Greetz Sistah Truetothecause,
I’m not sure of the origin of this tradition of wearing black to funerals and for the mourning period but I would say it is a very Europeanized concept. It is an outward sign that someone close to you has died. I also know that anything the European does not fully understand is shrouded in ‘mystery’. Anything mysterious to the European’s mind equates to ‘darkness/blackness’. As to the present day tradition of wearing black to funerals, Queen Victoria and her reign were very influential in shaping peoples’ ideologies and culture. During Victoria’s reign at least 40 of those years were spent with her wearing black, mourning the loss of her husband. This ‘tradition’ seeped into the consciousness of the people (British Empire & all other colonialists), along with many others, i.e. the Xmas tree, which was introduced by Victoria’s husband Albert and now seems to be a worldwide phenomenon!
As an Afrikan in Britain (I truly cannot say Afrikan British without barfing!! – its sounds like and is, a mistake!! haha) the rituals around death is something (one of the last things) that binds and unites the community. I have grown up with the ritual of ‘nine nights’ and its pretty much accepted amongst my peer group and elders as something which we do. For nine days and nine nights at the home of the deceased (or relative) its open house for people to come and pay their respects to the family and the deceased. The ninth night being the culmination where an all night vigil, prayers, song, drums are dedicated to the deceased. On the day of the burial, the last ‘rite’ given to the deceased is the actual burial. Male members of the deceased family physically carry out this rite. (Grave diggers in UK love Afirkan funerals as they usually don’t have to do any work baring digging the initial hole, for it is Afrikans who do the last ‘covering’, and a collection is given to the gravediggers).
My mother passed 11 years ago. I had the privilege and honour of being there when my mother took her final breath and I say death can be a beautiful experience. There is absolutely no thing to fear. I wont go into the events and circumstances that surrounded my death, save to say, that if there was a moment of ‘spiritual awakening’ for me it was just before and during mama’s passing. I learnt from when mama was ‘travelling’ – a term I use to describe a place in between worlds … Mother was asking all of her children and their wives if anyone was pregnant. Nope, nobody pregnant and nobody planning to be either. Mama squeezed my hand, looked into my eyes and said, oh lawd, its small. She wept and said it will be alright. She spoke to all of her children at some point. Not knowing what to do with this information, one dismisses it and puts it down to the medication …. Little did we know …
EVERYTHING mama told her children has come to pass. Two days after my mother died, my eldest daughter came crying, black sack in hand, saying she is pregnant!! (this from a woman who always said no child of mine could be pregnant in my house and I don’t know!! Haha). I told my daughter she was lucky, ‘cos Nanny already told me . I only knew my daughter was pregnant for about six weeks before she went into premature labour. My first grandchild was born 11 weeks early. Mama’s words rang in my ears! And he is doing fine, big strapping beautiful boy, but imma biased
My father died nine years ago and we travelled to Grenada to bury him. The same nine night ritual process is practiced there. My aunts set up an alter to my father with everything he liked on it. Even his cigarettes and shot of rum. Two goats, chickens and a pig was killed ceremonially – only for the men, women excluded (wanted to go but aunts was cussing haha) my brothers came back quite bloodied. Saw the same practice in the men doing the final rite/covering at the funeral. Some people did wear black, but would say they were in minority, white clothes/headband was more dominant. There was to be a drumming ceremony later that day, heard people mention ‘Big drum’ coming. My aunts had organised this aspect of the day. And it was brilliant!
They came, they played they danced and they drummed. A large circle was formed and each of my fathers’ children took turns to dance. Truly those drums can lift you up and put you some place else for when it was my turn, the music took me so far away, I thought I danced with my father …..
I have no fear of death, for it is but a bus stop on our journey. Death only has an effect on those that are left behind ….
