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| Version 3 | Version 4 |
|---|---|
| Letter from Malawi: processional | Letter from Malawi: processional |
| (30 days later) | |
| It is wedding season in Malawi. The rainy season has finished, the air feels amazingly clean, the sky is a brilliant blue and gardens and parks are lush. Saturdays are characterised by incessant convoys of wedding cars passing through town, lights flashing and horns blaring. The line-up is always predictable: the lead vehicle carries the wedding photographer, facing backwards, video camera in hand, recording every second of the couple's big day. Next in line the wedding car, colourful ribbons and streamers tied to the bonnet and wing mirrors. The bride and groom waving happily to bemused passersby. Behind the bridal car an assortment of saloons, minibuses and pick-ups carrying the bridesmaids and guests. | It is wedding season in Malawi. The rainy season has finished, the air feels amazingly clean, the sky is a brilliant blue and gardens and parks are lush. Saturdays are characterised by incessant convoys of wedding cars passing through town, lights flashing and horns blaring. The line-up is always predictable: the lead vehicle carries the wedding photographer, facing backwards, video camera in hand, recording every second of the couple's big day. Next in line the wedding car, colourful ribbons and streamers tied to the bonnet and wing mirrors. The bride and groom waving happily to bemused passersby. Behind the bridal car an assortment of saloons, minibuses and pick-ups carrying the bridesmaids and guests. |
| But not every procession in town is a wedding. | But not every procession in town is a wedding. |
| Last Saturday, I went for an early morning jog. As I turned from our lane on to the main road a white pick-up was approaching, the open back bulging with ladies of the church, their voices loud and clear, singing the harmonies of a funeral hymn. They bounced and swayed as the pick-up negotiated potholes and speed humps. As they sped past on their way to the burial I spotted the coffin at their feet: good wood, metal handles and a wreath on top. | Last Saturday, I went for an early morning jog. As I turned from our lane on to the main road a white pick-up was approaching, the open back bulging with ladies of the church, their voices loud and clear, singing the harmonies of a funeral hymn. They bounced and swayed as the pick-up negotiated potholes and speed humps. As they sped past on their way to the burial I spotted the coffin at their feet: good wood, metal handles and a wreath on top. |
| At the next junction, another pick-up, another funeral. This time no singing but tense silence from men with serious faces. The coffin was simple: no handles, no wreath. | At the next junction, another pick-up, another funeral. This time no singing but tense silence from men with serious faces. The coffin was simple: no handles, no wreath. |
| Three kilometres farther, I ran past the College of Medicine. A funeral was gathering by the gates. The anatomy department is also the only embalmers in the country. For the middle classes, the technicians do a wonderful job of restoring the departed to a state of peaceful repose. Friends and relatives were waiting at the gates for the body to be driven out. | Three kilometres farther, I ran past the College of Medicine. A funeral was gathering by the gates. The anatomy department is also the only embalmers in the country. For the middle classes, the technicians do a wonderful job of restoring the departed to a state of peaceful repose. Friends and relatives were waiting at the gates for the body to be driven out. |
| I almost didn't notice the fourth funeral. A shabby flat-back truck was parked in a lay-by, the driver frantically talking into his mobile phone. Was he lost? Two men sat on the back, their heads bowed, elbows resting on knees. It wasn't until I ran past that I noticed the body, wrapped in only a sheet, lying between them. | I almost didn't notice the fourth funeral. A shabby flat-back truck was parked in a lay-by, the driver frantically talking into his mobile phone. Was he lost? Two men sat on the back, their heads bowed, elbows resting on knees. It wasn't until I ran past that I noticed the body, wrapped in only a sheet, lying between them. |
| It was only as I headed back into town that I heard the familiar incessant hooting of approaching car horns. I looked at my watch. It was 8am and the first wedding of the day. | It was only as I headed back into town that I heard the familiar incessant hooting of approaching car horns. I looked at my watch. It was 8am and the first wedding of the day. |
| Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a Letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions – they should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk | Every week Guardian Weekly publishes a Letter from one of its readers from around the world. We welcome submissions – they should focus on giving our readers a clear sense of a place and its people. Send them to weekly.letter.from@guardian.co.uk |
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