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Death
and Dying in the African Context
By
Gerald Onyewuchi Onukwugha Death is certain in human
existence, though we do battle with its inevitability. Despite
its ubiquity, it is a phenomenon conceived differently,
depending on cultural, ideological, or idiosyncratic
orientation. These differences are apparent because of my
multicultural exposure of death in both the African context, the
biblical Middle East, and the modern American view of death and
dying.
Theologically,
death is defined as the separation of soul and body. But as
Professor Philip Keane pointed out in a lecture, no one has seen
the soul depart the body. This definition, according to German
theologian Karl Rahner, fails to indicate “the specifically
human element of human death.” Philosophically, death is
defined as the cessation of the integrated functioning of the
human organism. This disintegration, of course, is like “the
separation of body and soul” definition not an observable
definition.
We
are on more scientific ground with the physiological definition.
Here, death is conceived as a cessation of breath and heartbeat.
Medical advance, however, has made this definition somewhat
obsolete. For we have observed in heart attack patients, the
cessation of both breath and heartbeat. Yet these patients have
been revived; thus we can say such patients have died at least
once.
Seemingly,
there is no perfect answer to the meaning of death. We have no
eyewitness testimony: no one has died and come back to life and
painted a clear picture of what death really is. From the
Christian or religious perspective, death is not the end of
life, but rather a transformation. For Paul in his letter to the
Thesssalonians (4:13), death is a kind of sleep: “We
want you to be quite certain, brothers, about those who have
fallen asleep. To make sure that you do not grieve for them, as
others do who have no hope.”
Despite
the religious hope, the unpredictability and inevitability of
death fascinate and frighten the broad range of humanity. This
fear and fascination is quite evident in natural disasters and
in acts of war and terror. Thus there continues an ingrained
denial of the gruesomeness and finality of death. An African
adage likens the dead body in procession to that of dried wood.
The natural yearning to live on has generated such beliefs as
the Greek immortality of the soul or the various Eastern notions
of reincarnation, which appear frequently in African cultures.
But
even in less violent and disastrous circumstances, death,
especially in our techno-culture, is a challenging project. For
many, the hard reality is that they die in a hospital, usually
isolated and in pain – tethered to a frightening array of
high-tech equipment. From some perspectives, this
techno-environment is another denial of the naturalness of
death. Many would prefer to die at home in familiar and beloved
surroundings. In traditional cultures, the family comes together
and children are involved in the conversation. The dying person
is comforted and encouraged to embrace death with dignity.
Though
death in inevitable, the African both denies and accepts death
in daily life. This double perspective can be seen in a set of
beliefs sometimes referred to as “ancestor worship” or
“reincarnation.” Many Africans believe the spirit of the
deceased remains in the world and that the dead person can come
back embodied in another person.
It
is in light of this belief that John S. Mbiti asserted, “For
the Africans, death is a separation and not an annihilation; the
dead person is suddenly cut off from the human society and yet
the corporate group clings to him. This is shown through the
elaborate funeral rites, as well as other methods of keeping in
contact with the departed” (African Religion and Philosophy,
1970, p. 46). The relatives of the dead believe that even though
the soul of their dead relative has gone up to the sky or near
to God, it remains also near to them and can be approached
through prayers, libations, and offerings.
The
Igbo views death as a natural rhythm of life. In a popular tale,
they pass down a story of the genesis of death. At one time
there was no death. People were fascinated by the idea of living
forever. They appealed to the gods to guarantee eternal life.
The final decision was left to the outcome of a marathon race
between the frog and the dog. If the frog won, death would come
into the world; if the dog won man would gain eternal life.
The
people were excited about their opportunity, believing the dog
would easily win the race. Once the race started, the frog
continued at a slow pace, non-stop. The dog ran fast, but
stopped often to eat garbage from cans. The frog’s approach of
slow and steady won the day, the dog losing the race and thus
the genesis of death.
Africans,
like others, resist the daily contemplation of death. Often
people do not write their living wills. I recall the time when
my father began writing his will, four years prior to his death.
In some consternation, I walked about ten miles to discuss this
matter with my mother. My mother attempted to console me by
saying that my father’s death was not imminent – that a
person can write his or her will twenty years prior to his
death. Of course, my father’s death was much closer.
Unlike
many Americans, Africans do not tend to set aside money for
their funerals while still alive. They do not make preparations
towards their dying. They prefer to leave the burden to their
living relatives.
I was quite shocked and frightened when my American
pastor showed me where he will be buried when he dies. As an
African, I found this pastor’s openness about death strange
and unbelievable.
