Late night, and my wife gets a message that her friends father passed away.. and another friend is driving over to the house .. me the driver have to go...
I never liked going to (well, its not a funeral... more of a wake)... not because of anything to do with the deceased but with me not knowing what to do..and just waiting.. things have improved after a few experiences.. as I kinda know what to expect, and its interesting to note the differences between the cultures and religion. This time it was a Bidayuh Roman Catholic.. and we were there before the body reached the house, so we waited.
There was a lot of people there ... just standing or sitting, coffee was served. 
The body arrived in a van and was brought into the house and there was a short prayer service. Then everybody went outside and the ladies remained inside. Now you may understand my predicament.I don't speak Bidayuh.
I stand out like a sore thumb, among the relatives who know each other and are talking to each other. Some are smoking. Others are drinking coffee. I feel all the eyes looking at me and I really feel out of place.
I stand, alone.
Then find a chair, sit.
Then wait. Its late night.
Finally my wife and friend comes out of the house. I think, off we go. No.
Its time to hear from their friend (the daughter) how the father passed away. I understand and wait some more. My wife and friend are served hot coffee. They talk.
Then they decide its time to go and we must go in the house, pay our respects and shake hands with her friends mother and the ladies in there and then say our goodbyes.
Its very sombre. Its very discomforting. You think of your own mortality. I was thinking of how much it would cost, especially the Iban style of mourning and feeding people that come. How my wife will bear it if I die first. Typical male.. started thinking to set aside money for my death... : )
Started thinking of my own self, don't mind dying, its the slow suffering that I don't like to think of. As a Christian, I am quietly confident of my God and my belief, so that part OK, more of for my family.. must learn to trust God!
Ernest
PS. When we get home, I am not allowed to touch my children until I have a bath. Its an Iban thing, so missus showers then I shower, while the maid looks after Vina who is still not asleep. Walter is snoring on the couch. Poor babies.
