In Madagascar, Digging Up the Dead Divides Families
As Religions Blend, Some
See Sacrilege in Ritual
That Exhumes Ancestors
ANTANANARIVO, Madagascar -- It was when Andre Rabeatoandro saw his father's shinbone emerge from the tattered burial shroud that he began to question the Malagasy tradition of partying with the dead.
Seeing how much his father's body had decayed since his death nine years earlier was bad enough. But the whole custom of removing ancestors from their tombs, dressing them in fresh shrouds and dancing with their bodies suddenly struck the born-again Mr. Rabeatoandro as un-Christian.
"I believe that one day Jesus will come and raise the dead," he explains. "I'll wait until then."
So Mr. Rabeatoandro, a 48-year-old English teacher, told his family that never again would he participate in the "turning of the dead" ceremony.
His theological decision has carried a steep emotional price. Mr. Rabeatoandro's relatives were aghast. His brothers refused to discuss the matter with him. His mother worried that ignoring the dead could bring bad luck. "Someone who refuses to turn the ancestors denies his identity as a Malagasy," says Mr. Rabeatoandro's cousin, Joseph Rabefararano, a 66-year-old retired house painter. "He leaves the family."
In a culture where the ancestors are revered, many families are splitting along religious lines over whether ritual exhumation of the dead is an act of respect or an act of sacrilege.
Madagascar, an island nation half again the size of California, has long had an uneasy relationship with Christianity. During the 19th century, Queen Ranavalona I suspected that missionaries were colonial agents, so she ordered her soldiers to push Christian converts off a cliff, which they did.
Today, 52% of Malagasy practice indigenous religions, while 41% are Christians, according to the CIA World Factbook. The reality, however, is far more complicated. Many families include both Christians and animists. And many individuals blend Christianity with a belief that the ancestors can intercede with the Creator to bless the living with wealth, health and happiness or, if mistreated, curse them with unemployment, disease and misery.
The melting pot often comes to a boil over the turning of the dead, or famadihana, as the ceremony is called in Malagasy. Although the Malagasy are an ethnic blend of Malaysians, Indonesians, Africans and Arabs, the origin of the famadihana itself is a mystery. Elie Rajaonarison, an anthropologist at the University of Antananarivo, says that the ceremony survives in part because it reinforces social order. People lead good lives so that they, too, will be honored as ancestors some day.
Generally, the exhumations are held in the dry season every five or seven years, after a family member has a dream in which a dead relative complains that he is cold in the tomb.
Exhumation ceremonies can be very expensive in a country where the average person earns roughly $900 a year. The new shrouds range from about $3.50 for a synthetic fabric to $110 for a fine shroud of light-brown raw silk. Buying a cheap one raises the specter of offending the ancestors, and the living.
Unlike Mr. Rabeatoandro's divided family, Georges Rakotomalala and his siblings agreed on the need to rewrap the ancestors entombed in Sahomby, a village of perhaps 100 residents overlooking rice paddies and eucalyptus groves 40 miles from Antananarivo. The problem was money. It took Mr. Rakotomalala, a 52-year-old butcher, 18 years to raise enough money to be able to exhume his ancestors in style.
"I want to stress there's nothing anti-Christian here," Mr. Rakotomalala, a Catholic, explained the night before the long-awaited event in August.
He hired a medium, who looked in a mirror, prayed and spoke to his own ancestors, then announced that Aug. 19 would be the most auspicious date for Mr. Rakotomalala to exhume his parents, grandparents and a score of other relatives.
The family slaughtered a bull and two pigs and cooked the meat overnight to make a breakfast stew for 1,400 friends, neighbors and relatives, who ate in shifts on wooden benches.
"This will clear my conscience regarding the ancestors," said Marceline Rabakomalala, Mr. Rakotomalala's 43-year-old widowed sister. "They are always beside me, so I must care for them, as well."
In midafternoon, a few men with flat shovels took to the dirt mound that contained the body of a cousin they planned to move up the road into the newer family tomb. They pushed aside boulders and dirt until a small entrance appeared, then widened to reveal a doorway into the darkness.
All the while, a band sat atop the tomb playing lively tunes on clarinet, drum and tuba.
