Funeral, part 2

Continuation of Funeral from a month ago! So on saturday at sunrise people parade around town from the wakening, and then go back to their houses to sleep (staying up all night has its downsides). At 9am (so, 10am Ghana Time) the church service starts for the eulogy and finally burial. Everyone wears their funeral best – meaning black and brown everything. I had a traditional Ewe funeral garb consisting of a fuzzy brown with black spotted fabric, draped about in a toga-esque fashion with the material used for my shirt and short (if spotted in the US in just my shirt and shorts, people ponder which mental asylum I had escaped from). Needless to say, so I will say it anyway, my townsfolk were pumped to see me decked out with a cape and undergarments; all day I heard "Mike! You are looking cute." from all the elders of the town (please remember cute is synonimous with handsome, and English is not the primary language here, and words take a different meaning here). Also, as being the village white person, I attracted a large amount of people from out of town who just wanted to talk to me – I view it as a game. Elders and out-of-towners want to monopolize my time with talk such as "Oh you just relax here in my house until the evening, then I will walk you back", even though it was only 2 in the afternoon. I can't spend 5 hours talking to one person; the game part comes in when I'm trying to leave... hmm which excuse can I give to not give out my phone number, avoid committing myself to visit someone a few hours away next weekend, and still get out of the conversation and back to my Ghanaian family. I digress.
Eulogy/Burial service was nice, even though they didn't talk in English (but in Ewe with a Twi translator). Afterwards, I heard of a buffett being held by some members of the Asafo family and like a ball rolling down a hill I naturally made my way over there with minimal interruptions. I ate one meal that day – and it was HUGE!!! So happy. Fried chicken, jollof (spicy) rice, cole slaw= yummy. During my personal waist enlargement procedure, elders met at my house to drink palm wine and help pay the family for the funeral. Fast Forward to Sunday with a brief recap – I went to my friends house and just relaxed for the night.
Sunday: Thanksgiving church service was at 9, but I had to wash clothes so I didn't go. I took a nap because I had some sweet palm wine (deha vivi in Ewe), but when I came out to go and bucket shower, the church had relocated the entirety of their sound equipment to my house. From 3 until about 7, singing, dancing, and one exceedingly loud keyboard pumped out the gospel jamz in my courtyard area. I ate some fufu during this time at another house, just to get some respite from the constant barrage of musical notes entering my ears.
End of funeral.

One of my students, 12 years old, favorite word is: focking. But he doesn't know what it means, and neither do other Ghanaians. I tried to give a rough estimation of the American English translation (replacing the O with U), but my plan backfired: my students then asked what other words meant: bullsheet, sheet, and damn, to name a few.