MORGAN Mahachi’s wife passed away around 04:00 hours at their home. She had been in and out of hospital and had, in the latter parts of her life, been consigned to the so-called home-based care. It hadn’t been an easy task for Mahachi and a select few close relatives who abandoned much else to try and ensure that even if Lona Mahachi was slowly but surely dying, she did not in any way feel neglected, abandoned.
The first sparks started flying shortly after his younger brother Deogracious started sending messages to relatives.  He mentioned stuff like there would be need for a van in which to transport the body to the University Teaching Hospital (UTH) mortuary.
“Why?” screamed Mahachi within ear reach of everybody, including his mother-in-law, the mother of Lona. “Who says we are taking Lona to the mortuary?”
Taken aback, but believing his brother was momentarily confused about the loss of his wife and might not even be aware of what he was saying, Deogracious explained that all people who died in their homes should by requirement of principle and common practice be taken through a police station for the record, that they had died in a home and not in a hospital, and thereafter be also taken to a hospital with a mortuary to be entered as brought-in-dead (BID) and kept there till burial day.
“So fine, once you have done all that, what do you achieve?” asked Mahachi.  “When it becomes so chilly in the mortuary fridge, will Lona arise? Will she resurrect like Jesus Christ?”
The younger brother explained that taking dead people to the mortuary had nothing to do with hopes that they would resurrect but that their bodies should be preserved till the day of burial. If they were not kept in the fridges, they would start to rot and smell bad during burial.
“This woman has died at 04:00 hours,” reasoned the husband. “I, the husband, am here. Her mother, who looked after her all these terrible months of long illness, is also right here. Several other people that cared to help over her illness are all here.
There are also several unconcerned, uncaring buffoons of relatives who if YOU want, you can  notify. For the sake of it! But they are NOT necessary. The most crucial persons for the burial to take place are ALL here.” “Uh-uh what are you suggesting mulamu?” inquired a worried and confused brother-in-law, Pondanani, a younger brother of the deceased.
“I have enough money to buy some timber, knock some pieces together into a coffin and by 15:00 hours, we should inter this body without the fuss of BID tickets, bookings at the mortuary and the like!  We’ve had a torrid long time looking after Lona now life must go on. We must quickly move on.”
There was a sudden uproar of disapproval. None of those present thought it was a good idea to rush the burial of Mahachi’s wife. Some argued that that kind of thing was done for still-born babies and in a few instances, little babies that were just months old. It was absolutely critical to follow normal practice and allow those from other towns to arrive and be part of the funeral.
“I say NO to that!” bellowed Mahachi.  “If anyone needed to travel long distances over my wife Lona, it was when she was lying in her bed motionless, when she had to be turned over physically when she needed to turn, when she soiled her beddings and needed her diapers changed…”
“Aaaah, uh-uh…aweh!” came several voices in disagreement with and protest at Mahachi’s strange logic and the ‘undignified’ detail.
Obviously, many did not think the sad fact that Lona had reached the stage where she answered the call of nature on her bed should be discussed publicly, especially now that she was dead. Dead people, it was believed in these parts, became saints and faultless once they had died. You were not allowed to identify a dead thief as a thief.
They were always good people after they had died. But Mahachi was in combative mood. He insisted the people that truly cared about his wife had been around all the time when she needed them, when she could see them, feel their compassion and take solace in the knowledge that some people cared. The rest were impostors, fakes and masquerades who should never be the cause for wastage of time waiting for them to come and attend her funeral.
“Do you know how expensive it is to look after a terminally ill person at home?” he queried. “And you now want me to waste even more money hosting hundreds and thousands of characters who will hang around my home cracking jokes and waiting for free beer, nshima and meat while awaiting nothing but the third day that you will have chosen to bury Lona?  I am having none of that! I am burying MY wife today, by 15 or 16:00 hours, she will be in the grave!”
Tempers were flaring fast and furious!  Groups suddenly emerged with those related to Lona congregating on one side of the house and agreeing among themselves that what was being proposed by their in-law, Morgan Mahachi was inconceivable, unthinkable to say the least, and that they would never succumb to it.
