Nkosi Sikelel's Funeral-Personal Narrative

The congregation – black and white – had sung Nkosi sikelel' iAfrika – as his coffin had been carried out of the plain weatherboard church and across the small churchyard, before being buried in the deep red soil of his beloved adopted homeland as the sun set beyond the western hills. Back at the homestead, as the moon had risen over the grasslands and the mourners sang and toasted ??’s memory, ?? had slipped away to their bedroom, laid her pounding head on his pillow and fallen deeply asleep.

The following morning, before the sun was fully above the horizon, she had begun packing. A few weeks later she had been on the plane back to London. This was not her country, much as she had come to deeply love it. Without his passion, hers was gone. She had basked in his radiance, and now that that great sun had been extinguished, she was nothing.

He had left no note, nor a will. “I don’t have anything except his memories,” he would say, which was not very helpful when sorting out probate. Indeed, he hadn’t had much, and what little he had she felt should go to his son …show more content…
She dug her hands into the freshly turned earth trying to reach him. Beyond her grasp, she had pulled out two fistfuls of dirt in frustration. A glinting quartz? pebble twinkled at her with its dusting of loamy red soil. She took it home, intending to wash it, but couldn’t even bear to wash the earth away, and so it found its way into her locket. Sometimes she would notice a faint trace of dust on her clothing that had worked its way out, but then even that began to diminish. She never opened the locket in case even more should be lost. Instead, she would just hold the gold case that warmed itself just inches away from her heart, her breaking heart. Would this pain ever, ever diminish, she had asked