The funeral wailers of Kyanamukaka

THE DIARY OF A COVID-19 WALKER

Part 101 “The funeral wailers of Kyanamukaka”

1970’s and 80’s were really funny,

No money,

No honey,

Except the funeral wailers of kyanamukaka..

Down in Masaka,

Not Bukakata,

Where Rwakataka

Was born near the old mosque..

Haji Abudu kept young boys in-there,

Reciting the Qoran, sporadically,

Like this Sheik, at Naalya Mosque!

The nearby church had old reeds,

Exposed as part of its make up,

Mud and wattle,

Peeling off day by day..

A cross lay across,

Criss-crossing all the four corners..

We knelt and prayed, in the dust,

As the catichest in long tattered cussocks,

Cluttered about, mumbling some unintelligiable words, spiritual in effect,

To which we replied“ Amiina!!!”

In unison with Alison,

Son of the ex-priest,

Reminding me of Amina,

The girl who ate my pancake!

Funerals were abit fun, nimble and funny,

Especially, the last rites,

As people would plan,

To replace the dead,

With two or ten folds,

To silence the dead!

The wailing masters were crazy,

Largely, audible women of stature,

With melodic voices and not hoarse,

To say the least more frenzy,

As they wailed in unison,

To evoke, and silence,

The evil spirits of the dead…

At times, it was a wail,

Then a scream,

Mixed with mumblings of life ahead,

Celebrating the dead..

Men and women mixed, freely and slept,

Like bread and butter,

Before being battered,

Like Kafiti, the village wag!

At the funeral of Matovu,

Near Kitovu,

Women drank green herbal tea,

From a charcoal stove,

And puffed long clay pipes,

As they charged the men,

Across, beneath the Jackfruit tree.

The evening came and passed,

Albeit so fast!

All joined in a song,

To celebrate the dead.

The funeral wailers of Kyanamukaka!