“Besides,” argued NyaMuzenga, one of Lona’s aunties, “you will not be able to get a burial permit without the police endorsing the BID certificate. The doctors must also certify it. No one will allocate a grave without those documents.”
“Thieves!” shouted Mahachi. “Bandits always looking for loopholes where to stash illegal money from! I am going straight to the grave and if it means boxing my way in, I will do so. All these procedures are redundant, irrelevant!”
Deogracious was embarrassed and confused. His brother was talking absolute balderdash and either they should let him rant his shock of losing a wife away or someone needed to get tough with him and pump sense into him.
The best was perhaps to take him aside, away from the rest so that he did not agitate people who were as devastated by the loss of a loved one as Mahachi himself. All that Mahachi was saying was utterly disrespectful not just of the deceased person but relatives to whom she also meant so much. Deogracious dragged his brother away from the rest and politely requested him to calm down and avoid talking because the way forward could not be unilaterally determined by one side minutes after a person had died.
“Let people be informed. Let them come.  Let the two families determine together how we proceed. You can’t decide on your own, brother, even if she was your wife.”
“You obviously don’t understand the extent of my frustration with this whole rot in our society,” responded Mahachi. “You think I am reacting to my wife’s death. I have always wanted to tell this rotten Zambian society that they are all fools and irrelevancies where funerals are concerned. Look Deogracious, just stay out of this. I am burying Lona TODAY.”
He again reminded him of the procedures and how he would be fighting a lone losing battle if he persisted with trying to outfox or impose his views on the authorities.
“If everyone will resist me and deny me a grave simply because I refused to parade my late wife’s body before foolish, lazy and unconcerned policemen, and later on freeze her in a deep freezer at UTH, then I will burn the corpse and keep the ashes under my bed!”
Even though he had been dragged aside and people had been whispering different views in their small groups, their ears were essentially all glued to the argument between Mahachi and his sibling.
“I know that they do cremate bodies at Ambassador St Ann’s! I will be there in no time and burn her!”
His mother-in-law literally flew from where she was crouched in the verandah of the house listening uncomfortably to this whole lengthy and strange debate.  She could no longer hold her impatience, if not plain anger at the weird suggestions of his son-in-law, who throughout her daughter’s illness had conducted himself in a most dignified and reliable manner. He had shown so much love and commitment even in illness to his dying wife.
He had showered love and attention even to those who were providing home care to Lona. But this? No ways!
“Whose daughter are you going to burn?” she screamed furiously.
“Whose daughter are you going to set alight and keep ashes of? Are you running mad? If Lona came out through my loins and sucked these breasts, YOU, Mr Morgan Mahachi will never ever get to burn her. She is not your daughter.  Kill one of your sisters and go and burn her if you are looking for meat to roast.”
“Mum,” started Mahachi, “Lona may have come out of you, she indeed may have sucked your breasts, but at the time she died, she was closer to me than to anyone else. She slept in that bed where she died EVERY night with ME, not with YOU or YOUR husband. We shared the sweetest moments of love, ME and HER, not any of you. We shared every problem.
And it was 23 nonstop years of Lona and me. No one will come, because she is now dead, and pretend they were more in love with or closer to Lona than ME. Mum, I am in charge of this funeral!”
There was pandemonium as the woman lost her calm and charged at her son-in-law.  A few other women all felt offended and went for him. It wasn’t even clear whether they wanted to pluck his eyes out or having received a sucker punch of truth and wisdom, had resorted to undefinable violence. There was a sudden free-for-all push and pull hullabaloo, the picture not clear as to how many were trying to stop the violence and how many wanted to participate in unplucking some body parts from Morgan Mahachi!
He was shoving bodies off with such ease it appeared like he was now assaulting his in-laws!
“Pleeeeeease…” cried Deogracious, desperately trying to hold back Mahachiand prevent him from pushing his in-laws one by one to the ground. “Stop this ba Morgan! Bamayo napapata…!  Please…!”
(To be continued)