I was at yet another funeral of a supposed family member whom I had never had the pleasure of knowing. It was hot. Mostly so because I was seated at the back of the tent, behind my mother and grandmother, where the sun hit my back and made it extremely difficult to concentrate. I looked around noticing a few faces I recognized out of the crowd that was seated under the six tents. Every so often, a few people would stand and head towards the narrow path that led to the main houses. Somebody, a woman I didn't recognize, was currently praising the dead. Literally. I chuckled lowly as I stared at my father. He was seated with another uncle I didn't know. Meanwhile, my sister eyed the woman seated next to my mother curiously. Her lips moved in a suckling manner. She placed the tip of her thumb into her mouth and suckled gently before removing it and taking in the blouse mother wore. She squealed and turned her gaze back to the woman, fascination wrote all over as she noticed the black earring that dangled from her ear.
The woman holding the mic passed it over to the neighbor of said family member. He said a few words I didn't bother listening to and proceeded to hand the mic to the mc who called a friend to the deceased. My attention was drawn to a smaller tent that housed two tables placed at right angles to each other. A white cloth was draped over the two and a woman was busy decorating them with maroon cloths that hung over the edge of the tables. The woman was a caterer ergo that was where the food would be served roughly two hours from now.
And speaking of food, my dead grandfather had died of food poisoning. It was fairly common for the elderly to mix up the ingredients of their food while cooking. So the police left it at that, blaming it on old age. But I suspected foul play. He was rich. Rich enough to have been murdered. The reading of the will was about a month from now. Which meant that I had time to snoop around.
People slowly traipsed toward the tents in an orderly fashion. It was a truly boring sight. The whole thing was boring.
Based on the little I knew about my grandfather's side of the family there was bad blood between most, if not all, of the attending family members. Something about an affair with someone’s wife and how soon after the two eloped to a different country altogether.
If that was true there should've been another death at the funeral. Instead, crocodile tears. were being shed and a united front was put forth by the family for the sake of the onlookers. It was quite sad really, seeing as an all-out war would have given me sufficient material for my next article.
Meanwhile, music blasted in my ears from the various speakers situated around the tents as we waited for the Padre to arrive and conduct mass. The deceased was a proper Catholic man so mass was standard procedure. The wait gave me time to look around for any signs of tension. I was looking for one woman, in particular, Damaris. Now therein lies a story so salacious. My so-called aunt. Mother to my two cousins. Widowed almost fifteen years ago after the death of my second father.
But to my dismay, she had skipped the funeral.
In any case, her absence only served to prolong her guilt. Her story would come out soon enough.
A little after the Padre arrived and mass began. Thus ended my documentation of the funeral.
The woman holding the mic passed it over to the neighbor of said family member. He said a few words I didn't bother listening to and proceeded to hand the mic to the mc who called a friend to the deceased. My attention was drawn to a smaller tent that housed two tables placed at right angles to each other. A white cloth was draped over the two and a woman was busy decorating them with maroon cloths that hung over the edge of the tables. The woman was a caterer ergo that was where the food would be served roughly two hours from now.
And speaking of food, my dead grandfather had died of food poisoning. It was fairly common for the elderly to mix up the ingredients of their food while cooking. So the police left it at that, blaming it on old age. But I suspected foul play. He was rich. Rich enough to have been murdered. The reading of the will was about a month from now. Which meant that I had time to snoop around.
People slowly traipsed toward the tents in an orderly fashion. It was a truly boring sight. The whole thing was boring.
Based on the little I knew about my grandfather's side of the family there was bad blood between most, if not all, of the attending family members. Something about an affair with someone’s wife and how soon after the two eloped to a different country altogether.
If that was true there should've been another death at the funeral. Instead, crocodile tears. were being shed and a united front was put forth by the family for the sake of the onlookers. It was quite sad really, seeing as an all-out war would have given me sufficient material for my next article.
Meanwhile, music blasted in my ears from the various speakers situated around the tents as we waited for the Padre to arrive and conduct mass. The deceased was a proper Catholic man so mass was standard procedure. The wait gave me time to look around for any signs of tension. I was looking for one woman, in particular, Damaris. Now therein lies a story so salacious. My so-called aunt. Mother to my two cousins. Widowed almost fifteen years ago after the death of my second father.
But to my dismay, she had skipped the funeral.
In any case, her absence only served to prolong her guilt. Her story would come out soon enough.
A little after the Padre arrived and mass began. Thus ended my documentation of the funeral.
