Going Home to Die

Even though it is my wife’s birthday and Independence Day back in the US, July 4th is not a holiday in Zimbabwe.  So for me it started like most other days.  I left to pick up Patience, her husband and a young man who attends Sanayti Baptist High School and possibly a few others who traveled our way. I arrived at the Gora village and I found out that I missed a text message.  The son of Patience’s cousin had just died and Patience asked if we could stop by the village to see her family.  

Along the way, I inquired what had happened.  The man was 28 years old.  Later on I found he had a wife carrying their first child.  He was in Sanyati Baptist Hospital for two weeks, discharged and referred on to Kadoma.  The family did not have the money so they took him home to die.  It broke my heart and I cried.  I tried not to show it.  I have mentioned this before.  Going home to die is very common here.  At first, I was just told about it.  It hit closer to home when it happened to families I knew.  This day it hit me personally.

We went to the meager home site.  It is like most others.  A few small huts built out of termite bricks.  This one also had a small rectangular house out of termite bricks with a thatch roof that had caved in.  When we arrived, we greeted the family in the “kitchen” hut.  In there was a mattress with the body on it.  The women of the family were next to him openly morning.  I could not help but cry as the women openly wept.   We prayed with the family.  They asked if I could transport his body to the hospital mortuary.  I have not moved a body before and I had to ask Patience what he died of.   I asked if would offend the family it I wore gloves as we loaded the body.  Then I helped hold up a blanket to shield the women from the body as a family member put the clothes on they wanted him to wear.  We wrapped him in blankets and loaded him into the back of the pickup.  Two or three women road in the back and sang songs.  I drove slowly the 6km to the hospital mortuary as we were not able to shut the tailgate.  As we approached the mission center, a combi bus had Psalm 23 written on the side.  I remembered what I could of the Psalm as I had memorized it when I was younger. The specific words escaped me but the meaning of the Lord being my shepherd comforted me.  I recalled the part of walking through the valley of the shadow of death and His rod and staff leading me.  

By the time we arrived at the hospital it was well past the 6:30am start time I had with the team.  The Lord was in charge because the night before I had given the keys to the container, with the tools and material in it, to one of the team members.  They had already started for the day.  I told them I was delayed and it would be a little longer before I would be back.

After a short wait for keys, we moved the body to the mortuary on an old gurney.  Our container is directly across from the mortuary.  Though I have seen many bodies carried both in and out, I have never actually been inside.  There were three cooler doors which reveal three selves each that slide out.  The first one we pulled out was rusted through and broken.  We pulled another one out that was not quite as rusted and place the body on it to slide his body in.

I drove the family back to their village and brought Patience back with me.  She had stayed so other family could ride with the body.  On the way back I found that the young man was not a believer.

I spent most of that morning working by myself as I had to deal with everything that happened.  The team was moving ahead well and I worked on removing the old roofing panels ahead of them.  It was good to have some time alone because I was able to compose myself by the time Rashel came by with Paige and Katy to visit the new and expecting mothers in the matumbas.  It was a tough day and I was physically and emotionally spent by the afternoon.  

Over the next couple of days I got to witness some of the culture as the family prepared for the funeral.  In some ways it is very similar back home but in others it is very different.  I saw many people come from far away.  They took buses as far as they would go and walked the rest of the way down the roads.  Some I even gave a ride.  There was always someone at the entrance to the village to direct those who were coming.  People who lived close brought extra kettles to cook, tarps and blankets to sleep on and big tubs to bathe in.  Many came and camped out at the village.  I saw them kill a goat, hang it from a small tree and butcher it.  They gathered and dug the grave themselves.