Tabaski

Last Monday I celebrated my first Tabaski. Known as Eid-al-Adha in the majority of the Muslim world, the holiday, in a nutshell, commemorates the to commemorate the willingness of Ibrahima to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God, before God intervened to provide him with a sheep— to sacrifice instead. While this religious meaning is still absolutely vital to the holiday, it also can be argued that the same commercialization that people grumble about during an American Christmas is experienced in a Senegalese Tabaski. The whole city basically shuts down the week of Tabaski and people spend an absolutely huge sum of money on clothing, jewelery, shoes, hair, and of course, the sacrificial mouton(s). There are lots of sweepstakes advertised the months leading up to Tabaski, and usually the grand prize is, surprise, a number of large sheep.

For me, however, Tabaski was the normal Senegalese holiday....as my friend says, "you go in expecting fireworks, and you end up with a lot of sitting." Except this time, there were fireworks, in the form of mouton killing.

On Sunday, my family went to the home of my host aunt and uncle in a neighboring quartier of Dakar. That night, the two maids of the aunts house, my host sister and the cousin and I went on an expedition to Marche HLM which is the huge fabric/clothing/jewelry/shoe/everything market in Dakar. It was absolutely insane at around 7 at night before Tabaski - I cannot even describe how crowded and chaotic it was. I could barely breathe I was so densely surrounded by shoppers and sheep and fabric and people advertising their deals with speaker systems. (Note: being called a toubab is much more embarrassing when it's projected via microphone to the amusement of my host family) I kept having visions of those stories about being trampled in crowds, but luckily - or not so luckily for our doomed sheep - we all survived. We picked out shoes and jewelry for the maids - there were a LOT of colored rhinestones involved - then I went home utterly exhausted and went to bed.

Post Sacrifice Sheep Carnage

On Monday, the actual day of Tabaski in Dakar (Senegal's extremely influential and powerful marabouts changed the day of the holiday from the rest of the Muslim world), the women and children ate breakfast while the men were at the mosque, and then the sheep slaughtering began. Originally there were sixteen sheep, although mysteriously by Monday morning eight of them had disappeared, presumably given away to sheep-less families. My host uncle did the ceremonial first slaughtering of the sheep which was held in a little tiled pen type area with a drain for ultimate blood draining. Then three men who the family had hired killed the other five and did the butchering. We brought out chairs and watched this entire process, from living sheep to pieces of meat in freezer bags. I am proud to say that I was present for the whole event, despite everyone in the family repeatedly asking - a little hopefully, I think -  if I was scared. Not sure that scared was the right word - curious, a little disgusted, perhaps - but not scared. RIP, my mouton friends.

On mange!

Anyway, the women in the family then spend the entire afternoon packaging and cooking while the men relax and visit. Typical. We had lunch later in the afternoon, and I did love that along with the sheep  - which is rather greasy and tough - we ate a lot of salad which was very different from the usual Senegalese sides of rice, fries and bread. Then we had a delicious cake with a white chocolate sheep on the top, which struck me as a little morbid.

Charlotte, my host sister, and I on Tabaski

Charlotte thought a tiara was a nice addition to my Tabaski outfit

After lunch everyone took naps, a favorite Senegalese pastime, until around six when we changed into our fancy Tabaski outfits (yes, I did have my own made by the tailor) my host uncle held social/political meetings with important and intimidating looking men, and the teenagers went out with their friends. I floated awkwardly from playing with the kids to sitting watching Tabaski specials with highly made up Senegalese singers on TV with the maid until we all headed to bed a few hours later, exhausted from the day's work....I mean....holiday. As with most events in Senegal, it seems a lot more fun to be a man than a woman on Tabaski.

Things have just finally settled down in Dakar post Tabaski. The neighborhood seems oddly quiet, devoid of the majority of its sheep inhabitants. I can't help but congratulate the little herd wandering along the highway when I walk to school. They are some lucky sheep...until next Tabaski, at least.