Sad News - A Funeral

Last month Nurzhan’s oldest brother, Bolat, died unexpectedly. He was only 50 years old, a Muslim Mullah, leaving behind a wife and four married children, and nine siblings (including Nurzhan). I was not able to attend the funeral, but was able to go to Chimkent for the 40-day memorial. Kazakh culture defines the burial, the funeral, then the 3-day memorial, 7-day, 40-day, 100-day, 1-year, and 15-year memorials. I’m still learning a lot about this part of the culture. Since Bolat was Muslim, everything has been done according to the Kazakh/Muslim culture. All four of Bolat’s children, at one time or another, confessed Christ, yet presently all have returned to the Muslim faith. So there has been no conflict about how to integrate Christians or Christianity into the day.

For me, being at the 40-day memorial was interesting. There were as many people as had attended the funeral, 100-120 or so. A big meal was prepared, with rented tables and dishes spread out in the yard. Where we were, just outside of Chimkent, was hot and dusty, not a tree in sight beyond the few saplings neighbors had planted in the past year in this new “settled” region. So besides the mud-brick homes and small garden plots, the rest was wide open steppe. At near 100’F with no shade, I was hot, reddening quickly and sweating like an iced-tea glass. This was one time I wished I had skin from my American Indian heritage rather than the Irish cast that so easily burns.

I held Bolat’s widow, Zhagira, in one of many long, tight hugs we would share that day and then sat on the floor inside the house along with other mourners. We shared hot tea and prayers, passages were sung from the Koran in Arabic (which few understood). Folks moved about freely, from one room in the house, to outside under a shade tarp, to inside the house in another room, back out, etc., drinking hot tea, eating snacks wherever, until the main course of ‘plov’ (rice pilaf with meat) was served and then there were a few more rounds of hot tea, more recitations from the Koran.

Everyone was expected to share something good about the deceased. I really had no clue what to share, as I barely knew Bolat, and dare not say that I rejoiced when his children became Christians. Everything was in Kazak and with no meaningful Kazak coming from my mouth I kept comments to a minimum. Some people brought gifts, food stuffs, cash, a nanny goat. I understood that there would be a record kept of who gave what, so that when there is a “reciprocal” funeral (where the comforter becomes the mourner, and the mourner the comforter) that there must be a reciprocal gift. Part of me wanted to drop a wad of cash down, since I know the widow will be hurting financially without her husband’s income, but I dared not do that at this time, as then she would have to give that same amount back for my funeral (or funeral of someone dear to me). It is a tough dilemma.

Though I rather enjoyed the visits with so many, I would say this really didn’t go so well as far as my involvement. After reading through some recent survey information regarding Kazak culture for funerals, I realize that I made several serious cultural blunders. I knew better than to smile. But I failed in so many other ways, and Nurzhan’s sisters made it quite clear that I was more nuisance than comfort. They were none too happy to see me there at all (maybe because I was a Christian, maybe because I was not their mother but encroaching on ‘her’ space, maybe because I am a foreigner, maybe because I didn’t finance the whole affair, maybe just because they were heart-broken). Nonetheless I stilled loved them, and refused to take on humiliation, simply stay humble. So much to learn on how to fit into such an event.