Death: A Necessary End

As a student in America on an F-1 Visa, I was required by law to purchase health insurance. Part of that was to cover the cost of transporting my remains back to Ghana should I die before completing my studies. That was the first time I started contemplating death and its earthy aftermath, and at that time, it seemed clear cut—I would be sent home where loved ones could stage a fond farewell ceremony, lay me down to rest, and visit me on the anniversary of my death, and on other special occasions.

My decision was reinforced by a tragic event that occurred in 2004. One of the Ghanaians who had made me feel welcome during my early days in America stunned the community by committing suicide. What followed scarred me forever—the seeming callousness with which his American family conducted the funeral rites, and the impression that time would wipe away any memories of his life (which seemed to me to be the greatest tragedy of all). I could not help but think of how things would have been different in Ghana; the gathering of the external family and the weeks of planning before the funeral rites, the announcement in the prominent newspapers etc. Then, a year later, the one-year ceremony where the tombstone would be unveiled. For some families, every year there would be an announcement in a newspaper commemorating the anniversary of the death; with major years (e.g., 10 years, 20 years, and so on) having several inches of print, and sometimes accompanying photographs. "Gosh!" I thought, "Americans did not know how to honor the dead. We Ghanaians knew how to pay homage to our departed ones."

As the years rolled by, I realized that the aftermath of dying in America, 5,000 miles from home, is not as clear cut as I had anticipated. If I cared enough about what happened to my remains, I would have to leave clear instructions about how I wanted the situation to be handled, otherwise my family would be left with the decision-making, and there are so many decisions to be made. Would I be buried or cremated? Laid to rest in America or sent home to Ghana? If I were cremated, would my ashes be scattered in the U.S., or sent home and buried in Ghana? If I were buried in the U.S., would I want parts of me (e.g., hair and nails) to be buried in Ghana? And, how much do I really care about what happens after I am gone?

I have dealt with death over the years; both acquaintances and loved ones, and I have come to realize that these decisions are not as simple as I had once thought. The cost of transporting a deceased from the U.S. to Ghana can be over $10,000, not including the funeral rites that would have to take place once the deceased arrived home. Is it worth burdening the living with those expenses? Secondly, over the years, there have been horror stories about cemeteries in Ghana. I have heard about the desecration by grave robbers. Lately, I learned that the required grave dimension is now smaller than in the past, and graves of people buried decades ago, are now being shared with new arrivals. These changes are done without notification to the relatives of the deceased, who eventually visit the site to find that the headstone of their loved ones have disappeared without a trace.

I have also learned that even though the initial aim of Ghanaian funerals was to honor the dead, they have now become more of a social event and an opportunity to make money and display wealth. It is fashionable to spend tens of thousands of dollars on the dead rather than the living, and to some, funerals are more of a return on investment; where efforts are made to pull in huge crowds in the hope of getting more donations in cash and kind. The paradox is that some of the same family and friends would have been less willing to spend that amount of money if the deceased had been in dire straits in the final months of his or her life, but the excuses they would have used, now fly out of the window once the person dies.

On the other hand, despite the lack of pomp and circumstance of American funerals, the resting place of the deceased seems to be treated with more respect, and have greater longevity than in Ghana. How can it be that a culture that prides itself on honoring the departed can sometimes be so callous after the pageantry of the burial rites are over?

What a masquerade!

Kezia Dzifa Awadzi