wedding and funeral

On Monday, we spent our Preparation Day doing a variety of errands.  I got a haircut, we bought batik material to have a matching skirt and tie made for our anniversary party, we went shopping for supplies for the party.

On Tuesday, we were surprised when our driver showed up with his face covered by a cloth mask.  It turned out that he had suffered an accident on his motorcycle the Sunday before.  All week we fussed over him, young missionaries gave him a blessing of healing on Tuesday, and by the end of the week he could eat solid food again.

On Friday, we attended a wedding, with relatives of our driver, people of the Batak tribe.  They
served pork and watermelon in the main hall, but it turned out that their Muslim friends upstairs were served halal chicken box lunches.  They were also doing karaoke upstairs and people were very disappointed that we didn't sing, but we sing so very badly, we didn't want to inflict that on them.

Downstairs they also had live Batak music, which I enjoy.  They use a wooden flute and drums, and the sound seems to have a similar flavor to the music of the Ecuadoran Raices group that we picked up in New York City.  Amazing how musicians on opposite sides of the globe can share some commonality.

I have gotten to the point where I always love attending weddings because I know what to do:  I can smile the entire time, move to the music, and try to eat whatever is in front of me.  We have figured out about dropping off an envelope with a contribution.  This time we noted a lovely tradition.  A lot of the women brought a colorful woven bag, and they each dumped the contents into two larger bags at the front.  I did not see the contents but assumed it was beras,* uncooked rice.  Much more practical for a young couple than throwing food around.

Throughout the week, we made various visits to people, including a stop by the hospital where a sister's mother was quite ill.  She had died by the end of the week, and we were invited to the funeral.  It was a joy to view the body, and see how peaceful her face was after months of suffering.  The lady who died was not a member of our church, but we were there to support the daughter.

Their family reflects the diversity in Medan.  The lady who died was from India, but she had married an Indonesian.  At the funeral, some wore the Batak ulos, the traditional sash that is a sign of respect.  Others wore a bindi, the Hindu dot on the forehead

About a dozen of us church members came at the beginning, sang a hymn and Elder Porter said a prayer.  There were about 60 plastic chairs provided and an awning put up for the formal funeral service.

Some of us had to leave at that point, but Elder Porter and I and the young sister missionaries continued to the cemetery.  The family had arranged several angkot, the local mini-busses, to transport the funeral party.

This was a cemetery that we had visited before (a reflection on the nature of our work) and we were grateful that it was dry this time.  Our previous visit found several inches of water between the graves and walking was treacherous.  Of course, graveyards also have a lot of mosquitos due to the vases with standing water, but we used repellent.

On the way back to their home, we missed the last angkot and ended up in the hearse, sitting in the space opened up by leaving the casket behind.  This is one of the lady's grandchildren.  The hearse, which also doubles as an ambulance, ran all the way back into the city with its siren going so we arrived before some people who had left the cemetery before us.

When we returned to their home, there was another prayer service, and then they served dinner.  We had arrived at 2 p.m. and left at 6:30.  However, for some reason we had trouble getting a car home.  Not sure if it was a bad internet connection or what.  It took us three tries.

For the next few weeks we are teaching two groups of children.  A sister who accepted work in Hong Kong has three kids in this after-school program.  They are a very bright group and the teachers who work with them are very devoted.

We are also teaching in the neighborhood where the young sister missionaries live, to a group of girls.

We got our general election ballots sent in last week.

We were amused that this candidate actually took the effort to send a campaign postcard to us at our expat address, at a cost of USD 1.15.

Don't forget to vote on Tuesday!


*like the adage that Eskimo have so many different words for snow, the Indonesians have several different words for rice: padi in the field, beras in a sack at the store, nasi after it is cooked.