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It
struck me, halfway through the uplifting service and long after the demise of
the Toblerone, Whitney had played us all - she had got us all to go to
church.
Kevin
Costner's eulogy was touching and insightful, and Tyler Perry preached. Bebe Winans made us laugh with
his "Crazy Whitney" yarn, and Stevie and Cece sang. Dionne was composed, Alicia cried, R. Kelly faltered, Aretha was a no-show and Clive Davis's speech made for a
perfect toilet break. It was epic…and yet intimate. Plus, there was a couple of black Nurse Ratched lookalikies wandering round the place.
I
crooned, I swayed and I clapped. I said out loud, just as the pastor instructed:
"prioritise" and "I stand". I amen-ed, I laughed and yeah, I
cried.
The
service finished at around 10pm Spanish time; the coffin carried up the aisle to Whitney's I Will Always Love You interspersed with the sound of sobbing from those in the congregation
who returned the sentiment and lacked the resolve of a stiff upper lip.
I
logged off Livestream and closed my laptop. The dogs were in the yard so the house
was quiet. It was light when the service started and now it was dark. I went to the kitchen. Trust Whitney to have such a sensational funeral, I
thought to myself as I loitered by the fridge. I felt a little
deflated. Spent. Lonely. Afraid?
But
then came the magic. Music – as if orchestrated specially for me by Denzel
Washington's character in The Preacher's Wife. A wall of sound breached the
shutters on the windows, echoed in the hollow of the unoccupied bedrooms, gushed
down the hall and overflowed in my ears and heart. The sound filled the empty house and washed over the back garden, making the dogs bark like mad.
I
grabbed my keys and opened the front door. A night procession (pictured below) was making its way
through town; through the one-way streets of my little fishing village and past
my temporary home. The floats, which were decorated in gaudy fabrics and flashing lights, rocked like little fishing boats in a moonlit harbour, as kids onboard danced to the beats. As the carnival convoy – its
source, destination and raison d'être unknown to me – passed by, the costumed-children waved and threw handfuls of glitter and confetti.
That was the exact moment I exhaled. I smiled, grabbed my camera and,
not for the first time that day, waved my heart out.
–Cheyelle
Omar
COPYRIGHT ©2012 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: CHEYELLE OMAR
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