Baku

I almost feel like I am writing this in a whisper. The funeral rites for the dead Basia are still going on and a few days ago I participated in one of the more intense parts. For several days, many of the men (almost 50) have gone to the graveyard to dig the basia's grave (baku means hole in general and grave in this context). The ritual is long and complex and involves significantly more than just digging a hole in the ground. I ended up going across three days, including the day we actually buried the Basia and I could have gone at least half a dozen more times if I had so wished.

I say that I write this in a whisper because it is a secret. It is amazing to consider, but I would imagine less than a thousand white people have ever seen what I saw in this ritual. And that knowledge comes with a curse - tell about the rituals, particularly for profit or in a book or movie to be sold in America and you will die. When it was explained to me it was mostly just an explanation, but the element of threat and seriousness was there to a degree that disturbed me and almost made me angry or confused. After all, why would anyone want to spy on the dead rituals of the Saramaccans? I don't know, but I had to cleary state that I was not, would not, and respected there secrecy. Which I did, and I meant it. Curses aside, it's their secret to keep. So I can't write much about it.

What I can write is that I felt honored to be a part of the ceremony. Though at first I was given conflicting advice about whether I should and could go or not, the village elders plainly told me I was as welcome as any person of the village. One said it straight out in Saramaccan, "Yu wan kondre sembe nownow, naso?" You are a member of the community now, aren't you? That was a great feeling.