Right

I have been interrogating a lot of the rites around our beautiful culture, and I do not think, as Zambians, we realize how accidentally pro mental health and feminist we are.

Zambia is one of the few countries that informally recognizes women’s need for rest once a month. It is called “Mother’s Day.” Tbh, I only recently learned this, teeheehee. And one’s manager or supervisor is not allowed to ask any questions.

But what struck me most this past month is how deeply pro mental health our funeral culture is.

As all 7 of my readers know, I lost my mom a month ago as of the time of writing. This was the third funeral in my family in the space of 1 year and 9 months. Safe to say, after losing a big sister, Dad, and then Mum, we are well versed in planning and holding funerals, and we have seen how it all boils down to having people around to alleviate the burden.

This time, I was “lucky” enough to already be in the country, and I saw first hand how, from the moment someone dies, the bereaved are never alone.

What community.

If someone dies at the hospital, people gather there to cry with the family and help out with admin and logistics. In our case, one of my two besties came over with her mum, and later the family of my other bestie came, her mum, her sister, and her aunties. Each of my siblings had their own support system like that through their friends, colleagues, churches, and so on. Pastors, other relatives, and friends also came.

My mum was a midwife and later a matron at that hospital, so there was a bit more ceremony. Senior nurses came and lined up to escort her body into the mortuary, with all of us following behind.

Simultaneously, another entourage goes to the funeral house to prep the home for the three days of mourning.

First, all the couches are taken out of the sitting room and placed outside, a tent is erected, and a fire is started, no matter the time of day, for the menfolk to gather and mourn there. Men and women mourn separately.

Next, the mattresses are taken from the bedrooms and placed in the sitting room for the womenfolk to gather and mourn. A special mattress is placed in one corner for the “chief mourner” to sit. The chief mourner is the person who was closest to the deceased. When my dad died, my mum was the chief mourner. This time, we the children, and my mum’s sisters, took turns sitting in that corner.

I do wonder about widowers. Do they sit inside where the women are, or do they sit outside with their male counterparts? Guess I will never find out firsthand.

The kitchen is also cleared, and pots and pans and plates are packed away, leaving enough room for the people cooking to do their thing.

Women from church, neighbours, and relatives volunteer and arrange themselves to start cooking nshima in huge pots to serve mourners. At any given time, there is food available. While the bereaved family is usually the one buying the food, Contributions come in all forms, from money, to bags of mealie meal, to whole cows and pigs, vegetables, condiments, and more. It is usually directly proportional to how generous and loved the deceased was, tbh.

We are often left with an excess of food after the funeral. This time, we ate braaied pork and steaks for about three weeks straight after the burial because there was so much brought. I think I am good on T bone for a while now 🤣

At this time, and throughout the mourning process, the only thing expected of the bereaved is to sit in the sitting room and cry. People come in, head straight to the chief mourner, and cry, and the bereaved are expected to cry with them.

Honestly, it is extremely cathartic. Imagine 2 to 3 days of sitting around with at least 50 people crying, wailing, singing, laughing, gossiping (funeral gossip is top tier 🤣), talking, and then crying again.

For me personally, my response when someone comes to cry at my feet is directly proportional to how close we are, teeheehee. So of course some people got loud wailing from me, and some only got a polite nod 🤭

This goes on for the entire active mourning period.

Another thing I found peculiar, but it actually makes sense, is that at around 4:30 or 5:00 AM, someone starts crying loudly as a sort of alarm. People join in, and the day begins. People begin showering, breakfast is served by the women stationed outside cooking all day, and general funeral admin begins.

In Zambia, burial happens on the third day, though how days are counted depends on age/status. For older people, the day of death is day 0, while for children it is day 1.

On day 2, the burial program is set, outfits and chitenges are purchased, the burial site is prepped by the men, and all the necessary admin is handled.

The night before burial is the busiest. Everyone sleeps over to be with the bereaved. About 70 to 80 people may sleep over from day 1 (in a standard 5 bedroom house, might I add), and on the night before burial, that number rises to 100 to 150. Some sleep in their cars, in corridors, or on the verandah. It’s…. a lot.

But it is also such a powerful reminder of how not alone the bereaved are, at least in that moment.

Burial day varies from family to family, but it usually begins with people being given a chitenge to wear so everyone looks nice and uniform. The chief mourners and immediate family usually wear something different. For example, my siblings and I wore gorgeous blue dresses at my dad’s funeral, and white two piece outfits with gold detailing at my mum’s.

As the immediate family, we also have a private body viewing at the funeral parlour, to allow us, as one pastor put it, to be more sober during the burial service.

It actually does help. There, we are encouraged to spend as much time with the body as possible, cry, and let it all out.

That does not stop us from still completely losing it at the funeral ceremony, but still, I guess it could be worse.

The burial ceremony itself is surprisingly fast. Wreaths are laid, and then the mourners go back to the funeral house for the mother of all meals, a big feast dedicated to celebrating the life of the deceased and lifting weary spirits.

This one is catered by a professional catering company to give the family women, who have been cooking non stop for three days, a break.

People begin to leave that same day, with most leaving the next day. Then the immediate family can finally begin to get some much needed proper rest.

By the third day after burial, everyone is gone.

People say that is when the real funeral begins.

But I think by that time, closure has already started to form, and what remains is time to reminisce about the deceased as immediate family.

Of course, the crying never stops, or does it?

Senior orphans, come and teach us new orphans this part.

I still cry for my dad almost two years in, and I will cry for my mummy forever. But is it not such an honour to have known such love that we continue to celebrate it through grief?

Zambian funerals are communal, busy, tiring, hectic, and beautiful all at once.

It truly takes a village.