When I read that the Anambra State House of Assembly passed a bill to curtail funeral expenses, it brought a smile to my face. It was partly a smile of approval and partly that of skepticism. Oh, yes, one smile can represent both.
The story also brought to mind the creation of the Ministry of Happiness in Imo State. The Anambra ministry is about death and the Imo bill is about life, the polar realities of our existence. What both have in common is that they represent government efforts to prod people to focus on the things that truly matter. Sure, the efforts may seem futile, but at least they provide a social compass.
Royalty in death
The extravagance of burial rites has been a matter of personal vexation for quite some time. I have lamented it in writings, among associates and in family circles when we have had to bury our dead. It doesn’t seem to have mattered. The extravagance is something that many clerics and social critics have regularly bemoaned as well. It is not that we disdain traditions. It is just that the extravagance of funerals is so wasteful that it could well be deemed immoral.
The exceptions, within reason, are the funerals of the wealthy and traditional/political leaders. They lived large and have to be buried accordingly, again within reason. But the reality of funerals is that everybody becomes royalty when they die.
One could make the philosophical case that there is equality in death. But the more plausible argument is that squandering money on people who barely had enough to eat while they lived is hypocritical to the point of immorality. Some of those people died untimely deaths precisely because they couldn’t afford to feed properly and get medical care.
And then there is the plight of those they left behind. It is common practice to squander money on the dead and let their survivors face a grim fate.
Several years ago, I paid a condolence visit to a recently bereaved young woman, the younger sister to a childhood friend. I had just buried my father, and therefore, was in no position to offer her much financial assistance. “I am offering you this token gift,” I said to her, “because I know that you have been forgotten in all the fanfare of burying your husband.”
I will never forget how her hitherto forlorn face became animated. “Yes-o, yes-o,” she said in agreement, as she thanked me effusively – far beyond the worth of what I gave her. It was evident that her dejection wasn’t just over the loss of her husband, who had been gravely ill for quite some time. It was also in contemplation of what the future held.
In August last year, I spearheaded fundraising by the alumni of my secondary school to raise money for the funeral of our just deceased former principal. It was a successful effort. Yet I would have been chagrined had I not done something similar to honor him while he was alive.
Two years earlier happened to be the 50th anniversary of the secondary school. As I told fellow alumni then, we were running out of time to collectively express our appreciation to the man who acted more like a father than a principal when we were his students. He was in his 90s, so if we didn’t act quickly, our appreciation would be expressed only at his funeral. And that would distress me.
I expected an immediate and enthusiastic response to my solicitation, but to my surprise, there were few givers. It wasn’t that the alumni were uninterested. It just wasn’t a priority. There was certainly no sense of urgency. In the end, just a few contributed. So, it took much effort and a favourable exchange rate to meet our target.
I wasn’t there to see the former principal’s reaction when he got the cheque, but I didn’t need to be. An ebullient man all his life, he was always appreciative of even the most ordinary courtesy. Just a visit would elicit so much thanks from him that one would think he was just allotted an oil field.
So, when on receiving the cheque, he reportedly exclaimed, “Chei, chei, these my children!” I could fill in everything else. It was a gratifying moment that must have added a minute or two to his already long life.
It was that thought that made raising money for his funeral not so philosophically conflictual for me. Incidentally, the anniversary gift was about the same amount as the funeral contribution. Yet, it was so much easier to raise the latter.
Indeed, nothing better exemplifies our misplaced values than the priority we place on people’s funerals over their lives. It is a common practice to postpone a funeral until a new house is built because the place the deceased lived in for years is deemed too decrepit for his or her funeral.
I know a pending funeral that has been put off for about four months as the family raises money for it. The projected expenses have swelled because of communal demands. A women’s group, a church group, etc., etc., are all asking for money for attire and other expenses they are required to participate in. So, the children of the bereaved are exploring selling a plot of land to raise the money. Because of a similar situation in that community, I was told, a corpse was once left in the mortuary for about four years.
The Anambra remedy
These are the cultural absurdities that the Anambra State Assembly has legislated against. Among other things, the legislation would forbid multiple-day funerals, keeping the dead for more than two months, blocking city streets for funerals, and firing guns. The law would also protect families from expensive communal demands.
These restrictions might not slay the funeral-expense monster, but they will surely tame it. A government can only go so far without encroaching unduly on the very person. For example, there is little it can do to keep families from using gold-plated caskets or even burying their dead with grossly expensive jewelry and attire. What is important still is the direction to which the legislation nudges our cultural values.
The less we spend on the dead the more we can spend on the living. And that might lessen the need for a Ministry of Happiness.
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