[In this piece, first published on 21st May 2009, Kalaki finds himself at a very entertaining funeral]
The Funeral
‘Its part of the natural cycle,’ said Sara. ‘Now we’re getting older, more of our friends are popping off. It’s just a matter of time before it’s our turn. You should come along, these funerals are always entertaining. You’ll be able to meet all your old friends, and say goodbye to them before it’s their turn.’
‘I’ll just wait for my own funeral, and see them all there. Mine is going to be the most entertaining of them all. I’ve already got it planned. I’ve written a splendid eulogy, describing my life as a complete failure. It will reduce everybody to tears. Even those who didn’t like me will finally feel sorry for me.’
‘Dear dear,’ said Sara, ‘you’ve no idea how to write a eulogy. You have to make the life of the departed sound wonderful and marvellously successful, irrespective of how disastrous it was. It is all done by the simple formula of praise by omission.’
‘So how would you do a eulogy for somebody like me?’
‘We would probably say that you were always a person of great potential. You could have had a great sense of purpose had it not been for your philosophical attitude, but your lack of material achievement was compensated by your energetic zest for the pleasures of life, which was admired by all, and your great wisdom was always seen in your brilliant hindsight. You might well have realised your full potential if only you had managed to linger on for another year or so, and in that sense your departure is a great loss to us all.’
‘Excellent!’ I said, as I reached for the toast. ‘I hadn’t realised you had such a high opinion of me.’
‘I don’t,’ she laughed. ‘I was just trying to think how we might gloss over the more embarrassing aspects. But if you’re really going to write the script for your own funeral service, you need more experience. Let’s go to the church together, so that you can see how to do things properly. Go and put on your oldest shabbiest jacket, then you can come along.’
‘I’ve only got one jacket,’ I said.
‘That’s the one I meant,’ she replied.
And so it was that, only an hour later, we were sitting on a hard bench, called a penance, in the Cathedral of St Ignominious, waiting for the entertainment to begin.
‘Oh, by the way,’ I whispered to Sara, ‘I forgot to ask. Whose funeral is it?’
‘Poor old Apa Mwamba.’
‘Apa Mwamba? Who was he?’
‘You know,’ said Sara. ‘He was that character invented by Yuss. He used to appear in The Post every week. He was called Apam for short.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Now I remember. Any friend of Yuss must be a friend of mine. How did he die? Did he have a socially acceptable excuse?’
‘He was lost without Yuss,’ explained Sara. ‘After Yuss died, he just faded away.’
‘How long had you known him?’
‘Since Yunza,’ she replied. ‘His wife’s younger sister was in the same class as me.’
‘Good gracious,’ I said. ‘I hadn’t realised he was so close to us. It’s just as well we came along to pay our respects.’
‘By now the Guest of Honour was arriving, carried to the front of the aisle in a huge wooden casket. ‘Oh dear,’ said Sara, ‘he must have shrunk terribly.’
‘How can you know that? We haven’t yet had a peep at the corpse.’
‘Its an inverse ratio,’ she said sadly. ‘The smaller the corpse, the larger the coffin.’
Before long we came to the bit I had been waiting for. A priest came to the lectern and said ‘At this point in the service, it is my duty to say a few words in praise of the life of our dear departed, Apam Mwamba.’
‘Why not a member of the family to say a few words?’ I whispered to Sara.
‘Only priests are allowed to tell lies in church,’ she explained.
‘We are saying farewell today,’ began the priest, ‘to a devout Christian who always gave generously to this Church….’
But then I heard a woman’s voice behind me whispering ‘He thought he could buy himself a place in Heaven…’
‘He was a humble citizen, always ready to listen to others…’
‘He ruled his house like a king, and nobody dared to contradict him…’
And so the eulogy proceeded, with every claim by the priest being greeted with a whispered commentary from the pew behind...
‘He was always faithful to his wife of forty years…’
‘and also faithful to his many mistresses…’
‘a wife who never left his side…’
‘whenever she attempted to escape, he always dragged her back…’
‘he was lucky to have an educated wife who gave her life for him…’
‘after he had successfully destroyed her career…’
‘so let this be an example to others of a truly Christian marriage…’
‘where the husband beats the shit out of his wife on a regular basis…’
‘a husband who paid tribute to his wife by building a large mansion…’
‘so that her screams could not be heard by the neighbours…’
‘unfortunately she cannot speak today, she is overcome by emotion…’
‘and unwilling to perjure herself in the sight of the Lord…’
‘So, finally today, I ask you all to look after his widow.’
’By standing aside while his relatives to strip her naked.’
‘And so we commit his soul to the Lord.’
‘Mother Mary will kick him downstairs.’
‘Amen,’ said the priest.
‘Violent men,’ said the voice behind.
_______________________
‘Is that what you want for your funeral?’ asked Sara, as we left the church.
‘When my time comes,’ I said, ‘Just skip the service and take me straight to the cemetery.’
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