One day as Gina and I wandered Pamplomousses (where we catch the bus that takes us to the Eli Africa education center), we couldn't stop talking about what an incredible day it had been. So many positive things. So many fun moments with new, interesting people. Just as we were on the hunt for a place to buy fried noodles for a late lunch, we spotted something colorful coming down the road. It was a procession, led by a small group of men carrying a large pile of flowers on their shoulders. It didn't' take long to realize that the pile of flowers was much more than that--they sat upon what looked uncannily like a dead body. As the processional grew nearer, we realized -- we were in the middle of a Hindu funeral procession! Immediately (and respectfully) I pulled out my camera. It wasn't a coffin they were carrying; it was a canvas of some sort holding the weight of a body covered in giant flowers. The face of the deceased man was exposed to the open air and still visible--old, shrunken and peaceful looking, with white powder seemingly dabbed onto his forehead. (A religious symbol, I assume.) We immediately began asking passersby the specifics of what was happening. One villager eagerly suggested that we follow him, and just like that we were taking part in the funeral service.

We walked at the back of a long line of about fifty men who trailed behind the carried body. The processional winded down the village streets until veering off the main roads onto a small dirt path in a field thick with sugar cane. We walked down the path, dodging the large corn-like husks of the cane that were hanging over the trail. At the front of the line--far in front of us--we could still see the flowers of the deceased. Behind us trailed a few village boys. Finally we arrived at a giant tree, which marked an open cement clearing where there sat two giant altars. The first was covered in ashes, still simmering with the heat of recent fire. Upon the second altar, however, sat a carefully assembled pile of wood. Ready to make fire. The group of men walked forward to this alter and--gathering together tightly for greater strength--carefully transported the deceased man's body from the greenery-covered carrying canvas onto the pile of wood. It was immediately clear what was happening--the body was prepared to burn.

I slowly approached the scene from the back. Gina was required to stay put over by the tree, because women are not allowed to take part in Hindu burning ceremonies. (They do not burry their dead; they burn them.) I was nervous to take out my camera because I wanted to treat the situation with the utmost respect it deserved. (But let's be real--I really wanted to take pictures.) Without even asking permission, my guide urged me to take out my camera and begin shooting. I double and triple checked to make sure it would be socially and culturally acceptable, and then began photographing the scene. Nobody seemed to notice that I had a camera and those that did notice didn't seem to care. Everyone was watching the ceremony, and nobody was worried about the white boy floating around with a Nikon in his hands.

I photographed the ceremony like crazy. First they placed the body on the logs. Then they piled wood up on top of him, and on all sides. From there, they proceeded to dump on dried powders that smelled of ginger and incense. Two men in Hindu robes sat with their legs crossed at the head of the altar. One sang in a deep baritone voice a series of (peculiar) traditional Indian songs. Each song was a prayer (they told me) that bears significance for Hindu dead. The two robed men mixed a series of colorful herbs and plants in a strange concoction that sat on the floor near the altar. Eventually they filled a wooden goblet with a liquid they'd mixed and blessed. The taller of the two men--wearing a long white headdress--placed his right arm over his head and with it held the wooden goblet over his left shoulder. (A strange and fascinating way to hold a wooden goblet.) The other robed man picked up a small hatchet and began hammering into the goblet. He hammered until puncturing a small hole in the goblet's side, which leaked out a steady stream of the liquid mixture. They began circling around the altar where the deceased man lay, leaving behind them a trail of the liquid. This ritual was followed by another in which they lit on fire a pile of green leaves. These leaves, of course, were then thrown onto the altar. With the assistance of more scented powders, the wood soon caught fire. I stood back watching these men--most dressed in jeans and typical street clothes--set fire to their deceased friend and relative. Nobody was crying. Nobody was mourning. In fact, some were even chatting off to the side about things seemingly unrelated to the funeral. I was still taking pictures, and nobody raised an eyebrow (or even acknowledged me for that matter.) It was bizarre, but perfect. As the body (completely hidden by wood at this point) began to go up in flames, I walked slowly back to Gina. Our guide joined us and together we walked back onto the dirt path through the sugar cane. I turned back to catch a final glimpse of the scene--the men now separating and watching the fire from various spaces in the clearing--but was immediately told not to do so. Our guide explained to us that one should never look backward after a funeral service, for doing so will keep the spirit here on Earth. "We must not look back. Only forward, so you can leave the dead behind and let them go free."

On our way to the center, we piled onto an overcrowded rush hour bus in Pamplomousses (I got to sit up front on the window ledge next to the controller--best seat on the bus!) We only had time to buy veggies on the street (not fried noodles), so we snacked away at raw green beans until arriving at the center. My mind was reeling with the events I'd just seen, but we quickly took to the tasks at hand. A small group of kids was at the center, but fortunately the other teaching fellows had everything under control. Soon we dove into our respective educational projects. (I didn't end up teaching today though because I was busy making a trip into town to pick up a rod to hang our new curtain in the theater we created. Turns out my good friend who owns the hardware store happens to be the body guard of the President & Prime Minister of Mauritius! Pretty cool, no?)

On our way back home tonight with the whole group we decided to try a new bus route. (The usual one has been taking an awfully long time lately.) The sky at this point had shifted to a dark royal blue (it gets dark really early here) and out of the bus windows we saw something magnificent--a glowing full moon. Of course it was a full moon, I reasoned. A day like that could have ended in no other way.

[mckay]