Where the Ancestors Rest: The Tachoni Way of Saying Goodbye
Perhaps the most visually striking part of the ceremony is when a live cow is led to walk over the grave. It’s more than symbolic—it’s spiritual.
Photo/Courtesy.
By Lucky Sidney Mulerah
In the heart of Bungoma County, under the clear morning sky, a powerful sound pierces the air—the deep, haunting blow of a horn made from a large animal. It’s not just a call; it’s a summons.
The Tachoni people, a proud sub-tribe of the larger Luhya community, are gathering to bid farewell to one of their own. Today, they honour the late Mzee Richard Wanyonyi, not with mourning alone, but with ritual, song, and centuries-old tradition.
The Luhya community, comprising 18 distinct sub-tribes, is rich in cultural practices that have withstood the test of time. For the Tachoni, the burial of an elder isn’t just a farewell—it’s a carefully scripted performance steeped in symbolism, heritage, and identity.
A Farewell Like No Other
Unlike modern funerals that often blend into one another, a Tachoni elder’s burial is a spectacle of cultural pride. The grave itself is not just a hole in the ground—it is skillfully shaped to resemble a coffin, echoing a deep respect for the deceased.
It is meticulously prepared, symbolizing the importance of laying a leader to rest with dignity.Elder Martin Sitati Nabitare, a respected figure within the Tachoni community, breaks it down for me.
“When an elder dies,” he begins, “a horn is blown in the evening of their passing. It signals death and rallies the community. By morning, everyone knows there will be a burial.”
By sunrise, elders are already at work. A cow from the homestead is selected and sacrificed. Its skin, rich with meaning, is laid in the grave and used to partly cover the deceased—a practice passed down for generations.
But there’s more. A special tree named Umtoto must exist in the homestead. Without it, the burial cannot proceed in the traditional way.
“The elder is laid from the left side to the right hand,” Nabitare continues. “We place three to four specific sticks—Omuchimila, Omulondang’ombe, and Omulaa—across the grave to prevent soil from touching the body directly.”
Natural indigenous grass known as Obweiwe is layered in, along with a middle branch from the elder’s house, which plays a role in future rituals.
The Cow Walks Over the Grave
Perhaps the most visually striking part of the ceremony is when a live cow is led to walk over the grave. It’s more than symbolic—it’s spiritual.
It represents continuity, fertility, and a bridge between the living and the dead.Betty Mauko, a young woman married into the Tachoni community, watches the scene unfold with awe.
“This is my first time witnessing this,” she says. “It’s beautiful and powerful. Everyone—men, women, children—dances. I now understand why it’s important to preserve such culture.”
Women and children, though crucial to the event, remain seated on the ground, while men occupy chairs—a gendered structure that reflects traditional roles during ritual moments.By 11:00 AM, the elder must be laid to rest.
According to Tachoni beliefs, speed and precision in burial mirror the noble, efficient life the departed led.The Dance of MemoryBut the rituals don’t end at the grave. The following day, the community gathers again—this time for celebration.
The Sinawe and Mabongo dances take center stage, led by the elder’s sisters. The dances are vibrant, cathartic, and deeply personal. Debts owed to the deceased are settled here.
Stories are told, songs are sung, and the community exhales as one.One year later, the late elder’s home will be ceremonially demolished, marking closure and acknowledging that no one can fill his shoes.
The stick from the elder’s house—buried during the funeral—is dug up and examined. If termites have consumed it, the Omulondang’ombe stick is moved to the cowshed and later used to roast meat during the final remembrance celebration.
Even the bull that was slaughtered for its skin has its meat distributed thoughtfully—among the elder’s grandchildren, passing strength and legacy down through bloodlines.
Culture as Identity
The Tachoni burial ceremony is not just about death—it is about identity. It is about understanding one’s place in a continuum that stretches from ancestors long gone to children yet unborn.
It is about honour, unity, and reverence.The last time such a traditional burial was held by the Tachoni was in 2019. Today, witnessing it feels like stepping into a sacred time capsule.
It reminds us why culture matters—not just to honour the dead, but to root the living.In a world racing toward modernity, the Tachoni hold firm to their ways. Not for resistance’s sake, but for remembrance.
For them, death is not the end—it’s where the ancestors rest. And every burial is a promise that they will never be forgotten.
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