Online Reporter
Alphina Ndlovu, [email protected]
I recently had a conversation with a Nigerian brother from church and it stayed with me long after we finished talking. He had recently lost his mother back home, and as Africans, we understand that loss is never just personal. It is family loss, community loss, and history loss woven together. When I asked when he would be travelling for the burial, he explained something that reminded me just how deeply culture continues to shape our lives, even when we live thousands of miles away. The funeral had been postponed — not because of travel complications or paperwork, but because of culture.
When culture determines timing
Clement, originally from the Igbo community of Nigeria, explained that his maternal family among the Anioma people of Delta State had decided his mother deserved a different kind of send-off. The family resolved that she would be buried within the family compound, with her resting place prepared beneath one of the bedrooms. Before burial could take place, construction work had to be completed, and until then the date remains uncertain. And so Clement waits.
Like many Africans in the diaspora, he finds himself balancing two worlds: the structured timelines of Western systems and the relational timelines of African tradition. Flights cannot yet be booked, leave arrangements cannot yet be confirmed, and plans remain open-ended. Yet there was no frustration in his voice, only acceptance, because he understands something many Africans understand instinctively: culture is not inconvenience — culture is continuity.
When Africans discover each other
Clement’s story also challenged something many Zimbabweans like myself rarely stop to think about. His mother passed away in January, and for many of us from Zimbabwe the idea that burial could take several months still feels surprising. In our own communities, burial often happens within days, and delays of this length can feel emotionally difficult to process. Yet this experience reminded me of something important: Africa is not one culture.
Growing up, many of us experienced the frustration of being treated as though Africa were one country. Some of us have had conversations with well-meaning people abroad who assumed all Africans speak the same language or share the same customs. I once spoke to a middle-aged man who genuinely believed Nelson Mandela had been president of “Africa”. Moments like that used to frustrate me; now I see them as opportunities to educate and build understanding. But Clement’s story also reminded me of something humbling: sometimes Africans too need to learn about each other with the same openness we expect from others.
Nigeria alone has hundreds of ethnic groups. Zimbabwe has its own cultural rhythms. Ghana has others. South Africa even more. Burial practices, marriage traditions and family expectations vary widely across the continent. What feels unusual to one African community may be deeply normal to another — and that is not division that is civilisation.
Grief has its own cultural language
To some outsiders, such arrangements may seem complicated. But within many African traditions, burial is not simply about laying someone to rest. It is about placing them correctly within family memory. It is about dignity, belonging and ensuring the departed remains symbolically within the protection of the family. In many Nigerian communities, funerals are not only moments of mourning, but also significant communal events that reflect the life, honour and social journey of the deceased. What may appear unusual through one cultural lens may be deeply meaningful through another.
Ubuntu teaches us something important here: respect does not require full understanding. Sometimes respect simply requires humility.
The quiet burden of diaspora Africans
What struck me most was not just the cultural process itself, but the emotional position many Africans abroad find themselves in. Living abroad often means standing between two worlds: the efficiency of Western systems and the depth of African relational traditions. One values schedules, the other values meaning; one values predictability, the other symbolism. Africans abroad often carry both realities quietly. This balancing act rarely makes headlines, but it shapes everyday decisions about family, travel, finances and identity.
What Africa still gets right
Sometimes Africa is spoken about mainly through the lens of its problems. But moments like this remind me that Africa still holds something many modern societies are trying to recover: respect for elders, respect for the departed, respect for family voice, respect for lineage and respect for memory. We may struggle with many things as a continent, but we have not completely lost our humanity — and that matters.
Difference does not cancel unity
The uniqueness of Nigerian funeral traditions may feel unfamiliar to someone from Zimbabwe, but Ubuntu invites us to move beyond familiarity into understanding. Not to become the same, but to sit at the same table, because unity does not mean uniformity. Ubuntu does not ask us to abandon what makes us distinct; it asks us to bring our differences into conversation rather than competition.
Perhaps the round table is long overdue. Perhaps what Africans need now, especially in the diaspora, is more intentional dialogue about who we are to each other — not just meeting at weddings or funerals, but meeting to learn. Imagine if we intentionally celebrated each other’s independence days, marked historical milestones not only for our own countries but for others too, and honoured liberation struggles and resilience across borders. Imagine Africans sitting together not to defend identity, but to understand identity.
Because perhaps the real work of Ubuntu now is simple: to sit down, to listen, and to learn. The African round table may be long overdue, but perhaps it can still be built.
Life continues
Eventually, Clement’s mother will be laid to rest with dignity, with family present and with culture honoured. And like all African stories, life will continue. Children will still need raising, work will go on, and responsibilities will remain. But something important will also have been preserved: continuity. Because Ubuntu is not just about how we live together; Ubuntu is also about how we honour those who came before us.
If weddings show how we celebrate and funerals show how we honour, then there is another question Africans in the diaspora must begin to ask: where do we meet in between these moments? Where do we talk? Where do we think? Where do we reconnect? Because sometimes Ubuntu does not begin at big events. Sometimes it begins simply by deciding to sit together again.
*Alphina Ndlovu is a PhD researcher in Business and Management at Staffordshire University (UK), focusing on SME ecosystem development and growth. She is also a financial literacy educator and community development advocate with a keen interest in Ubuntu economics.
