I have been thinking about death lately. Not in a morbid sort of way but rather in a celebratory manner.
How do we honor our dead and celebrate their life?
It took me reaching middle age to realize this reality; we as humans mourn the same way we live.
This thought came to life during my recent visit to Amman when for some reason, I couldn’t stop thinking about cultural norms that are unique to my country of birth, including singing on occasions like weddings and death.
I was struck by the idea of wailing or chanting during funerals because it is unique compared to other cultures. Growing up in the Middle East, I thought everyone around the world mourned the same way as us. Men and women are separated, and women wail and cry and thump their heads with their hands, rock back and forth, and on some occasions, faint.
And that’s not the end of it. Mourners chant songs of death, also referred to as tanweeh. The song is usually sung when there is a lull in the crying rhythm when the funeral house gets quiet as if the mourners have forgotten their dead for a bit.
The tanweeh is meant to induce crying, to make the tears keep flowing.
The death chants
During my last visit to Amman, I sat with a relative known among the family as the best “Nawahah,” someone with the best talent for wailing during funerals.
Preferring not to be named (I’m going to refer to her as Auntie S), she told me that while the sad chants she sings during funerals make all the women cry, this was our way of honoring the dead.
She learned how to perform these songs when her mom died at a young age. She used to sit next to the nawahat (the women who perform the death songs at funerals) and picked up many of the songs from them. When she later started signing on her own, many told her that she had a knack for it and that she had a beautiful voice.
I asked Auntie S to sing for me; she was initially hesitant. She was worried about the quality of her voice and her failing memory as she reached 80 years old.
After a few cups of Turkish coffee, I assured her I won’t mention her name and that my purpose was mostly to document this unique tradition
She took a deep breath and began chanting, choosing a short refrain titled On the day they leave.
Oh, sun, on the day they leave, please don’t rise.
Oh, Sun, on the day they leave, please mourn with me.
The more she sang, the more she remembered.
Auntie S explained that the songs were categorized; There are some for the death of the son, another for the death of the mother, one for the father, and so on.
In the song below, Auntie S pleads to the cemetery not to "accept him”.
Oh, cemetery, don’t accept him; throw rocks at him so that he will come back to us.
The cemetery is not for him; there are no women to greet him there.
Some of the songs can get extremely morbid, emphasizing the macabre. In the one below, for example, in a tear-jerking tune, Auntie S pleads with “the worms” not to eat the arm of the beloved and leave him on his own.
Definitely not for the faint of heart.
Is the tradition dying?
Auntie S confessed that many in her family criticize her, saying she is still clinging to old traditions and can be overdramatic with her songs, making the mourners cry even harder. For some, they want to see this tradition put to rest.
She disagreed.
“This is how we honor our dead. We give them the exit they deserve.”
Unfortunately or fortunately (depending on which side of the argument you fall on), singing for death in Jordan is no longer as common as it used to be. Many of the people I talked to in Jordan confirmed this reality telling me the Nawahat are particularly extinct.
While working on this piece, I listened and relistened to these chants many times, and I now know them by heart. A tiny part of me wondered if I could fill in as nawaha one day if the nawhat became completely extinct as predicted.
Do we need to preserve the tradition despite its morbid nature?
Shall we pass it on to the next generation?
Do we need to teach our kids and grandkids to celebrate us when we pass on? Do they need to know chants like the one below where the singer wonders what was in the hearse?
I thought the car was carrying lemons.
I thought the car was carrying lemons.
It turned out that the car was carrying our beloved.
I thought the car was carrying apples.
It turned out the car was carrying our precious.
Mourning like living
The funerals I attended during my 20 years of living and assimilating in the US were, to put it mildly, less dramatic than the ones that I was used to. There was no wailing, no chanting to the dead, no thumping on heads, no people fainting, and yes, very little crying.
Why? I wondered. Is it because the Western world is more reserved than us Middle Eastern, who tend to be over-emotional and over-dramatic on all occasions, in weddings, funerals, soccer games, and holiday celebrations?
Is it because the West doesn’t feel comfortable displaying their emotions as we Arabs do, where even our “macho” men dance, cry, and vent?
Am I stereotyping here? I’m I falling into the cliched trope of us vs. them?
Maybe. My conclusion here is just my own biased opinion, so take it with a grain of salt.
After spending hours listening to the song and chatting with Auntie S, I realized that a big part of me wants us to continue our antiquated tradition of chanting to our dead.
Let’s stay emotional. Let’s give our dead the exit they deserve.
Let’s continue to mourn as we live.
Fascinating information. Aside from learning about Mexico's celebration of "Day of the Dead" I don't know much about how other cultures and countries grieve the loss of their loved ones. Thank you for writing this informative article.
Great article, Natasha!