Well, someone died. Specifically, a man of importance in Bakau passed away last night. All activities in Bakau came to a grinding halt, as everyone who is anyone was attending the funeral. Thus, I was again frustrated in my hopes to work with the Bakau women’s garden. Liza thinks I should make a backup plan for my research, but I think I’ll give it at least one more try before throwing in the towel. Baboucar should be here later, and he should have talked to the garden man last night, so perhaps he will have some encouragement for me.

“This is why it is hard to work in this country. In America, people value time. Time is very important. In The Gambia, people are important,” Awa told us as we headed to the funeral. I carry a shawl with me all the time, and I was very glad of it today. I’m sure I was quite a sight: some wide-eyed white girl with a salmon colored shawl on her head following a spunky black woman and sitting in on a stranger’s funeral.

I sat in a sea of other women gathered in the dead man’s compound. The men were all at the cemetery. Men and women are apart even in their mourning, grieving separately for the same person. While there was a fair amount of black clothing at the funeral, most of the women were wearing their usual bright colors. I imagine that, like me, they simply found out about the funeral and showed up wearing whatever they had put on earlier.

One group of women was sitting on a mat on the floor. I assume they were the close family, as they seemed more upset than the rest of the women. A platter was on the ground in front of the mat for guests to put money on. In the next week or so, friends and relatives from out of town will visit to pay their respects, and feeding and entertaining them will be expensive. After snacks and water were offered to all of us, women began to speak one at a time, softly and tearfully. One woman in black and orange repeated what they said in a clear, powerful voice. She belongs to a family of artisans, bards, and storytellers. She was in her element. Everything was in Wolof, so I didn’t understand a word, but Awa tells me that they were speaking about the good things in his life. People evidently believe that the angels will hear what people say about the recently deceased, so you only want to say good things about the people you love.

The men eventually returned from the cemetery and lined up to put money on the platter. As the stream of men turned to a trickle, Awa tapped my shoulder and informed me that it was time for us to leave.

I had never been to a funeral before. I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who has died. I have nothing to compare this experience to.

I wish I could have worked in the garden today, but there is always tomorrow. I am glad that I got to see the funeral, and that could only have happened today. For the rest of the day, I plan to read about gardening in The Gambia and cultural anthropology. Perhaps that will make me feel like I am accomplishing something.