Death notices that you will find posted to buildings.
Last night our neighbor Zydi died. He was a sweet old man that lived across the street from us. He was 69. We did not know him well but he had done some work at our house and we had seen him frequently. Of all the people in our neighborhood, he was the quickest to smile and say hello. The funeral was this afternoon at 3pm. It was one of the most heartbreaking things I have ever experienced.
We gathered a few minutes before 3:00 with about 100 neighbors and family outside our gate in the street. Friends and family had been gathered in the home with an opportunity to view the body and say words to the family. The family rents a bus to transport people to the funeral if they do not have transportation. At exactly 3pm the casket is brought out to the hearse and people disperse to their cars or the bus. We just had the car fixed yesterday (a whole other blog story…) so we were able to take a few women who had been visiting the family in our car to the cemetery. (One woman was a neighbor who we have seen many times so it was good to be able to further build that relationship. We remain unclear who the other women who rode with us were. Our neighbor’s son told us who would ride with us but it was difficult to get the nature of all the relationships in our conversation). There were actually 2 buses needed for all the people who went to the burial in addition to the cars. It took 30 minutes to drive to the cemetery on the outskirts of town.
Once there, everyone streamed toward the grave site. There was very little talking among those gathered. The casket was set on the ground and a Muslim imam (holy man) said a ritual prayer. About 10 older men stood behind the imam also following some of the ritual prayer movements. Some we think were brothers or family members. No words were given to the family, no honoring of the life this man led, no comfort, no hope of something beyond the grave. In fact, the widow and many other women from the family were absent from the group. The casket was picked up and moved to the grave. Ropes were placed under and it was lowered into its place. Several other graves were dug around it waiting for the next person who might die today. I could not help but be saddened by the anonymity of it all. The sons and other friends and neighbors then removed the lid to the casket and placed cement blocks over the casket. The lid was returned to its place and dirt was piled on top. At last, one of his sons invited the whole group (over 150 by now) to a dreke (lunch) for guests. The family will pay for this extravagant meal that they can not afford for whoever will come. Not knowing the family that well and being that we still have such a language barrier we had decided we would not go to the lunch. Leaving the cemetery, the family, all male relatives (brothers and sons) formed a receiving line where we could shake our hands and offer our condolences. We only know 2 of the sons from our neighborhood. Several of the men were very emotional and clearly in shock. Remember that Zydi only died the night before.
We returned home with less passengers, in the crowd at the cemetery, we were separated from two of the ladies we brought. It was obvious they had already boarded the bus for the trip home so we went only with our one neighbor. She was so gracious in helping us understand customs and traditions. When we arrived back at the house, she took us to greet the women of the family and offer our condolences there. They were just leaving for the lunch so we had just a moment to offer words and hand shakes before they left. We were home at 4:05.
The whole process left both of us depleted and saddened. As the imam went through his ritual at the grave site, I was praying that God would redeem this land. Bring his HOPE and GLORY. Robert commented later that the overall emotion he noticed most at the funeral was apathy. There is nothing more for Albanians who do not have the hope of Jesus. There was an old pillbox military bunker left over from Communism in an area that at one time was not surrounded by grave sites. It is now abandoned and dilapidated, pressed in on all sides with grave sites and headstones. It was a symbol for us that communism is dead! The country that once declared itself as an atheist nation is no longer under the stronghold of a dictator who murdered those who called upon the name of Jesus. There is a hope we have that we can now share with our Albanian friends as we build relationships and have the blessing of serving them.