Finally, the diggers hoisted a shrouded corpse into the crowd, where an angry debate ensued over whether the body was the cousin they were after. It wasn't. But custom forbade simply putting it back as is, so the relatives put new shrouds on all eight bodies in the tomb, before placing seven of them back inside.
Then the group paraded the correct dead cousin to the modern concrete-and-stone crypt. The medium, a cherubic man in a baby-blue scarf, poured whiskey down from the roof to protect the crowd from evil. Mr. Rakotomalala removed the chain and padlock from the metal door and pushed it open as the crowd waved photos of the dead.
The men placed 18 bodies, one by one, in woven mats and passed them out of the door into the arms of their nearest relatives. Some bodies were largely intact. Others had been reduced to slender tubes of bones and dust. Skulls and femurs peeked out of dirty shrouds. Roots sprouted from a few.
"This is our father," said one woman, gleefully welcoming some shrouded remains.
"This is our sister," said another.
In some famadihanas, the families take the bodies on a stroll through town, to show the ancestors what is new, and introduce them to children born since they last left the tomb. The thinking is that, to help the living, the dead must be familiar with their lives.
Mr. Rakotomalala's ceremony was simply too large to include a walk through Sahomby, however, and the sun was setting too quickly. Instead, family members crouched on the ground and wrapped new shrouds -- as many as five for a single body -- over the old ones, tearing strips of cloth to tie each ancestor into a neat, stiff package.
A few women sobbed over one body, but most smiled as they worked. One man jotted names on the shrouds in ballpoint to avoid confusion.
Then the living lifted the dead into the air and began to dance, surging forward and backward until the area in front of the tomb turned into a happy chaos of bouncing bodies.
WATCH THE CELEBRATION
Watch a brief clip of celebrants in George Rakotomalala's feast dancing with the remains of their ancestors outside the tomb in Sahomby. (1:04, with audio)Finally, as the sun fell below the hills, the celebrants returned their ancestors to the tomb. The door was again shut, the chain restored and the padlock clicked into place. "The ancestors are happy now that they've been taken care of," said Mrs. Rabakomalala.
Mr. Rakotomalala is quick to defend the ritual against those who would brand it idol worship. "As a Christian, every Sunday I go to Mass and pray to the Father, Son and Holy Spirit," he explains. "So the two things can go together."
Catholics are often accepting of the ceremony. Father Solofomampionona Razafindrakoto, a 29-year-old Carmelite priest, sees the ancestors as akin to Catholic saints and the corpses akin to the relics kept in many churches. He has even celebrated mass before a famadihana. "The saints were people like us," he says. "They knew our lives and our suffering. Now they are close to God, and that's why we pray to them."
On the other end of the spectrum are many evangelical Protestants who argue that the ancestors have no place in the Bible, and therefore no place in daily life.
Mr. Rabeatoandro, the English teacher who soured on the ceremonies after seeing his father's leg bone, is a serious, contemplative man who wears a necktie under his leather jacket in case he runs into his students in the streets of Antananarivo. His Catholic mother, Helene Razafiarisoa, taught him that to honor the ancestors, one must celebrate with their remains from time to time. "Since the spirits of the dead are near God, they also pray to God for blessings for the living," says Mrs. Razafiarisoa, a tiny 71-year-old.
But Mr. Rabeatoandro was swayed by an American Pentecostal missionary he heard preach 20 years ago. Sixteen years ago, Mr. Rabeatoandro attended his last famadihana, when the family pressure was still irresistible. For a while after that, he continued to help pay for family ceremonies, even though he wouldn't participate. These days, he won't even contribute money. "I don't miss seeing the dead bodies," he says. "But I miss the parties a little bit, and most of all I miss being together with my family."
Mrs. Razafiarisoa says she respects her son's decision. But she nonetheless hopes that when her own body grows cold, at least some of her nine children will remember to turn her bones.
