Cultures

Have you ever read the little blurb on yogurt containers about the "live and active cultures" inside? It's a little creepy to think that your spoonful of yogurt is alive. But the comforting part is that it doesn't act alive until you have consumed it, so you don't have to watch it dancing around and being all active in your spoon. I would go cross eyed with each bite. 

When I refer to a culture, it isn't typically the dancing yogurt ones that I mean. Biology aside, the anthropological use of culture refers to the "complex whole which includes knowledge, belief, art, morals, law, custom, and any other capabilities and habits acquired by man as a member of society." And that is straight from WikiPedia, so don't just take my word for it. We all live in certain cultures and subcultures based on our geographical location, the family we are part of, the line of work we pursue, et cetera, et cetera. Culture shock and new cultural experiences are part of the territory when we venture outside of our little culture bubbles and pop right through the soapy wall of a new bubble floating in the sea of humanity. Some of us are adventurous bubble hoppers who love the new experiences and the knowledge that come from spending time in new cultures and wonder just how different the next one will be? Some of us never leave the cozy comfort of our own bubbles and are completely happy that way. But either way, each bubble contains the life and activity that are unique to that specific culture. Like yogurt, the cultures are all live and active.

Yesterday, I was able to experience a part of the culture here in Botswana that was new to me. A friend of mine from church had two of his cousins pass away last week, and they have a tradition here that is somewhat of a memorial service to honor the deceased and to support the grieving family. Each evening between the person's death and his or her burial, friends and family members come to the house of the family and meet for a time of prayer and hymn singing. When my two church friends and I arrived, we were given the last three plastic chairs on the front row of the men's side. The women all sat on the ground to our right, and each one wore a head covering of some sort while the men all remained bare-headed. The male family members (father, brothers, uncles) sat in a row of chairs facing the gathering, and soon after our arrival the first song started. In between songs, the men at the front would stand up and speak or pray, and one man, who appeared to be a preacher rather than a family member, spoke from the Bible for a few minutes. All of the proceedings were in the Setswana language, so as the only white person present I simply hummed along with the songs and guessed at the gist of the words being spoken. After 20 or 30 minutes, the service ended and it appeared that a meal was going to be served, but we left before that happened and after shaking many hands on the way out. 

The entire tradition is one that fosters unity in the midst of grief and offers loving support to the deprived family. There were even tents pitched in the yard for those who had traveled a long distance to pay their respects. Clearly it was important for anyone close to the family to attend. And it was repeated every night for several days until the actual burial. 

The best thing about seeing and experiencing varying cultures is the chance to learn. Picking up on good traditions or habits from many different cultures can make you a better rounded person and can even change your perspective on life in some aspects. This Botswana funeral tradition emphasizes the importance of continual support and encouragement for those who have lost a loved one. We have our own ways of doing this in America, such as providing meals and buying flowers, but to see this method of coming together repetively put a new twist on it. And it is twists like that which keep our different cultures all alive and active.