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Dr Masimba Mavaza Correspondent
As people come face-to-face with the evils of Covid-19, nearly 100 people have died from the pandemic as of this week in Zimbabwe.
Depending on your relationship to the deceased, you might have feelings one way or the other about returning home from the Diaspora for the funeral.
Finances, obligations and your own relationship to funerals are factors in making this decision.
If you dislike funerals, and would rather not mourn together with others, flying back home for the funeral won’t be a desirable option.
But the most painful thing is that you are not allowed to travel due to Covid-19 restrictions despite your conscious decision to travel.
The spirit and the flesh wishes to be together with dear friends during the bereavement period.
Attending a funeral of a loved one heals the broken heart and mends shattered emotions.
Many Zimbabweans have become experts in distance mourning.
The experience has been disheartening and many more are in the line of being distant mourners.
Though no one likes funerals, collectively mourning with others who knew the deceased person is an important part of the grieving process.
It allows you to openly acknowledge the death and find closure.
Because many people experience initial feelings of denial when someone passes away, the funeral is a chance to witness that the death has occurred.
If you’re living abroad and processing a recent loss, it will be even easier to subconsciously deny the loss and its impact.
Mourning alone and away destroys you slowly.
It brings nightmares and horrible dreams. A great sense of denial envelopes your mind. Until you see the grave, your mind will not comprehend the reality.
Zimbabweans have an emotional support system in place and this plays an important part of healing from the loss of a loved one, where friends lighten the mood by telling jokes about the deceased (vana sahwira).
But being away and alone is the worst thing any human being must never face in the times of bereavement.
It is more difficult to access the people you rely on for support if you are living away from them.
Margaret Magurenje offloaded her ordeal. She is a nurse and stays in Huddersfield in England. This is her story: “At about 10:30am on the 27th of July 2020, I was working at a care home in Manchester as usual,” she said.
“My phone’s ringing tone pierced through the silence. It was my dad. He never calls me during the day.
“I knew something had happened. You just feel that something is not right. Mostly, phone calls from Zimbabwe are either people asking for money or telling you about a certain problem.”
Margaret said as soon as she picked up her father’s call, she heard the sad news.
“I have some very very sad news, my father said,” she said. “His voice was controlled, but I sensed he was about to crack. I dreaded what was coming.
“Slowly, he said the three words which have been replayed in my mind a million times since: “Mum has died”. I felt dizzy and I remembered my last words to this conversation was NO! NO! NO! and I am so sure I fainted.
“After some time, I realised my phone was still on, but there was no one on the other side. I was socked in my own sweat. I felt my head spinning in all direction. I recollected my self and piled my body on the sofa.
“I could not go home, the planes where not fully servicing the routes. I stared on the wall as if I was counting the small cracks on the painted wall.
“I did not know what else to say or do. I felt so weak and confused. My heart was beating so loudly in my chest I could hardly hear myself think. Was this actually happening? Surely this was not really happening.
“While living away from home, you become aware of the way people at home are very economic with information and your routine is likely to be different from the schedule you normally keep at home.
“More variety and new experiences is good for keeping your mind busy, but it might be a little too easy to forget about or deny the death that has occured.
“But this was my mother. Because you aren’t living in the community where the deceased person lived, or frequently interacting with those who are affected by the loss, you aren’t immersed in the new reality of a world without the person you loved. The true pain of this might not hit you for some time. When it does, it could be more disruptive than if you had faced grief earlier on.
“I just saw no reason to leave. I was already dead. I summoned some little strength. I called my father again. He picked up the phone before it even rang. I could here in the background some people singing and weeping. I then summoned all the power I had. I asked my father:
“What happened?” “My dad’s voice got weaker as he explained he had received a call from the local hospital saying that my mum had been found by a passer by, collapsed in her car, just a few hundred metres from their house – the house they had shared for nearly 50 years and the house my siblings and I grew up in.
“Unable to open the car door, the ambulance crew had to smash the car window when they arrived, but were not able to revive her.
“I remember the moments that followed as if they were part of a film. In between sobs, I recall calling friends and my pastor. After sometime, my house was full with church mates. They have been in my house until the burial.
“My mother was buried a day after her death. I was told because of Covid-19, there was no reason to keep funerals long. I did not take part in choosing the coffin for my mum. I had to see my mum being buried through zoom. The more I looked at this zoom, the more I cried.
“I remember sitting on my sofa talking to God. “Dear father in heaven, look down upon a time. There is no one like mother to me, I know there is no one like mother to me”. I cried myself to sleep. There is still a big lump on my throat. I can still not go home now because of coronavirus.
“My mother was buried in my absence. Some times I see my mother calling my name. By the time I wake up, I will realise that it was only a dream.
“This is the worst time on those who are in the Diaspora. A strong thought that if I was home things will be different keeps visiting me. This is the wrong time to be in the Diaspora. You can not bury your loved ones and you have no time to say your last words.
“As Zimbabweans in the Diaspora, we feel trapped in this foreign land. We can not attend the last day and the only day with our beloved ones. It is a taboo to miss your mother’s funeral and this taboo is broken.
“Tears may dry, but the loss is so deep.”-[email protected]
Online Reporter