翻尸节──马达加斯加人的宗教困境
Andre Rabeatoandro是在看到父亲的胫骨从褴褛的裹尸布里露出来的时候，才开始对马达加斯加人隆重悼念死人的传统产生了质疑。
看到父亲去世九年后的尸体腐烂得不成模样本就够糟糕的了。但是，把祖先的尸骨从坟墓里挖出来，为他们披上新的寿衣，再围着尸体载歌载舞，这样的传统让受过洗礼的Rabeatoandro觉得自己不像是基督徒。
“我相信终有一天，耶稣会来到这里，让死者获得重生，”他解释道。“我会等到那个时候。”
于是，现年48岁的英文老师Rabeatoandro告诉他的家人，他再也不会参加“翻尸节”(turning of the dead)的仪式了。
Rabeatoandro为这个出于宗教信仰做出的决定付出了巨大的情感代价。他的亲戚们都惊骇不已。他的兄弟们拒绝就此与他讨论。他的母亲则担心对死人不敬会带来霉运。“如果有人拒绝为祖先翻尸换衣，那他就等于否认自己是马达加斯加人，” Rabeatoandro的堂兄、66岁的退休油漆匠Joseph Rabefararano说。“他等于背弃了家族。”
在一个先人受到拜祭的文化里，对于翻尸这种宗教仪式到底是对死者的尊敬还是亵渎，许多家庭的内部都因为不同的宗教立场而反目。
长期以来，马达加斯加──面积只有加利福尼亚州一半大的一个岛国──与基督教的关系可谓水火不容。在19世纪的时候，女王娜拉瓦鲁那女王一世(Queen Ranavalona I)曾怀疑传教士是殖民主义者的间谍，于是她下令士兵将基督教的皈依者全部推下悬崖，而士兵们也照做了。
根据CIA World Factbook的资料，今天，52%的马达加斯加人信仰本土宗教，而41%的人信奉基督教。但现实则要复杂得多。许多家庭里既有基督徒，也有万物有灵论者。而且，许多人给基督教揉进了另外一种信仰：他们认为，先人可以向上帝说情，庇护活着的人得到财富、健康和幸福，如果对先人不敬，活着的人就会遭到失业、疾病和不幸的诅咒。
这么一个大熔炉常常因为“翻尸节”、马达加斯加人称之为famadihana的盛典而饱受煎熬。虽然马达加斯加人有着马来西亚人、印尼人、非洲人和阿拉伯人的血统，但是famadihana自身的起源始终是一个谜。安塔那那利佛大学(University of Antananarivo)的人类学家Elie Rajaonarison说，“翻尸节”之所以得以保留了下来，在一定程度上是因为这种仪式稳固了社会秩序。人们虔诚地生活，以期将来也会象先人一样受到祭拜。
一般来说，翻尸仪式每隔五年或七年在旱季举行，此前要有某个家庭成员梦见一位逝去的亲属抱怨他在坟墓里感觉太冷了。
在一个人均年收入只有900美元的国家，翻尸仪式显得异常昂贵。新寿衣的价格因材质不同差异巨大，一件人造纤维寿衣的价格最低只有3.5美元，而一件由浅棕色生丝制成的高档寿衣可以卖到110美元。要是买便宜的寿衣，你就多了几分亵渎祖先、乃至活人的忧虑。
和Rabeatoandro信仰分歧的家庭不同，Georges Rakotomalala和他的手足同胞们都一致赞同需要为埋葬在Sahomby的祖先重新包裹尸体。Sahomby是位于安塔那那利佛40英里以外的一座小村庄，当地有100来户居民，村里可以俯瞰到大片的稻田和桉树林。问题就出在钱上。现年52岁的Rakotomalala先生花了整整18年来才攒够了钱，为他的祖先体面地翻尸换衣。
“我想强调，这里并没有任何的反基督情绪，”身为天主教徒的Rakotomalala说。他向我们说明了8月份这个倍受期待的仪式前夜的一些情形。
Rakotomalala聘请的灵媒在向自己的先人祈祷和交谈后，宣布8月19日将是Rakotomalala一家最吉利的日子，他可以在这一天为他的父母、祖父母，还有其他二十几个亲属翻尸换衣。
于是，一家人宰杀了一头公牛、两只猪，头天夜里就把肉煮好，为1,400位朋友、邻居和亲戚奉上一顿炖肉早餐，大家坐在木板凳上轮流享用。
