the corner office

On Wednesday, just about the whole of the office went to Safiyya's funeral. She worked with us, at the office and recently from home, so we all knew her. I've taken some time to reflect over her funeral - it was the first Muslim funeral I've been to (and dare I say, hopefully the last :-(

Muslim funerals are strikingly different to Western, Christian burials. Mo had explained the Muslim reasoning and ritual to me when he went to a funeral a few weeks ago, and a horrible irony that their accident happened as they were returning from another funeral. The Western tradition of leaving the preparation of the body to someone who didn't even know the person, and the actual burial to hired hands at the graveyard makes things abstract. Our desire to protect and remove ourselves from the unpleasantness of death and to assuage the emotional trauma is understandable, but it seems to me that acceptance is the most important part of the grieving process, and we do everything we can to postpone or avoid the acceptance.

The Muslim ritual is hard and unemotional. This is a function of their spirituality, where death is not feared but (theologically) rejoiced, as a person passes on. It's also incredibly pragmatic. Muslim burial is geared towards accepting the death, coming to terms with the person's passing and kickstarting the healing process as soon as possible.

A body must be buried immediately (within 24 hours, but 3 hours after passing is the ideal) - there's no point in wasting time - it has been separated from the soul and there's nothing special about it. (I'm sure a history of living in hot deserts helped with this practice). No time for denial either. Safiyya's body was prepared by the women in her family who had no choice but to deal with the loss immediately. The ceremony (men-only; perhaps my only anti-sexist gripe), was short and to the point. In fact, it was barely a ceremony. A few short, standard prayers. No eulogising. Mo had explained that if you had nothing great to say about a person while they were alive, there's no point in saying it once they've passed. When they're gone, it's too late. Also, no fancy tombstones or coffins - a simple mound of sand to mark your grave and a simple, standard nameplate. Every Muslim is given a pauper's burial, regardless of wealth or social standing. We are all equal in death. Buried on their side in a slanted grave, wrapped in a simple shroud, facing Mecca and covered by wooden planks. The men of the family personally bury the body. Some of the men at the funeral used shovels, other their bare hands to fill the grave, but almost everybody helped to fill the grave - not just sprinkling some sand. Once again, people are forced to come to terms with the reality of death. There is no hiding from it, and I don't think that's a bad thing for the grieving process.

I was amazed by the sense of community. When I die, will hundreds of people arrive out of nowhere, at a morning's notice, and take part in committing me to the earth? I seriously doubt it.