Death is constant in this place. Most churches bury someone every week. Often it is young people who have succumbed to AIDS though nobody would come out and say so. Church was packed for the funeral of Antoinette’s mother. Service was affirming, but the preacher talked about one of her grandsons who had been buried before her. And his had not been a celebration. I could see pain on many faces and guessed that their minds were on their own pending or potential losses.