Maroof Asudemade

Death confronts humanity with its deepest vulnerability. It is a time of grief, reflection and emotional exhaustion. Yet, in many societies today, funerals have evolved into elaborate social gatherings where food and drinks occupy a central place. This reality raises an important question: does a funeral forbid eating, or have we misunderstood the true purpose of hospitality during bereavement?

The issue is not necessarily whether food should be served. Human beings must eat regardless of their circumstances, and mourners who travel long distances may require refreshment. The real question is whether the burden of providing food should rest on the grieving family.

One of the greatest ironies of modern funeral culture is that those who have suffered the loss are often expected to become hosts. Families whose hearts are heavy with sorrow suddenly find themselves occupied with catering arrangements, entertainment, logistics and the comfort of guests. Instead of receiving support, they become providers. Instead of being consoled, they become responsible for consoling sympathisers’ stomach.

This stands in sharp contrast to the spirit of many religious traditions. In Islam, for example, the emphasis is not on the bereaved feeding visitors. Rather, sympathisers are encouraged to prepare food for the family that has suffered the loss. The wisdom behind this teaching is obvious. Grief drains emotional and physical strength. Those who are mourning are not expected to concern themselves with cooking, hospitality or social obligations. Their neighbours, relatives and friends are expected to shoulder that responsibility as an act of compassion.

The same principle is reflected in the broader African tradition of communal solidarity. In earlier times, neighbours rallied around bereaved families, bringing food, helping with domestic tasks and providing practical assistance. The community served the mourners, not the other way around. Bereavement was regarded as a collective burden to be shared.

Unfortunately, modern funeral practices have often reversed this noble arrangement. Families now spend enormous sums feeding hundreds of guests, many of whom arrive with the expectation of being entertained. In some cases, bereaved households incur debts merely to satisfy social conventions. The funeral becomes less about comforting the grieving and more about meeting societal expectations.

This is not to suggest that people should fast at funerals or that offering refreshments is wrong. Sharing food can strengthen bonds and foster fellowship. However, the moral centre of the occasion should remain where it belongs: with the bereaved family. Any culture that places additional financial and emotional burdens on those already carrying the weight of loss deserves careful reconsideration.

Perhaps society needs to recover an older and more humane understanding of sympathy. True condolence is not measured by the quantity of food consumed at a funeral reception. It is measured by the willingness to lighten the burden of those who mourn. A pot of food brought to a grieving household may be a greater expression of compassion than a lavish banquet organised at great expense by the bereaved.

Therefore, the question is not whether people may eat during funeral gatherings. The question is whether our actions reflect the true meaning of sympathy. If mourners are feeding their sympathisers while struggling under the weight of grief, then society may have inadvertently turned compassion upside down.

A funeral does not forbid eating. What it should forbid is the expectation that those who are broken-hearted must also become entertainers. The proper role of the community is not merely to attend the funeral, but to help carry the burden of mourning. That is the essence of genuine sympathy, and it is a lesson worth rediscovering.