Death is a loud and scary thing...

Allow me to set the scene...
It's 0500...
Barely dawn....
An impervious mist cloaks the street
It's completely silent (except the rooster, I've gotten used to it)...
I'm sleeping peacefully in a pool of my own sweat....

Then, screaming breaks the silence!
I shoot up, attempt to gain my bearing, put my shoes on, and run to the window....
I can't see anyone yet, but the screaming has awoken the village...
I put on a shirt and step out onto the porch.....
Through the mist, down the road, the screaming gets louder...I'm getting concerned.

Then, as if making an entrance from behind a curtain, people appear. They are crying, yelling, chanting unintelligible things (my French isn't that good), and they are getting closer.

Luckily, I was prepared for this and had an idea of what was happening. I had previously learned that when someone dies, it borders on what seems like mass hysteria. There is a complete cultural opposite here. As most Americans are brought up to hold back, show solace quietly, and contain their feelings as they can; here, they have 10 days of outward grieving to mourn the dead followed by a celebration on the eve of the 10^th day to commemorate their life.

I watched in astonishment as two dozen people ambled by, carrying the body of the decease (a well known and well liked tailor) wrapped in an ornate blanket to his village 5 km down the road. All told, about 100 people marched past, crying and yelling and singing and clapping all the way.