Grief, Interrupted by Eden Daniel

 (Spoilers Ahead)

Legend says, mourners can be hired by the day to attend funerals and memorial services. Depending on the country, they have different names: wailers, moirologists, bossistus etc. In the same way mourning customs have differed since time immemorial, so does the depiction of grief in movies. Think The Host, Demolition, The Descendants, and now On Becoming A Guinea Fowl - the latest Rungano Nyoni film, starring Susan Chardy, Elizabeth Chisela, and Henry B.J. Phiri.

From the film’s opening, we are immediately dropped into a thrilling scene beginning with a killer Missy Elliot costume. It serves as Shula’s (Susan Chardy) armor as she discovers her uncle lying dead in the road. Why she should protect herself, we will come to find out. Events escalate as family is notified, arrangements are made, and Shula’s home is turned into an overrun wake for competing in-laws and women, young and old, crawling on their hands and knees in anguish.

Water is the most often occurring motif, bleeding the magical into reality among dream sequences. It appears in her cousin’s dormitory, the living room as they are sleeping, and in the club where Shula’s father works. It engulfs rooms but is unable to wash away the ugly stain of abuse. Cousin Nsansa - stirringly portrayed by Elizabeth Chisela - provides much needed comedic relief but beneath her quips lies a painful memory. 

Nyoni came to international acclaim with her debut feature film, I Am Not A Witch. It would go on to win her a BAFTA for Outstanding Debut Film. She most recently won Best Director Un Certain Regard at the 2024 Cannes Film Festival. Before that, her short film Kuuntele (Listen) won Best Short Film at Tribeca Film Festival - which I highly recommend everyone watch. Her films are often set in Zambia, with Bemba the language most spoken. Born in Zambia and growing up in Wales, she grants a striking view into her country and culture with an afro-surrealist edge. Her films often feature women and girls who are forced to give testimony to what they’ve seen, experienced, or who they are. Even so, they are rarely believed. 

Shula, an ever-professional modern woman, must bend to her family’s will as her aunts order her to fetch her mother from the airport. Under immense pressure, she settles into the long-hours of cooking and serving, only to be berated for her dry eyes. “Cry a little” they push. “You’re embarrassing us.”  

Curiously, the main characters in both Nyoni’s feature films are named Shula, which means uprooted in Bemba. Accordingly, both have endured an unseen trauma which causes them to be misunderstood and brooding, disquieting those around them. Maggie Mulubwa in I Am Not A Witch had few lines but in her silent looks communicated truths words could hardly contain. Susan Chardy also employed a similar presence, never admonishing but accusatory all the same. 

The same year as Ngoni’s feature film debut, I would also experience my own high-stakes funeral. My maternal grandfather passed away on a quiet Sunday and before I knew it, I was on a 12-hour flight with my family and pre-conceived notions in tow. Barely able to get my bearings, I was being hugged to death by relatives I couldn’t name and entered into a ceremony I had no awareness of. Like Shula, I found myself falling in line to spare the feelings of loved ones and appease the emotional fragility of those around me. 

Tradition. The final unyielding relic from the past. I was taken aback by the sheer procedure of it all. Each person entering the gate broke out in wails, some hugging my grandmother, others pounding their chests, only then to sit in silence until the next person arrived. Women routinely came around ladling hefty portions of stew to hungry guests. Wash, rinse, repeat. Albeit overstimulating, it struck me as a cathartic display of culture and goodwill. 

“He’s dead now, so it’s OK.” 

Incredibly, Shula manages to hold her stoicism while surrounded by infuriating circumstances. Only when she discovers her cousin Bupe half-conscious in her dormitory do the cracks begin to show. It all comes to a head when she remembers a tv program from her childhood describing animals of the Zambian savannah. The guinea fowl, tasked with alerting other animals in the bush to dangers lurking. One makes an appearance as Shula’s mother confesses to never telling her father about Shula’s own fateful encounter with her uncle.

Uncle Fred, whose body was found suspiciously close to a local brothel, was a known pedophile. He had been sexually abusing the girls in his family for decades and yet the women in his family have dutifully protected him - even in death. Shula is horrified to discover the abuse goes further to include his child bride. Her family treats the widow with pointed cruelty, blaming her for their brother’s demise. But as emotions reach a boiling point, a moment in the kitchen allows for communal healing among the women but also a way to brush over past mistakes. “We are hurting, too.” 

Rungano’s epic depiction of a family at odds hits the mark with the precision of a master storyteller. The generational divide is heightened by class issues that leave the widow of Uncle Fred nearly destitute. Old ideas around gender leap through and consistently the patriarchy is defended fiercely by men as well as the older women. Even the crawling that is evident in their mourning feels like a reminder of place: a humiliation ritual steeped in cultural obligation. 

A microcosm of expectations and changing attitudes, it is clear that death does not occur in a vacuum. In mourning someone, there exists tension between who the person was and how they are to be remembered. Who does a person’s legacy belong to? Can it be reined by those who experienced their worst, leaving behind broken people, fears, secrets, and allegiances? Can it offer nuances befitting not only the deceased but the family seeking to honor them? 

Culture is hard changed, and more so people. 

That is until a transformed Shula and her army guinea fowls crash proceedings. And in stark difference to I Am Not A Witch, by film’s end, it is Shula who is still among the living.