Washing bodies before burial is a compulsory funeral rite for Muslims and it is a social obligation. Close relatives of a dead person are expected to fulfill this obligation. In the absence of such relatives, other members of society are obliged to perform the task, which is considered a pious act that brings high rewards.

Despite the fact that body washing as a profession is looked down on as undignified in society, some women, out of utter poverty, are willing to take it up for a living, according to a report in Shams newspaper.

“In fact, a dead body ought to be washed and processed for burial without expecting any material reward because it is a religious duty. But I don’t have any other income,” said a widow in Qatif.

“I have to feed my children and myself. I don’t care about the social stigma. Washing dead bodies is far better than begging.”

She acknowledged the irony of the social stigma toward the profession, because it is actually seen as a pious act when done voluntarily. However, if done for a wage, society views it as demeaning.

The social taboo is the most difficult part of the job, said one woman who did not want her name to be published. She said because of this, most women leave the profession at an alarming rate. She feared that no one would be available to do the job in the future.

“Some women look down on us and will not even shake hands with us,” she said.

Some charity organizations are working to remove the social stigma attached to the profession by facilitating training programs and a decent wage for the workers.

Umm Ahmad has been in the profession for over 40 years.

“I wash dead bodies only to earn the reward of Allah. I learned the technique of body washing shortly after my marriage with Abu Ahmad, who used to dig graves,” she said.

“In the beginning, I was shocked when other women refused to sit with me or eat in my company. I noticed my friends staying away from me. Even if any friend visited me she would not eat or drink at my house.”

Umm Ahmad said despite all the difficulties she would never refuse anyone who asked her to wash a body.

“More than getting paid, what I valued most was the fulfillment of a religious duty. If I was not willing to do the task, several bodies would have been waiting for a long time for burial in my town,” she said.

She added that she faced immense pressure from her own sons to stop working, particularly after the family income increased to a decent level.

“But for my poor health I would have continued the work because I feel it is my religious duty. Now two other women are doing the work in the town,” she said.

“Families of the dead pay a few riyals to prepare a body for burial. But I’ve never asked for anything. Now some charity societies pay a small amount as our wage.”

Umm Zawan, another body washer, said she decided to quit the job because her sons were ashamed of her work.

“I have been washing bodies for the past 15 years. The biggest problem in the work is the social taboo. I want to ask what would happen if no women came forward to do the job anymore,” she said.

“In my view every woman should practice this work. Whenever I wash a body I become aware of the futility of life. One of the last bodies I washed was of a friend who had stopped talking to me since I started doing this work.”

Salma Al-Suleiman, 25, is a newcomer to the profession. She said the death of her mother was a turning point in her life, as the family had failed to find a washer nearby. The only woman who used to do the job was out of town and the body would have had to wait a long time before it could be washed.

Salma then suggested to some of her relatives that they do the washing themselves without waiting for a professional. They refused, she said.

“It was a turning point in my life. I decided to learn how to wash dead bodies and prepare them for burial so that none of my relatives or anyone else would face such a problem whenever someone close to them died,” she said.

“I received training from a local charity. Whenever they call me to wash a body, I go quite willingly.”

She also receives an average of SR1,500 monthly from the charity as a reward for her work.