Death in Nicaragua

In memory of Oscar Roberto, may he rest in peace

In January after I returned from my holiday vacation, our neighbor died.  John was away so I participated in all the Nicaraguan death rituals without him and sent him a letter detailing the events. He suggested I post the letter on the blog, which I am finally doing.  I am including an orientation to the people I mention in the letter for clarity’s sake. 

Cast of Characters:

Don Oscar – our 66 years old neighbor

Tulita – Oscar’s wife

Juan José Viales – our neighbor and father of our landlord – we are part of his family here. He is in his mid 80s

Mercedes Viales – Juan José’s wife – in her late s 70s

Nubia – Daughter of Juan José and Mercedes.  Our “family” also

Michelle – 7 year old granddaughter of Nubia – lives in the same house

Litzel – another neighbor who lives between Tulita and us.  She has two daughters, Angel and Alanis who spend a lot of time with me.

Juan Carlos and Ruth – our landlords and good friends

Arturo – a sort of crazy guy who has been harassing me a bit in the street over the past weeks.  Yells “Gringa Gringa” and wants to kiss my hand and tell me I am beautiful

Carolina – Nubia’s daughter, Michelle’s mother and part of our “family”

Arling – Tulita’s 10 year old granddaughter whom she has been raising because she was born when her mother was 15.

Hugo and Yadira – a couple we are friends with who live around the corner; somehow related to the Viales family

Argentina – Litzel’s aunt – lives next door to us.

Written January 15, 2016

Late Wednesday night Don Oscar died in Managua. They brought his body back to Chinandega and as soon as the car pulled into the street at 1:30 AM, Don Juan José heard it and he and Doña Mercedes got out of bed and went down the street to sit with the family for several hours. 

Yesterday morning they were setting up the tents and chairs in the street and people started visiting throughout the day.  I checked with the Viales family and they planned to go later when the weather cooled down.  I went over around 5:30 with Juan José and Mercedes.  The big room was all cleared out with chairs around the edges.  In the far corner was the open coffin with flowers surrounding it extending halfway around the room.  Each arrangement had a big ribbon on it declaring who had sent it.  Don Oscar had a gauze cloth over his face and was holding a rosary.  There was no receiving line.  People came and went and sat in the chairs, either inside or outside, and visited.  The grandchildren were running all over the place.  There are three little grandsons ages 4-6 and one minute they would be running around with pretend guns in their hands and the next minute taking a few seconds to visit their grandfather.  The little girls were the same: playing and laughing and running around and then taking a random moment to check in with their abuelo.

Oscar and Tulita had 5 daughters, one of whom died of a congenital anomaly when she was 13. Three of the daughters were there with their kids and the fourth is in the States and did not come, but one of her sons was there.

We sat inside for a while but then decided to move outside where it was cooler.  Eventually Nubia and Michelle joined us.  I also saw Litzel and her family as well as Juan Carlos and Ruth.  They kept putting out more and more chairs in the street and at one point I stood up and looked at the crowd – about ½ the block was full of chairs and people. There must have been 200 people there. Some folks arrived with bags of food and there were trays of sodas, coffee and sandwiches being distributed throughout the evening.  The atmosphere was so comforting.  Everyone made an effort to find Tulita and her daughters and give them a hug and most people paid a visit to Don Oscar.  There was also lots of loving and hugging and general caring among all the visitors with each other.  We left at 9 o’clock but I know for a fact that the family stayed up all night to keep vigil.

You will never guess who showed up at the wake/visiting time: Arturo, the crazy guy who has been annoying me with “Gringa! Gringa!”  He was dirty and barefoot but somehow seemed to belong.  When they were passing out drinks and sandwiches, he grabbed a large plastic bag and took on the job of collecting all the trash from people when they were done.  I asked Nubia if he was a family member and she said is a neighborhood orphan and grew up in the neighborhood where everyone took care of him to some degree.  He has no home.  That humbling information caused a rapid readjustment of my feelings towards him.

The Mass was scheduled for 8:30 this morning and I made plans to go with the Viales family.  At 7:30 the drums and trombones of the typical procession were heard in the street.  I opened my door to see a leader with a cross and a bunch of neighborhood people following him on their way to get Oscar.  Soon after Carolina and I went down to the house with Juan José and Mercedes and watched while the coffin was loaded into the funeral wagon.  All the grandchildren carrying the flower arrangements lead the procession to the church. 

After the mass everyone flooded to the front of the church to hug and kiss the family members one more time.  As the family left the church, the nuclear family units hung closely together with mothers clutching their beloved children.  Little Arling left with tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to her weeping grandmother.  Carolina got a bit tearful in the church too and I wondered if she was feeling sad anticipating the deaths of her own grandparents.  I certainly was.

Once we were all outside, the slow almost 2 mile walk to the cemetery began.  At first the family units walked together with arms around each other but gradually the kids disappeared into air-conditioned vehicles that were following the procession.  Fair enough: it was really hot and that family had already been up for 2 straight nights.  Tulita walked the whole way to the cemetery and a lot of it arm in arm with her own mother who must be in her 80s.  There are some strong women in this country! Juan José and Mercedes did not go to the cemetery.  Carolina walked part of the way and then left to return to work.  I walked with Litzel and her girls and was happy to have my umbrella (for sun protection) and my bandana (to wipe off the sweat). The best part of the walk to the church was the mariachi band that accompanied us and played lovely mellow music the whole way. 

At the cemetery I joined Hugo and Yadira under a shady tree and noticed they had their bike helmets.  Clearly, they had not done the walk and had just arrived by motorcycle.  There was a lot of commotion around the gravesite and when I finally asked, Hugo and Yadira explained that the hole was not wide enough for the coffin so they had to dig wider to fit it in.  Apparently they had already lowered the coffin so I don’t know how they were managing that task and I decided not to look.  Eventually we got the word that they would not be prepared to close the vault until 2 this afternoon so people started leaving.  The family will stay until he is securely in the ground.  I felt bad for them: exhausted, hot, hungry, thirsty, and sad. 

I shared a cab back home with Litzel, her dad Juan and the girls.  On the way out of the cemetery we stop at the graves of Juan’s mother and grandfather.  His mother died when he was 7, two years before his grandfather died.  She died in childbirth and although the baby girl survived, her 19 year old sister knew nothing about caring for a newborn and she only lived 3 months.  The word is full of so many stories. 

While I was sitting last night with Nubia and Argentina, they both asked me if we honor death the same way in the states.  I told them that the visiting hours take place in a funeral home and that there are certain hours for visiting, not like in Nicaragua where it is in the home and people can come and go for 24 plus hours. I also told them that many people opt to be cremated and how families choose to honor their dead varies a lot from family to family.  Argentina told me that she heard there are African countries where the tradition is to bury the person without a coffin.  She found that quite alarming. 

Postscript written March 9, 2016

After I wrote this letter, there were 9 days of prayer meetings at Tulita’s house.  About 30 people came each evening and we sat together for an hour after which a small snack was served.  On the ninth day, a car with loudspeakers drove through the neighborhood several times announcing the final prayer meeting for Oscar.  Chairs were set up outside and well over 200 people were there to pay their final respects to the family.  When the service was done, meals and drinks were distributed to everyone and we all went into the house to hug Tulita and her daughters one more time.  Forty days after Oscar’s death, there was an evening mass for him at our local church. 

The family seems to be adjusting as well as can be expected.  Tulita will go to Florida next week for 10 days with one of her sisters and visit her daughter.  She is looking forward to that.