Party with the Ancestors

Last week, I went to a famadihana or the “turning of the bones” ceremony that is widely practiced in Madagascar. Every year during the dry season, certain Malagasy families dig up their ancestors from the family tomb, wrap them in new fabric, and return the remains to their “eternal” resting place. Though the practice certainly varies from region to region, I experienced what seemed to be a particularly large ceremony. Led by my dancing neighbors and a traveling brass band, over 100 community members paraded through the streets of Ampefy and then up a mountain overlooking Lake Itasy to collect the remains of two individuals – the great-grandmother (buried in 1944) and great uncle (buried in 1980) of one of my neighbors. Upon arrival, the two graves had already been unearthed by family members who then removed the remains of their ancestors from the tomb, placed the mixture of decomposed bone and dirt into the fresh fabric, and tightly wrapped them to be moved to the newly built family tomb. It appeared to be a very joyous occasion, with music playing and people dancing all the way up and back down the mountain. The only difference on the way down were the new partiers in our midst – the two ancestors in whose honor the ceremony was held; perhaps because they were getting cold.

Upon return to Ampefy that evening, the party really started. Music and dancing went all night long and throughout the next morning. Though I did not attend the morning festivities, that afternoon the procession started up again – this time, in the opposite direction towards the newly built family tomb. This time, I was accompanied by my friend Mamisoa and her husband. They were re-burying their nephew who died when he was very young – just two years old. Though I felt a certain level of joy the day before in dancing with the remains of those who lived a full life, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness at seeing the wrapped up remains of a two-year old child. And as I walked with Mamisoa to the new tomb, she spoke to me about how the famadihana is a celebration of the dead filled with dancing and music however it does remind and in a way cause one to relive the sadness felt at the loss of a loved one. This sentiment really struck me when I was told the child died twenty years ago – which means he would have been about my age if still alive today.

To me, the famadihana at first seemed a joyous celebration, representing an occasion to remember and prolong the party with those who died decades ago. However, upon further talking to friends in town and experiencing the ceremony, it seemed more tragic than joyous, uprooting ancestors and never really allowing the feeling of loss to fade. These perceptions are of course influenced by my culture and our attitudes towards death, always considered a very solemn occasion. There is also another underlying implication of the famadihana ceremony – as a display of status and wealth in a time of the year when many families are running out of money to buy necessities such as food, medicine or school supplies. Several of my Malagasy friends expressed dissatisfaction with the practice as an unnecessary expense in a time when many families are struggling to make ends meet. However, it is a custom and clearly one that holds great importance for the Malagasy people to an extent that a foreigner like me cannot really comprehend. All that can really be concluded is that the Malagasy people have developed very unique traditions for coping with the phenomenon of death and loss, but one that will likely evolve and adapt to meet the changing demands of life, as all traditions eventually do.