“这样我的心灵会得到洗涤，” Rakotomalala 43岁的妹妹Marceline Rabakomalala说。“先人一直就在我的身边，因此我也必须照顾他们。”Marceline Rabakomalala的丈夫已经过世。
到了下午三点左右，几个男人带着平铲走到一个土墩前，土墩里埋着他们打算搬到新的家族坟墓的一个远亲。他们推开石头，清走泥土，直到一个小小的入口出现了，然后逐渐开阔起来，只见一条小道伸向黑暗的墓穴中。
至始至终都有一个乐队坐在坟墓旁边，吹笛、打鼓、拉大号，演奏着活泼的乐曲。
最后，翻尸人抬出了一具裹着寿衣的尸体。这时候，人群中传来了怒气冲冲的争论，尸体似乎不是他们要找的远亲。果然不是。但是依照当地的风俗，尸体不能被简单再原样放回，因此亲戚们给坟墓里埋葬的八具尸体都换上了新寿衣，把其中的七具又放了回去。
接着，一群人抬着那位死去的远亲的尸体，浩浩荡荡走向了由现代混凝土和石头砌成的地穴。头戴浅蓝色头巾的灵媒从屋顶上倒下威士忌酒，以保护人群免遭邪恶。Rakotomalala打开了金属墓门上的链条和挂锁，推开了大门，而人群中则不时地挥舞着死者的照片。
十八具尸体，一个接一个地被放在编织席上，抬出墓门，交到他们最亲近的亲戚怀里。一些尸体基本上没有变化。其他尸体则腐蚀成了干巴巴的尸骨，蒙上了厚厚的尘土。头骨和大腿骨都露在了寿衣外面。
“这是我们的父亲，”其中一个女人说，她正满脸欢喜地迎向一些裹着寿衣的尸骨。
“这是我们的姐姐，”另一个人说。
在某些famadihana仪式上，家人会抬着尸体上街游行，向亡者展示新事物，把亡者介绍给他们上次离开坟墓后出生的孩子们。这些人认为，要帮助活人，死者必须熟悉活人的生活。
不过，Rakotomalala的仪式异常隆重，已经无法再在Sahomby街头游行了，而且，太阳很快也落山了。于是，一家人就蹲伏在地上，给尸体裹上新寿衣，用撕好的布条将先人的尸体捆成一个个整洁、僵直的包裹。
有几个女人伏在一具尸体上哭泣，不过大多数人在翻尸换衣的时候都是面带笑容。有一个男人用圆珠笔在寿衣草草记下了名字，以免引起混淆。
接着，大家将死者高高举起，开始载歌载舞，坟墓前一派由跳动着的尸体形成的欢乐场面。
最后，太阳渐渐落山了，参加翻尸庆典的人们将亡者放回坟墓。墓门又被锁上了，链条和挂锁也回归原位。“先人们一定很高兴，因为他们受到了很好的照顾，”Rabakomalala说道。
对于将翻尸仪式冠以假神崇拜的人，Rakotomalala辩解说，“作为基督徒，我每个周日都会去教堂，向圣父、圣子和圣灵祈祷。因此，两者完全可以共存。”
天主教徒通常都认同翻尸仪式。现年29岁的加尔默罗会修道会牧师Father Solofomampionona Razafindrakoto认为，先人相当于天主教的圣徒，而尸体相当于许多教堂里保存的圣徒遗物。“圣徒是象我们一样的人，”他说。“他们了解我们的生活，我们的磨难。现在，他们与上帝那么近，这就是我们为何要向他们祈祷的原因。”
另一方面则有许多福音派新教徒认为，先人在圣经中没有位置，因此他们在日常生活中也就没有位置。
文章开头提到的Rabeatoandro是个严肃认真、敛心默祷的人。他的母亲Helene Razafiarisoa是位天主教徒，母亲告诉Rabeatoandro，要对祖先表示敬意，就必须不时与他们的遗体一起举行庆典。“因为死人的灵魂与上帝很接近，他们也会向上帝祈祷，为活着的人祝福，”现年71岁的Razafiarisoa说。
但是，Rabeatoandro还是因为20年前一位五旬节教会传教士的布道而动摇了。16年前，他参加了一生中最后一次famadihana，当时来自家庭的压力仍然很大。那以后的好一阵子，他还继续为家人的翻尸仪式出钱，即便他根本不会再参与其中了。这些日子，他甚至连钱也不出了。“我并不想再见到死尸，”他说。“但我有点怀念那些仪式，最重要的是，我怀念与家人在一起的时光。”
Razafiarisoa说，她尊重儿子的决定。但尽管如此，她还是希望等到将来自己的尸骨变寒之际，至少她九个孩子中有人会记得帮她翻尸换衣。
Michael M. Phillips
