• Planning for death should be seen as preparing for the inevitable, not taboo
Image: JOHN CHESOLI
The late Hasmukh Patel, known to many of Mombasa residents simply as ‘Mombasa Cement’, was perhaps the biggest philanthropist the city has ever known.
He impacted the people of Mombasa in the simple ways that mattered. Paying for hospital fees, tuition for the underprivileged and feeding the poor every single day. At one point, during the hot blazing days of the heatwave, the man decided to place a clean water tanker after the Nyali bridge for the people to get cool clean water to drink after their long treks in the blazing sun.
I mean, the man did a lot for the people of Mombasa, and he will be forever remembered by the thousands of people whose lives he changed directly or indirectly. Seeing that his funeral was a city-wide event was not surprising in the least. What was surprising was the procession itself.
As you know, the city of Mombasa is a majority Muslim town that has embedded most religious values into its culture. However, we have lived side by side with many religions and peoples of all walks of life for thousands of years. I have attended many functions for practically all religions, including that of Hindus. I have even entered most temples in Mombasa during the course of my life. However, I have not seen the body of a deceased person paraded around town in a chair.
Different cultures have different ways of honouring the dead. In Korea, they wait three days for the soul to possibly return to the dead. In China, they cremate the dead in front of his loved ones and ask members of the family to choose which part of the body (in ashes) they will take with them. As I have come to understand, a funeral procession like that of Patel is a common thing in India. However, I did wonder at some point how much of the funeral arrangement was the wish of the deceased.
This event reminded me of a topic of conversation I had to have with my husband recently: “What will happen when we die?”
My husband and I live on a continent with no family and relatives and very few friends. The rest of our families are scattered around the world. As we had our Will and Testament discussion, I told him we needed to have a talk that was difficult and crass but needed to be discussed nonetheless. We needed to tell each other what should happen to us when we die.
Mine was simple. In accordance with my religious beliefs, I would be buried here as soon as possible by 99 per cent strangers. If that is what God has willed for me, then it is what it is. My people will mourn me at home but they will not bury me because I cannot fathom the thought of moving my soulless corpse from one place to the next.
In the same spirit, I told him how his death would crush me and probably render me immobile for days. Within that context, he needed to understand that I would not be in the right frame of mind to call his family to ask them what to do or plan to send his body home. A country he hasn’t stepped into for 12 years and possibly one of the most corrupt central African countries. I can just imagine how much the airport authorities would extort from grieving family members or leave the body to rot on the tarmac.
It was a hard discussion to have but it was necessary. We need to talk about death and plan for death not because we are pessimists and crude. Everyone hopes and wishes to live a long, healthy and happy life. But even after that, death is inevitable. We plan for death so we can make the lives of those we leave behind a little easier. Whether it is what to do with your body or the estate you leave behind, planning for death shouldn’t be seen as taboo. Rather, a way of preparing for the inevitable.