Dig my bones....

I was about to write a post enthusiastically titled "can one love too much ?" as I am in one these moods since these past days, a silly amorous mood which strikes me violently (oh..the object of my passion is the same old guy you can see on my right bar. Monchéri has been away for a month and now he's back I'm all stupid and besotted and hilarious all the time). Instead of a sugary post, here is a very happy post about love and death. As you know, my roots are in a faraway island called Madagascar, l'île rouge...the red island. My younger sister went there last summer in august with her boyfriend and little baby girl to visit my parents near Antananarivo. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to join them and I was waiting impatiently to receive some photos of the family and of a big event called Famadihana. My uncle died two years ago and according to the Malagasy tradition, his bones had been exhumed, washed and wrapped into a long piece of white handwoven silk. Musicians are hired for the ceremony. Members of the family tell stories to the dead body or ask him some advices. I attended a few famadihanas, during my adolescence and have cherished memories of happy smiling faces, the dancing and the singing, food being prepared all day for the family, the neighbors, people of the village and also in honor of the dead. Death is extremely important in Madagascar. The after life must be prepared. We sometimes joke about it with my parents...not in a morbid way I reassure you. There is actually much love involved in all this...

pics by my sister last august