Much as my original plan was to contribute successive articles to my earlier essay published last month, the mysterious muses misled me, placing me as a reluctant passenger in an Accra-Kumasi-bound flight. I eavesdropped on a dialogue whose length coincided with the entire plane journey. Long, but not dull, it drew me to some reflection, hence this detour from writing my promised follow-up essays to sharing this unusual contribution: On Rome’s Recent Events.
Finding a seat and settling in was easy, since it was an early morning flight, the cabin was sparsely populated and it could have been free seating. I spied the gentleman across the row from me, attired in the black that suggested his prospective participation in a funeral. Nodding at him in greeting, I resumed my regular reticence, ready with a book to read in case anyone got unnecessarily chatty. Then, he strode in, right to our row, and I knew we were in trouble. Everything about him screamed garrulous impertinence. I sighed silently. Immediately, we were airborne, their dialogue began.
“You’re off to a funeral, aren’t you?” Garrulous Impertinence issued his opening salvo. “Well, not quite”, responded the other gentleman, who subsequently introduced himself as Baafour. “Ah, let me guess…a one-week celebration”. “Exactly”, came the response. That was enough for our man.
We Africans, and Ghanaians in particular, are funny people. Notwithstanding our challenging economic conditions, we allow so much wastage, usually in the name of culture. Case in point: Funerals. How much do we spend on funerals? We literally bury not only the person who has died but also money, the economic resource that could help so many people, beginning with family members of the deceased. Think of this flight ticket, for instance, for this one-week celebration, which you probably find yourself culturally bound to attend. Could your ticket not have paid the school fees of some of the deceased person’s immediate family members? Then, consider the refreshments to be served at the one-week celebration and later during the funeral. If you take, especially, Kumasi, there are even these giant billboards around the airport roundabout and several other intersections announcing one funeral or another.
Baafour pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulders. I pretended to be engrossed in my book, its French title – Entretien avec moi-même – intended to give the impression I didn’t understand English. As if to draw me in, Garrulous Impertinence continued:
Imagine that it’s barely a month since the pope died. Pope Francis, head of the Roman Catholic Church and sovereign of the Vatican City State. Within a week of his death, he had been buried. He died on Monday, and he was buried on Saturday. Not just that, he was buried solemnly and yet so simply. I admire his last testament, expressing his wishes about how he should be buried. In a sense, even if there were any aspects that we could attribute to culture that could have made his funeral more elaborate, he somewhat circumvented them by disclosing his intentions. With all those dignitaries attending, the funeral took a little over two hours. No tributes were read, no wreaths laid, and no speeches delivered by any dignitary present. This simplicity and solemnity is in stark contrast to the elaborate and lengthy funerals we often have in Ghana. Simple and solemn.
“And speedy”, I felt like adding, but restrained myself, biting my lower lip instead. Baafour nodded in agreement with him. It looked like he had something to contribute. He did, indeed.
Yeah. And the church’s transition to the election of a new pope was equally impressive. I’m not Catholic, but you could tell the process was spirit-filled, prayerful, and discerning, even though the media were simply interested in who the next pope might be and where he would come from.
Strangely enough, Garrulous Impertinence remained silent. This bait had failed to catch. Curiously, I shot a sideward glance at these two interlocutors. Was this bait meant for me? Baafour continued:
“I even thought, like that World Cup song, this time for Africa…perhaps even Ghana…”
“Not on your life, bro, and I’ll tell you why”
The bait had finally caught. I cocked my ears to listen.
By Rev. Fr. Kpanie Addy, SJ