As far as the tradition of wearing ‘black’ to funerals goes, I would say it’s a tradition which you can either take or leave, but I would be mindful and respectful of the deceased’ and what they would have wanted. Hot red mini skirts and batty riders are not at all appropriate attire haha
On a metaphysical note, black absorbs, so one can equate death as going back to that basic state of matter. Maybe that’s why you very rarely see young babies dressed in black – from whatever culture…
Anyways, just some thoughts
Love & light
Peace
I’m not sure of the origin of this tradition of wearing black to funerals and for the mourning period but I would say it is a very Europeanized concept. It is an outward sign that someone close to you has died. I also know that anything the European does not fully understand is shrouded in ‘mystery’. Anything mysterious to the European’s mind equates to ‘darkness/blackness’. As to the present day tradition of wearing black to funerals, Queen Victoria and her reign were very influential in shaping peoples’ ideologies and culture. During Victoria’s reign at least 40 of those years were spent with her wearing black, mourning the loss of her husband. This ‘tradition’ seeped into the consciousness of the people (British Empire & all other colonialists), along with many others, i.e. the Xmas tree, which was introduced by Victoria’s husband Albert and now seems to be a worldwide phenomenon!
As an Afrikan in Britain (I truly cannot say Afrikan British without barfing!! – its sounds like and is, a mistake!! haha) the rituals around death is something (one of the last things) that binds and unites the community. I have grown up with the ritual of ‘nine nights’ and its pretty much accepted amongst my peer group and elders as something which we do. For nine days and nine nights at the home of the deceased (or relative) its open house for people to come and pay their respects to the family and the deceased. The ninth night being the culmination where an all night vigil, prayers, song, drums are dedicated to the deceased. On the day of the burial, the last ‘rite’ given to the deceased is the actual burial. Male members of the deceased family physically carry out this rite. (Grave diggers in UK love Afirkan funerals as they usually don’t have to do any work baring digging the initial hole, for it is Afrikans who do the last ‘covering’, and a collection is given to the gravediggers).
My mother passed 11 years ago. I had the privilege and honour of being there when my mother took her final breath and I say death can be a beautiful experience. There is absolutely no thing to fear. I wont go into the events and circumstances that surrounded my death, save to say, that if there was a moment of ‘spiritual awakening’ for me it was just before and during mama’s passing. I learnt from when mama was ‘travelling’ – a term I use to describe a place in between worlds … Mother was asking all of her children and their wives if anyone was pregnant. Nope, nobody pregnant and nobody planning to be either. Mama squeezed my hand, looked into my eyes and said, oh lawd, its small. She wept and said it will be alright. She spoke to all of her children at some point. Not knowing what to do with this information, one dismisses it and puts it down to the medication …. Little did we know …
EVERYTHING mama told her children has come to pass. Two days after my mother died, my eldest daughter came crying, black sack in hand, saying she is pregnant!! (this from a woman who always said no child of mine could be pregnant in my house and I don’t know!! Haha). I told my daughter she was lucky, ‘cos Nanny already told me . I only knew my daughter was pregnant for about six weeks before she went into premature labour. My first grandchild was born 11 weeks early. Mama’s words rang in my ears! And he is doing fine, big strapping beautiful boy, but imma biased
My father died nine years ago and we travelled to Grenada to bury him. The same nine night ritual process is practiced there. My aunts set up an alter to my father with everything he liked on it. Even his cigarettes and shot of rum. Two goats, chickens and a pig was killed ceremonially – only for the men, women excluded (wanted to go but aunts was cussing haha) my brothers came back quite bloodied. Saw the same practice in the men doing the final rite/covering at the funeral. Some people did wear black, but would say they were in minority, white clothes/headband was more dominant. There was to be a drumming ceremony later that day, heard people mention ‘Big drum’ coming. My aunts had organised this aspect of the day. And it was brilliant!
They came, they played they danced and they drummed. A large circle was formed and each of my fathers’ children took turns to dance. Truly those drums can lift you up and put you some place else for when it was my turn, the music took me so far away, I thought I danced with my father …..
I have no fear of death, for it is but a bus stop on our journey. Death only has an effect on those that are left behind ….
As far as the tradition of wearing ‘black’ to funerals goes, I would say it’s a tradition which you can either take or leave, but I would be mindful and respectful of the deceased’ and what they would have wanted. Hot red mini skirts and batty riders are not at all appropriate attire haha
On a metaphysical note, black absorbs, so one can equate death as going back to that basic state of matter. Maybe that’s why you very rarely see young babies dressed in black – from whatever culture…
Anyways, just some thoughts
Love & light
Peace