This
death-denying attitude is observed in how Africans conceptualize
death. The term “transition” is used to refer to dying. It
is very rare to hear people say a person has died. Saying that
the person has transitioned in the African context means that he
or she has gone to the next life. The term also implies that the
person has not left us, that the person has simply changed form
into a spiritual existence. The term “passed on” is also
used frequently to express transition.
At
the Carmelite Monastery in Waterford, Ireland, an anonymous
reflection clearly captures this African transitional view of
death. It says, “Death is nothing at all – I have slipped
away into the next room. Whatever we were to each other that we
are still. Call me by own familiar name. Speak to me in the easy
way, which you always used. Laugh as we always laughed at the
little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray
for me. Let it be spoken without effort. Life means all that it
ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is absolutely
unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of your mind because I
am out of your sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near just around the corner. All is well. Nothing
is past; nothing is lost. One brief moment and all will be as it
was before – only better, infinitely happier and forever.”
This
Irish view is an ancient and universal view; though still
retained in African tribal life, it has been lost in our more
modern, materialistic world. In our traditional cultural
experience, man is born, he dies, and continues to exist in
other realms.
This circle of birth, death, and continued existence is
commonly used symbolically in African art as cosmographic
images. The dead is not in a distant heaven, but still remains
among the living. In times of crisis and need, and sometimes, in
times of joy, departed loved ones are viewed as smiling down on
the living, looking out for them and assisting them. Thus even
though it is a stressful time to have a loved one die, people
find comfort in the belief that loved ones, though not
physically present, are yet spiritually present.
Though
there exists this consolation of an afterlife and its connection
with present life, traditional Africans hold to the sanctity of
life and fear death, for it is an enemy to life. Fear of death
lead people to use charms and juju for self-defense; though
death is invincible, it can be held at bay. Life is to be
preserved at all costs. Thus, an average African would not be
inclined to discontinue life-sustaining treatment once it was
started. Likewise, Africans do not favor any artificial means of
terminating life, such as assisted suicide, which is viewed as
sacrilegious. In any event, such decisions would be arrived at
through family consensus. It would be offensive to other family
members and extended relatives if just one of them rushed into
decision-making without at least considering what
others thought and felt.
Even
though statistics show many people prefer a quick and painless
death, ideally while one is asleep, it is different in Africa.
An African person prefers a slow and lingering death not through
the aid of a machine but a natural prolongation of the dying
process so that he or she could make their peace, say farewell
to friends and relatives, and give final instructions to
immediate relatives. Though it rarely occurs today in our modern
cities with its sanitized hospitals, death is preferred in
one’s home with the family providing comfort to the dying
person.
The
spiritual aspects of caring for the dying in medical settings
have been neglected. So much emphasis is place on the physical
care of the dying that spirituality is often overlooked. Often
healthcare providers, untrained in the subject of spirituality,
do not recognize special efforts are needed to respect the
cultural traditions of the dying. A more satisfactory result in
caring for African patients would be achieved if the African
approach to decision-making is honored. The healthcare provider
foremost must recognize the values of the African patient, who
values highly the sanctity of life.
Man
is a “being unto death,” Martin Heidegger pointed out. And
this death is enigmatic, a mystery – a reality beyond full
human comprehension. It is nevertheless, from the African
perspective, the total negation of the sound health of human
life – the height of all evils. Among the Igbo, the name of
death is “Onwudinjo,” meaning “death is evil.” Because
of this African frame of mind, decades are spent grieving over a
lost one. People’s emotional makeup is often jarred for a long
time after the death of a person dearly loved. I am still
dealing with the loss of my father.
I
have been going through a lot of pain since the death of my
father six years ago. It is the greatest emotional trauma that I
have ever had in my entire life. The pain is near indescribable.
Life for me has not been the same. I struggle with this loss
every day. Sometimes I try to let go of this sad memory but I
have yet to succeed. It is a very hard blow one me, nay, on all
of us – my mother, my siblings, and me.
My
father’s death changed me forever. When he died, a part of me
died with him. It is an indelible mark that can never be erased
from my book of memory. The bottom line is that I love my father
– he is my hero, my champion of courage. His words and
examples yet remain a vade mecum (a go with me).
Still,
a part of me knows, my father is not dead after all. He is in
the other room. I can see him with the physical eye. That is the
hard reality I have difficulty accepting. Yet he lives. He
called me today and told me to trust and obey. He went farther
and told me that this is the only way I can be happy in the
Lord.
“Mpa”
(Father) is dead; you are now fatherless,” my eldest brother
spoke to me 17th of October, 1996, the day after my father
died. These words have remained evergreen in my memory. I
believe I shall see him yet again face to face in heaven,
through the grace of God. *
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update 23 June 2008 |
