Dried Figs and Bread or What Every Soul Shall Taste

I woke up early this morning to go to what Moroccans call a tafriqa, a gathering at the grave of a recently deceased person in which the chapters of the Qur'an are read for the benefit of the deceased and bread and figs are distributed to the attendees also with the idea that the blessing of feeding those there will go to the deceased and ease their time in the grave.

Tafriqa means distribution, but it can also mean sunderance or separation. So, while most people think the word is referring to the distribution of the figs and bread, I like to think it is a poignant session for the living to deal with separation from this person that they loved. God Knows.

The deceased ( may God have Mercy on her) was the mother-in-law of a close friend of mine. I had never met her in person, but was always going to, in the sense that it was taken as inevitable that we would meet up some day at my friends house. She died on Wednesday at 2:30 in the afternoon and was buried before the sun went down on that very day in keeping with Islamic practice.

Although women prayed over her body in the mosque, they did not accompany the body to the grave sight for the burial. This is also in keeping with Islamic practice. The tafriqa offers the chance for the women who were close to the deceased to visit the grave site and pay their respects.

This morning I gathered with about 16 other women outside of Bab-al Mahruq, one of the gates of the old city of Fes. They were mostly all close relatives of the deceased. They came carrying copies of the Qur'an and incense, bottles of rosewater, stools and large mats for sitting. Passersby on the street noticed our little crowd as we walked up the hill to the cemetery that hangs just outside the walls of the old city. We walked carefully through the narrow spaces between the graves giving our Salaams to those we passed until finally making it to my friend's mother in law. Along the way I took quick glances of the tombstones we passed, noticing that many of them had the engraving of either one of two certain verses from the Qur'an , either ((Every soul shall taste death)) [29:57] or ((Oh Soul that is in complete rest and Satisfaction, Return to your Lord )) [89:27]

Being that the grave we were visiting was "fresh," it was not yet built up or tiled, and had no stone head marker with Quranic verses. It was a simple long hump of earth with rocks at both ends over draped with palm fiber leaves. I thought it looked beautiful in its simplicity and made a personal note that I would prefer such a simple non-ostentatious resting place.

We unrolled the big mat and sat down while a Quran reciter began to recite Suratul Yasin, the 36th chapter of the Quran and then Suratul Mulk the 67th chapter of the Quran . Copies of the Quran were distributed and people read along. Then prayers were said for her and the figs and bread distributed to those in attendance who generally tended to put the dried figs into bread and eat them like a sandwich. A women walked amongst us dousing us with rosewater. Then more Quran was read, this time by relatives of the deceased and after about a half hour a final prayer was said for her and the people in attendance started to disperse.

Some people had other relatives buried in the same cemetery and so they took the opportunity to go and pay their respects to them, another friend decided to try to go and find the grave of her grandmother but could not. It had been so long since she had last come, she told me that she will have to bring her brother who knows exactly where it is and will come and pay her respects to her again.

It is tradition to hold three tafriqas, about five or so days apart, but with the close approach of the month of Ramadan, this family has decided to hold them all this week. As I was sitting in the cemetery, next to the grave reciting Quran along with the group, I thought to myself about how these gatherings offer the living a healing moment to accept what has happened to someone they care about while also trying to come to terms with the inevitable death that will happen to them.

We descended from the cemetery as we came, in our small group. The immediate family of the deceased began to invite everyone to their house for breakfast, which is also part of the tradition. Me and a few friends respectfully declined and walked back through Bab al Mahruq, dusty and sun-drenched and trying to put life into perspective again, like one must after sitting so close to death.