A different side of the same hill

Today I went back to Ixopo – same spot as the Umabo, except this time I was there for a funeral.

 

Thando in funeral grunge.

Like the wedding, there was much preparation to be done. All of the Zulu women worked through the night, up until the end of the funeral ceremony to prepare food for all those in attendance. While I was with the rest of the crowd listening to friends and family say their final goodbyes (from what I could tell, many jokes and funny stories were told), the Zulu women were chopping cabbage and stewing meet.

These makotis know what they're doing. No one is in charge, but everything gets done. The whole process is very organic. Help is given where help is needed – there are no to-do lists or oven schedules (yes, I've made oven schedules); it just happens.

The same hillside where everyone gathered to witness Xolani and Zinny unite as husband and wife is now the final resting place for Xolani's father, who passed just before the wedding.

Songs were sung by everyone all day long. When one ended, someone would chime in with a line from a new song and everyone would join. It was like this at the Umabo too – no sound system, no band, no choir – just beautiful voices. Everyone knows the words and everyone can sing. A few women rang bells, one blew into a kind of baritone horn made from a vacuum hose (yeah, a vacuum hose – and it sounded awesome), and there was a lot of clapping (which thankfully, I could handle) – all done in rhythm with their voices.

But unlike the Umabo, there was no dancing. There was warmth and even laughter, but the air was solemn. A family was burying their patriarch.