An old friend of mine died recently. For a long time he had expressed his desire to die on his country. He was in his seventies, perhaps his eighties. I couldn’t attend his funeral but a friend of mine was in the community and attended his first remote funeral.

He wrote:

“Hi Robbo, just came in from C’s funeral and it was magnificent.

I have attended many funerals and found this one just like the mob; dignified, respectful, honouring, powerful, reflexive, raw and unpretentious; hundreds of family and friends sitting on the ground, men and women crying, kids playing and yelling, little ones running around nikitty, dogs fighting.

While the aboriginal minister took the service amidst the crying a single wail of grief from C’s wife, like a chant, carried the ceremony the entire time. The funeral was at the school and was beautiful; green grass, shade, clean and flowers everywhere. After the service we jumped into cars and buses and went to the cemetery in the desert embrace; it is hard to describe how incredibly beautiful this desert country is, others may not appreciate it majesty, but it is awesome.

By late afternoon, the full moon is rising opposite the setting sun and the colours shimmer pinks and blues as the backdrop. The cemetery is more lively, 30 kids lying on the big mound of dirt staring into the coffin resting in this massive hole, dogs everywhere, other kids playing and yelling without any care while the adults share their loss. Everyone gathers and sits down while we said goodbye to this man and the crying and wailing continues.

It was a very different funeral and one I will always remember fondly. He came back to his country to keep his people and Tingari strong, and now I understand a little more.”

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Tagged as: aboriginal, funeral, Indigenous