A last family gathering

Sadly, a friend here lost his father this week to cancer. He was too young and his loss was especially hard on a family that already suffered the lost of a son during the Dark Years of terrorism. Five of us co-workers drove out to Blida, about 40 miles from Algiers, to pay respects.

Blida is further from the sea than Algiers, separated by mountains from its cooling influence. The place is bleached and dusty white hot; you can smell the sickly rot of dumpsters blocks away. Our friend has always said about his hometown, "Blida is hell" and we agreed.

Tables were set outside the family's apartment building with bottles of cold water and tea. We hugged our friend, murmured condolences and the men retired to those tables to talk and sweat.

The women went upstairs where it was cooler, but more crowded. Here, rooms has been cleared out so that on the floor around the walls of the living and dining rooms women in robes and veils sat cross-legged or with their legs straight out. They'd removed their shoes outside the door where they were piled in a heap. In the living room a rug had been put down on the tile floor and a cushion on top of that for the body, which was displayed covered in an emerald green cloth with Arabic writing. On the stereo a deep voice chanted the Koran.

The widow sat near the body in a yellow and white robe and veil while neighbors and relatives in sombre colors hugged her, talked a little but mostly and sat with her and the body. Her granddaughters walked through the room and around the body, stumbling through the shoe pile, climbing into her lap every once in a while, keeping uncharacteristically silent.


The daughters and daughter-in-law greeted visitors in aprons and offered couscous, traditional funeral fare that is offered to anyone who comes for three days and three nights after a death. But it was too hot to eat. Visitors do not bring flowers, which are strictly for happy occasions in Algeria, but close friends might bring coffee or sugar.

This all struck me as lovely and sad but not scary, the way we have made death with funeral parlors and embalming and wreaths. I remembered that our friend who's sat vigil on his father for some time always answered our polite and impotent inquiries with: "What can we do. This is life."

Male relatives and friends carry the body away for burial within 24 hours of death, a custom that is logical considering the intense heat.

But Muslim views on death are healthy as well as full of faith. They believe that God gives life and so can take it away at any time he decides. That is unquestioned, yet that doesn't mean you cannot be sad. When the Prophet's son died, his followers found his crying and were surprised. Of course, he told them, I cry and my heart is heavy, I'm human. Then he made rules to guard against paralyzing grief. Mourning should have an end, he taught. Widows, for example, may not remarry for a period after a husband dies, but that period is not even half a year long.

I like one other of the Prophet's teachings about death. There are three things, he taught , and only three that may continue to benefit a person after death. They are not money or status. They are

*charity given during life which continues to help others
*knowledge from which people continue to benefit
*and a righteous child who prays for him or her

Words to live by.