Africa live with the death of a more natural that Westerners. For them death is the downstairs neighbor coming to ask for sugar. For us it is a breach in the sky that mercilessly out a demon or angel that comes to fuck the soul.
This conversation, cases literal, I had it yesterday with Acasio, a co-worker who was taking some pictures for the new hotel website. Married, has two daughters. Not enough money. Walk three hours every day to come to work. The whole conversation started because we talked about dreams.