Mourning...with distance in between.

Early this morning, in my home-stay village of Chisazima, an amayi (women of the house) passed away. We were informed of this news by the Peace Corps staff during our first session. On my walk to school I also noticed tree branches laid across the road on each side of the home where the family was grieving. This is a tradition in Malawi, done so that people know that someone has died/a funeral is taking place (and so if they are riding a bike they can get off and walk not to disturb the family). The funeral for this woman will be held tomorrow, and our group has been invited to attend, allowing us to have an experience we have only talked about in class. Or, stated by a staff member, “a blessing in disguise,” meaning we can use this as a teachable moment before we head to site, and have to potentially attend a funeral there. More than that though, in Malawi it would be seen as rude if our group would not attend. Because this culture is so communal it is expected that we would come to pay our respects to the village. It would only be later that day that I realize this situation hit home a little more than I expected.

Shortly after the first session a Peace Corps staff came up to me and told me that my mom had phoned them, and that she would like me to phone home as soon as I got the message. Immediately after I heard this, I asked God to give me strength for whatever the news my mom felt important enough to phone Peace Corps for. I had a good guess to why my mother called Africa to get a hold of me, and I had a feeling whatever it was it probably wasn’t something that I was going to want to hear.

My Dad answered the phone. At first I think he thought I was Alisha, (why would his daughter in Malawi, with no phone, be calling home?) even though the caller ID definitely would have come up as some random, long number, that is not my sisters. He couldn’t really hear me, but that wasn’t the point of the phone call. He would be doing the talking; all I needed to do was listen. And as good as it felt to hear a comforting voice, a voice from home that I have really missed, the words he said were words that no one ever wants to hear.

My grandpa passed away on Saturday, March 28, 2015. The first big news I would have to deal with from thousands of miles away from the people I want to be the closest with at the time. The first real struggle here in Malawi where my feelings tell me to go home and be consumed with hugs from my family. An event where all I can do is pray, and lean on God for support and His strength during a time of weakness.

The funeral for my grandpa will be held on Thursday and I will not be physically attending. My spirit will be there, and my family will be there for me, but I will not be able to come home. I will, however, be attending a Malawian funeral tomorrow, to pay respects to a woman who was a friend of my amayi’s (mother) here in Chisazima. And while attending this funeral I will be able to pray for my family and friend’s of my grandpas in the United States, as well as for this Malawian family who is also suffering a loss.

Emotions are expressed in a completely different way in Malawi as they are in the United States. When I got home from school today I told my sister in Chichewa that my “agogo” (grandparent) in the United States had died on this past Saturday. My amayi then came over to me and told me that her friend had passed earlier this morning (or at least that’s what I interpreted from her full on Chichewa sentences/that’s what we were told earlier that day in class). I wanted to hug her, but didn’t because personal space is a cultural norm of Malawi, and hugging doesn’t really happen. Instead, I told her I was sorry and tried to say that I was praying for her and the family (who knows if that’s actually what I said/she heard).

I said my goodbyes to my grandpa before I left on this two-year journey, knowing that he was very sick and that I might not see him again. But then again that doesn’t really settle in until you know you won’t, or at least not on earth. Before I left I had a really inspiring conversation with my aunt and my grandpa about Heaven, and about Jesus, and he told me he was proud of me for having a faith. I will never forget our conversation, and most importantly what I took away from it; that I will see him again, in Heaven, with our God.

While I am living in Malawi for the next two years there are going to be many more times of struggle and hurting. There are going to be times where I just want to go home and snuggle with my mom. There are going to be times where I want to do nothing but sit in my room and cry. But this is when Jesus wants us to look to Him. This is when God wants us to use Him for His strength. This is when my personal relationship with God will continue to be built. Prayers go out to the family in Chisazima who lost someone close to them this morning, and also to my family in the United States who are mourning the loss of a pretty awesome grandpa. RIP Grandpa Bernie, until we meet again.

#peacecorps