Wake

Yesterday I had the chance to attend a wake in Cushunga, a rural community that lies in the mountains a two-hour walk from Cajamarca. A member of the community, the grandfather of one of my students, had passed away the night before, and according to custom we teachers were expected to take the pupils to the wake.

At first, some of the secondary school boys voiced their objection and suggested that going straight home would be a better option. However, when Profesora Cristina threatened that anyone who skipped the wake would fail Religion, the youngsters shut their mouth and tagged along. The preschool and primary school pupils joined our caravan and we walked to the house of the deceased Don Titorio in line, bearing garlands of flowers that the children had laced up.

We were warmly welcomed and showed into an empty room where the simple, wooden coffin stood on a table, encircled with burning candles. The coffin had a small opening so that the face of the deceased was visible. Several neighbours and family members were seated in silence on the dirt floor, bundled up in woollen blankets, keeping the deceased company. The room filled to capacity when the sixty preschool, primary school and secondary school students jammed in. We prayed one mystery of the rosary and Profesora Lucha said a prayer for the soul of the late Don Titorio. Then we sang two hymns which everyone besides me seemed to know by heart.

After a short moment of silence, we were invited to take a seat in the courtyard. We were all served mote, peeled and cooked corn. Huge pots steamed on the courtyard, and the women of the household were busy cutting and frying chunks of sheep. The family had butchered two of their sheep for the occasion; food had to be abundant at the wake.

Don Titorio lived to the venerable age of 85, so his death did not come by surprise. No one really understood my question when I inquired for the cause of his death. Old age, of course! The funeral was this afternoon, and before that the entire community was expected to show up at the wake to say goodbye to Don Titorio and accompany him on his journey from this world to the next.

I am beginning to realize that the work of us teachers in the community is comprehensive; maintaining good relations to the villagers is equally important as teaching irregular verbs. Even I am considered to some extent part of the community, even though I live in Cajamarca and only visit Cushunga once a week. I find it beautiful that the community members face moments of sorrow together.