A Funeral in Cuba by J. L. Hinds

“Yes, she was dead. ‘Infant Mortality’, that cruel giant, how he revels in Cuban homes. He finds a ready entrance through the wide open doors of ‘nicotine’, ‘alcohol’, and other vices.”

Someone had a baby. She was a laughing, smiling baby, one of those really cheerful ones that everyone coos over and loves deeply. She died.

The author says he has nice neighbors but he was shocked at the lack of reverence for this little life now gone. The ‘cigarette fiends’ had skin pulled taught and their cheeks were sunken, and they laughed about trivial things that in an American context would be thoroughly discouraged at such a solemn time.

The baby girl lay in a cheap box with her eyes open, and two lighted candles, one on each side of the coffin, to lead her soul through the dark valley of death. The author then begins to mourn for both the living and the dead, because her parents cannot know that her soul has already found peace in paradise, simply because they refuse to accept Jesus into their hearts.

The mother of the child was not allowed to attend her daughter’s internment because of an unknown custom. I can’t even imagine the pain she must have felt as she watched her little girl’s coffin carried away by the pallbearers. It is in that moment that the author begins to ask questions.

“Would that innocent little tongue have been taught to speak the vulgar, obscene language of this wicked place?” Yep.

Would she learn to drink alcohol and smoke at a very young age? Most definitely, because the other children in this area do.

When she “became old enough to start learning modesty and virtue”, would she be allowed to go naked on the streets? Of course.

As disturbing and sad as this article was up to now, it gets worse. The author then begins to describe the way a Cuban cemetery works. Apparently, at this time at least, death was so common that they didn't have room for the amount of bodies that needed space in the cemetery. So they would dig up bodies and leave the bones out anywhere, sometimes even before all the flesh had decayed because they needed space for the new ones. He then says, “I attended one funeral where three skulls were dug up in preparing the grave. One was held up by the hair and recognized by the natives.”

Because I’m out of words, I’ll end quickly. This was so disturbing to me and I was amazed at the self-control the author had. He was a missionary in Cuba and he wouldn't interfere with the culture, though if this was to happen in the United States there would be a huge uproar. I feel like this blog post didn't do the article justice and I can’t clearly articulate all that I feel. I just know that I don’t know what I’ll do if I ever have to encounter something like that in the mission field.