The Sounds of Mourning

I wake up Sunday to the sound of women wailing; a sound, in this culture, which only means one thing. The old man who lives across from me, who I have seen every morning since I arrived here being pushed around his house in his wheelchair, has died. The wailing is constant throughout the day, visitors coming and going, joining in this ritual of mourning. For seven days as more family and friends arrive to pay respects and keep constant vigil, the wailing will continue, each arrival kicking up a new round of grief.
This is not the first time I have heard wailing since coming to Cape Verde. With every death or anniversary of death comes the wailing of widows, daughters, family and friends. At first I thought it was heart breaking; distressing to hear these public cries of loss, but as the wailing continues, it seems to me more of an obligation than a true emotion. It is a tradition, a way that people let the community know that one of their own has gone, but the forced structure of the wailing is something I cannot comprehend. In the US, mourning and loss is such a personal thing; sadness and tears are normal, but not in this public, group manner that has time constraints. After the seventh day, the wailing will stop until the first anniversary of death, and every year after, as family comes home in recognition of the death, the wailing will commence again.