Bougoula’s dugutigi (village chief) died last night. I heard drums at about 6 this morning. I knew something had happened.
He was very old and not very healthy. The Matrone said he was 98. I think he was old, very old, but I can’t imagine he was really 98. Maybe 90, 91, 92...but not 98. In separated groups, men from women, most of the people in village gathered at one point of the morning or another at the dugutigi’s and the neighbors compound. I put on a nice skirt and top. Put a scarf around my head and walked over as well. I only live right next door.
Everyone sat around talking and of course food was being prepared. After about 2 hours we walked out of the compounds towards the mosque. There was already a mound just outside the mosque were apparently the dugutigi had already been buried. A group of women danced around the gravesite laughing and playing instruments. Apparently death is a happy time...especially when you have lived a good long life as it should be.
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