So along with other random things that are foreign to me, in my country of birth, is the funerary process. First of all the "set-up" is held the night before at the house of the deceased. But there's no lamenting or mourning. It's more of a lounge vibe. We (and by "we", I mean family, relatives, neighbors, friends of family, people who notice that the lights are on, people are moving and food is being cooked) are all chilling at the house. At 10pm, when I'm getting ready to leave, the band arrives. Keyboardist, drums, amps, and a mountain of speakers. This apparently the new thing to do, says my Dad. As we leave they start playing. I can hear them playing Christian reggae as I'm walking down the road, but I'm way too tired to stay and enjoy. Not to mention who wants to go to the funeral tired. And if I know nothing else about my culture, I know that Jamaicans can stay up all (past morning light) night if music is playing.
My Dad picked up my husband and I to take us to the funeral. We get there and the service is pretty normal. The pall bearers take my grandpa in casket down the hill to the graveyard. The graveyard is hard to manuver through because there are limestone outcroppings all over. Now this should have been a red flag that there's no six foot deep pit. Instead there's a concrete one, and it's about 3'-4' deep. They lower the casket, put a sheet of plywood on top, lay down the wire mesh and start shoveling the concrete on top to seal the grave. Strange at first, but when you think that bedrock is 3' under and your main ingredient for concrete is all around, it makes a lot of sense.
To see what I'm speaking of just click, Ma Slyvie.
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