Funeral -redefined

We were invited to a burial this weekend. Not a funeral. The uncle of a close friend,  one of the last of the elders in his family had passed . He had been a big man in the community, well liked  and a significant influence supporting many members of  his village to go on to become educated.
Our friends, the daughters, nephews and cousins went off to the village of Mankwi early in the day to do preparations. A group of us volunteers shared a taxi and made our way off the pavement and into the mountains behind Bafut. The narrow road was dusty with occasional large rocks and a few potholes, squeezing to the side as an occasional taxi or truck roared past.  The views were majestic, through some seemingly unharvested forest, infrequent houses and a great valley falling away below to the mountain across the way,  eroded and scalped by the locals preparing to grow crops once it starts raining again.
Arriving in the village the road was plugged with pedestrians, parked buses and cars. Most folks dressed in their finest clothes, some in ceremonial robes and all the family we knew, wearing one fabric. As well there were choirs and women’s groups also all dressed in a "uniform" of colourful fabric making their way uphill to the church.
 Our friends welcomed us and insisted we head up to the church, along with  the continuous stream of arriving friends and relatives.
There were a few choirs,  the congregation sang,  eulogies and an overflowing building. But no lamentations.
After the service the coffin was driven down to the man’s residence where it was laid to rest in front of the house.
All around people were singing, greeting old friends and sharing food. We were offered the regional favourite Achu; cooked cocoyam with banana, wrapped in banana leaf. Unwrapped, it is spread round and round with flourish then formed into a mini bottomless bowl on the plate.  Yellow “soup” is ladled in and chunks of fish, chicken and/or beef placed beside. Normally eaten with index and pointer fingers much amusement ensues when I ask for a spoon. The spices in the sauce bear further investigation.

While our companions were busy snapping pictures, a parade of family and friends circulated through the room and through the village, meeting and greeting.
Outside we could hear  drums and after eating, walked down to where a dance group were performing surrounded by spectators.

What  a celebration of life! Everyone seemed joyous and friendly, although in the dancing there was occasional aggression and likely symbolic expression: Men shaking sticks and charging the circle of onlookers, occasional passionate arguing and of course the masked dancers posturing spinning, stamping their feet, ankles ringed with rattling seed pods.

No somber looks here, the pleasures of feasting, family reunion and witnessing the growth and maturation of children all speak to a culture focused on life and living.
And libation, the palm wine flowing freely, beer and carbonated sodas, men drinking from their cow horn cups, folks walking by in both directions with cases of beer, soda and jugs of mimbo.
During the dancing men were uncapping bottles and pouring it bubbling onto the ground amid shouts and clapping.
Back in the room where we had eaten, most of the Eco-builder  women's group began dancing with the folks from Betterworld  to the beat of a drummer,  practicing at first, with almost everyone in the room joining in.

I did my best to record their “entrance” weaving in among the celebrants down to the crowd at the main house where another group were dancing, circling the gravesite.






Our group stepped in once the others left. As I  filmed the dancers, everybody laughing singing and  having a good time I was struck by the lack of grief, the sheer exuberance and delight of the crowd. I managed to dance briefly as it wound down.

This was truly a celebration of life, the impact and deeply created connections of one man in community. It was inspiring. That’s what I want to happen when I go, no funeral for me,  instead family and friends celebrating the joy and appreciation for how well I lived my life.

making bread and ovens

I have been making bread for a few years, I love the sensual feel of spongy dough, hanging off my hand working it’s way toward edibility with my help and the intervention of a hot oven.
The construction of dough via the cultivation of yeast is a topic in itself. Combinations of ingredients coming together to be transformed into something that will support peanut butter and honey or cheese,  salami and pickles. The final process of converting those raw ingredients, albeit some chemical changes, depending on one’s process, into a firm and solid product that, not infrequently, elicits praise and acknowledgment.
From the idea to the physical takes some work. I grew up with an oven in the house. Almost everywhere I’ve lived there has been one attached to a stove, sometimes a separate entity mounted on the wall or a table top model. And my therapeutic spiritual practise has been supported by the punching, kneading and smacking down smartly of various incarnations and combinations of ingredients in dough form, manifesting eventually into generally delicious bread.
Since embarking on a nomadic life in the African countries I have found it necessary to create the reality myself, and with help, building ovens to satisfy my desire to make, bake and eat decent bread.
I will not attempt to define or describe what constitutes “decent bread” but I will say there is not much if any of it available here.
Through the inspiration of my partner Elke, we have been exploring the possibilities of decreasing incidence of smoke inhalation, deforestation and  increasing fuel efficiency by showing local folks how to build earth stoves . Ovens just seem to be the next step! In Mnenia Tanzania at the Amarula Campsite I made my first African Pizza.

Elke has built a few ovens and with a little of my help and the community women’s groups in each location we’ve constructed them using the local clay earth, sand and empty glass bottles. Creating a stable base is primary, we used  native stone dry stacked and covered with cob. Once it dries a base of sand is laid level and the bottles placed so as to create the most insulation possible under the floor.

Covered with sand then cob and tile, bricks or furnace refractory stone (if you can get it!) to make a smooth floor in the oven. After we pile wet sand on into a large mound, cover with paper then more cob.

 Later we put another layer over of insulating cob, a mix of 50% sawdust that creates a good barrier for holding in the heat.

 Once the cob is dry we cut out the door shape remove the sand and make a chimney directly above the doorway. It actually gets two doorways, one to shut the heat in for baking and an outer metal door for when we  fire the chamber.

I like to make the dough the night before, punch it down a few times and then while the fire burns prepare any other things I’m cooking.
It takes about 4 hours of hot fire to get good stored heat. Some folks build a fire the day before to create a residual bank of heat within, then another on the day of baking.
When it seems ready, the wood reduced to charcoal, I scrape out the remaining coals and as much ash as possible then wipe the floor with a very wet cloth. Gloves are good and long handles on the tools. The heat is intense.

 The first pizza was done in 10 minutes and burnt around the edges!
We baked 8 that night back to back with a small loaf laid  directly on the floor,  in between,  near the end and a birthday cake once the heat was diminished somewhat.
Once everyone had had enough we rolled out the remaining dough,  spread the pizza sauce on then rolled and cut to make pizza rolls for breakfast. I took them out before going to bed. In the morning put them back in covered to warm.
I  had brought a bundt pan from Germany for cakes. It worked well for cinnamon rolls, 8 in a circle, they rose up nicely. During the previous week in town we checked out a number of second hand stores, lots of blenders dishes and pots but almost no baking dishes. We did manage to find a small cookie sheet. Now I’m  looking for bread pans. I’ve seen them near the main market made of aluminum.. not my favourite. So now every time we go out to Ndanifor Permaculture Ecovillage I’ll be baking, cinnamon rolls, mixed grain bread and the occasional cake… Come for tea!