Painting Graves

We awoke early on a Thursday morning, the Payatas air thick and stifled as ever, filled with the sound of the vendors calling there calls. I sat on my stoop and watched the customers be enticed from there beds, to buy fresh hot bread or balut. I sat and watched through half open weary eyes, clinging to my cup of coffee from a packet, in fear that without it i slump backwards back to slumber. My body disliked being up so early but the vendors left me no choice. Jnr slipped passed me, i was too tired to ask where he was going, so just sat and waited searching for the bottom of my mug. He returned To find me still sat in the same position, he carried two small tins of paint and a brush, I looked on curiously. He asked if i "wanted to go with him" which just made me more puzzled, "where?" i asked. He responded and so we set off, this Thursday would be the day we would go to paint the gold on his fathers gravestone.

It would be me and two of juniors cousins, the two of which i am good friends with, both have a wicked sense of humor, which gave me the feeling this would not be a completely solemn day. We were also joined by our roommate who went to paint a friends grave. So we rode stuffed into a jeepny it was 20 minutes to a town i had never ventured to before, I rode with wide eyed excitement, the same excitement i get from seeing a new place. We jumped off and walked the streets in the heat of the morning, I followed staring into the obscure shops and old fashioned barbers. They soon ran out as we turned off, slowly nearing the white slabs in the distance, we passed women and children selling candles laid out on blankets on the roadside. Carefully crossing a basket ball game, i found my self in the perimeters of the cemetery, walking through narrow passageways the walls of which all four souls high. Four Plaques ran in neat columns all along the walls until it twisted off into a maze, the names of mothers, brothers, sons and daughters. As we walked i scanned the 9ft Rows staring at the names and dates, So many children, So many graves for those who had hardly had a chance to live. We abruptly arrived at a cross road within the maze and off to one side I saw the name a blaze upon marble "Rafael Tejol." We stood and stared up he lay in the third storey , I crouched as Jnr pulled out sand paper struggling to reach high enough to clean down the stone, I came and took his place having enough reach to manage although not by much. I was soon relieved as Mak Juniors cousin, arrived with what can only be described as a ladder, though as ever far from conventional.

We took it in turns to carefully line the engraved name and motif with gold paint. When one person was not painting, the rest of us sat perched on the edge of empty tombs. We spoke for the hours we there, they shared stories of juniors father and joked smiling not mourning but remembering the good times. Occasionally i wonder through the maze and stare at more names, My attention is broken, when i see kids scramble up on top of the 9ft labyrinth, they run and jump the gaps as if the graveyard were a playground. A man of 75 appears shouting for them to get down, he carries a large broom which he waves menacingly, the children just giggle and continue to sprint and jump. Then this elderly man walks to the front of the memorial and with the dexterity only seen from the early morning showings of childhood cartoons, scales the wall and begins a chase, broom at the ready. I presume he is the caretaker and that these little chases, run routine for everyday life, they both looked much too experienced for it not to be.

As I ventured back through the maze, to try and find the boys. I found a family gathered, all looking towards the same plaque. I bowed my head in respect, but I couldn't help but look towards it too. I wish i hadn't, He had only died a couple of weeks ago, and he was only five. My heart sank and sat heavy in my stomach, I found it hard to breathe. I walked back in a daze, I was not concentrating on where i was going, I was just walking. I looked to the people I passed noticing them more, so many mothers walked with their children trailing behind them. Children that are growing up without a father, and it was at this point i completely realised how much i took my parents for granted. Being here has shown me, what its like to be without them, Even though they are still on the earth. I owe them too much, suddenly i felt like that child being dragged behind his mother. To stand in front a wall that represented his past, held the memories of security and safety.

I found the boys again, I answered the questions of my disappearance with "I went for a walk." I smiled and climbed up the ladder next to Mak and took my turn painting the gold around the name of the man, that junior had lost and with losing him lost the security. I had become ever closer to junior he was my brother now, it did not feel strange to be there, of course it was still a complete honour, but i didn't feel out of place. I had been let in as part of the family. It took at least four hours, before we left proud of ourselves and smiling. The conversations, painting and laughter drew us all closer. As we walked out across the vast now empty basketball court and back down the narrow road, Junior turned with a smile and said "He would of been happy with this." I could feel we were all content in the fact we had won juniors fathers approval, even if he was no longer here to say it himself.