Funeral

Late Tuesday afternoon the nurses of the health education unit asked me if I would help them with a project. That is my primary assignment so, of course, I quickly agreed. Wednesday was National Mammography Day. That morning they had received materials from Tirana; posters, flyers, pamphlets, pink ribbons with safety pins, t-shirts and a large banner. They wanted to organize a march downtown to promote mammography and breast cancer awareness. I’m a mammal, men can get breast cancer, too, (although I have heard it said that the screening machine would be less vise like if men had to endure it), and this is what most Peace Corps health education volunteers are supposed to do. I may be old, but I was on it.

It might seem like this was late notice, but in Albania things usually get planned at the last minute. In the early evening I walked over to the house where the Preca Society lives and asked the head of the school if some of the students could be excused from class for about an hour to join in. I also phoned the health education Peace Corps volunteer in Bilisht to see if she would help. She comes to the Preka School to teach exercise and supervise community activity service that is part of the curriculum. She said it was right up her alley and she would be happy to help.

I walked to Dr. Isufi’s clinic where I work on Wednesday mornings and figured I would leave a bit early to attend the midday rally. When I got there the metal garage door was pulled down over the entrance. At the home adjacent there was the top of a casket by the door and a hand written sign with Dr. Isufi’s father, Hasan’s name on it. I had known that he was mortally ill and he had died during the night. I walked back to my apartment, put on a better shirt, a tie and a dark pair of pants. Then I returned to the Isufi home to pay a condolence call.

I went into the sitting room where the men were seated. I shook hands around, told Dr. Isufi how sad I was to learn about his father’s death and sat down next to the man I had met in the village we had walked to when we went on the lake excursion. Women were seated in a different room, but, after a while, Mrs. Isufi came in to greet the men. I stayed about half an hour, then left to make room for others waiting in the hall and yard to pay their respects. Dr. Isufi asked if I would come back at noon.

I walked over to the post office to pay my electric bill. The line was 10 deep with people out to the street. After a few minutes the lady at the window got up to take a break, so I gave up for the third time in two days and walked up the street to the cathedral steps where the march was to assemble. It was 10 minutes before the scheduled time and no one was there.

I walked inside to visit with the older man who supervises candle sales in the lobby of the cathedral. I had been introduced to him by a previous volunteer, and, even though we can’t converse very much, he has a very pleasant demeanor. I bought a couple of candles and lit one for Dr. Isufi’s father and one for a couple of friends back home who are fighting serious illness. When I walked back outside into the sunlight, the Preka students were walking up, right on schedule, but still no nurses.

Not to worry, counseled the volunteer from Bilisht. She had done something with an NGO a few weeks prior and they were an hour late for the event. Sure enough, a few minutes late, but pretty prompt in Albanian terms, the nurses walked up and passed out ribbons, t-shirts and flyers. Some pictures were taken, a couple of the nurses bravely strode out into the traffic and the march was off.

We walked about ½ a mile to where the banner was stretched between lamp posts by the old national bank building. Flyers were passed to women we encountered as we walked. At the front of the bank, more pictures were taken, a camera man from Korca TV showed up, and the event was complete. The students walked back to school and I headed back to the Isufi home.

More than 200 people were gathered in the street outside. There were three buses and several cars. I was hailed by Maca and Kristof, from the ski hill project, and I rode with them in Maca’s car as we followed the hearse to the cemetery. The large, crowded Korca cemetery is just south of the city. We walked to the center where a new grave had been dug. The cleric, a baba, said a few words and threw in a handful of dirt. Other men and women did likewise, then the grave diggers filled in the hole, and, led by the family and baba, we all walked over to a large restaurant near the graveyard.

Apparently nothing significant takes place in Albania without eating. Everyone attending was served a 4 course, sit down meal. Typically, it was much more than anyone could possibly eat. Although there were bottles of raki on every table and bottled water and soft drinks, there was no beer served. I am not sure why this was. Maybe beer is considered inappropriate for funerals. Dr. Isufi’s family is Muslim, but they are Bektashi. This is a liberal sect of Islam, based in Albania. They allow alcohol and have no dietary restrictions, and, in the same vein, put no limitations on women. I am not sure if they are the U-U equivalent in the Islamic world, but they are at least the UCC.

After the meal, the baba said a few more words, stood up and shook hands with the family. Then we all formed a line and shook hands and exchanged a few words in turn. Dr. Isufi said I should come to clinic in the morning. Walking home, past the row of stands that line the road approaching the cemetery, where they sell bouquets of artificial flowers that are preferred for memorials here, through the neighborhood of 5 story, communist-block apartments, I relished the warm, autumn afternoon sun after two weeks of cold and rain.