Meet the scavangers that prowl funerals

Have you ever wondered what kind of human being revels in being at the centre of the action whenever a well-heeled person dies?

Well, I have, after attending several funerals in my rural home. They are akin to scavengers, who restlessly look forward to the death of their next victim.

First is the self-appointed resident cook.

She sets camp at the home of the deceased immediately the news of the death is announced and is usually busy in the kitchen, hardly ever coming out of the hallowed ground except when making hushed phone calls to her relatives back at home to instruct them when to come and collect the stuff she has managed to squirrel away.

A mistress of pilferage, she steals items like sugar, cooking oil, salt, flour, even cutlery.

Taciturn and hardly the conversationalist, she makes herself busy serving guests, rushing to and from the kitchen with bread and tea to cater to the hungry masses, in the process hoarding loaves of bread and sugar, that she will later carry home.

Some of these women sometimes go beyond the kitchen and steal from the bedrooms too – clothes, beddings, even money.

The self-appointed treasurer is next in the list of shame.

This fellow is in charge of the contributions book.

He usually has several copies of the same, and the one prominently displayed on the table outside the home usually reflects just a fraction of what has actually been contributed towards the funeral expenses.

The bulk of the contribution is usually stashed away in his overcoat.

The others are the village drunkards.

If there is a bonfire outside, they converge around the comforting blaze, listening to the radio blaring popular gospel hits throughout the night on most evenings preceding the burial day.

If the hosts should go to bed, leaving their radio outside, chances are high that it will disappear with these mourners, who sell it cheaply and then blow all the money away on booze.

Such occasions are never complete without the odd couple settling their fights before bemused mourners, the angry wife either accusing the dazed and clearly inebriated husband of deserting her and their children, or cheating on her. Salacious gossip tends to freely flow during these burials.

On the funeral day, the grave diggers are usually the first to arrive.

Woe unto the home that doesn’t have the money to buy alcohol for this rowdy, uncontrollable lot!

Insults, threats and intimidation is their stock of trade as they go about their vital service to the bereaved family.

It is never a complete occasion without the promise givers who are normally more vocal and extravagant with their pledges if the deceased left behind a wife - the younger, the better. The shameless ones will even warn others off the mourning woman while addressing the crowd, saying he will take care of her and the children, a public way of excusing nocturnal amorous forays into the compound under the guise of checking on the widow’s family.

Politicians and aspiring politicians use this sombre period to campaign and malign their rivals, instead of mourning the dead.

It is a merry time for the lovers of public limelight, as well as the ubiquitous photographers, who have a heyday fleecing mourners with poor quality photographs.

Woe unto everyone should the family invite a self-righteous preacher.

Quoting verses effortlessly, they sway the mourners with cleverly concocted tales of impending judgment as they spit copious amounts of saliva into the microphones during their pompous, pretentious sermons.

Once the deceased is finally laid down, the bereaved family is left alone to pick up the pieces, as all the pretend mourners file out, looking forward to the next burial.