TABASKI!

Tabaski

Tabaski, as Eid al- Adha is known as in Senegal commemorates someone (it’s been discussed in 2 of  my classes and people keep disagreeing) offering to sacrifice him son to God and at the last moment before the son is killed a goat is replaced and killed instead. So each year a goat (or bull or sheep) is killed for each married male member of the family.

So yesterday there was a lot of killing going on in Senegal. I am all for local foods, I just never thought that it would mean, my roof and courtyard local.  My family killed four moutons, which was quite the experience. I took many photos and videos, however internet connection do not really allow for them to be uploaded yet. I will try when I get back to the states. Also half of my program group is leaving and I am sure there will be a sure of photos once they get home which I will put the links to up.

While watching the goats be killed was slightly gory and grossed me out, it wasn’t worse than most horror movies in the states. Though looking around the courtyard and seeing all the blood everywhere was pretty gross.

My friend Sarah lives with a Christian family here and so she came over to my house to experience Tabaski. Sharing holidays is an important part of Senegalese life. It is customary on Tabaski to bring extra meat to Christian homes and to invite others over for the day. The same occurs with the Christians sharing with the Muslims on Christmas and Easter. So Sarah came over early in the morning, eating breakfast at my house, and helping to peel the potatoes, cucumbers and grate carrots. As I was sitting peeling potatoes I realized that I would be doing the exact same thing if it was a holiday at home.  We tried to keep occupied with jobs related to vegetables to avoid grilling or preparing any meat like the Senegalese women.

For those of the feint of heart I please skip the next paragraph. It’s where I describe how the goat was killed and butchered.

Recently I read the book Misery, by Stephen King. It details the story of how an author is kidnapped after a car accident and the torture he endures from his “nurse” including an amputation or two. I nearly puked reading the book, though I couldn’t stop reading and I felt it was very similar with killing the goats. I felt queasy the whole time, but I felt I needed to watch, because when else would I get an experience like that? The goat was trussed up with it’s legs tied up underneath, folded into a seated position. Then the goat was laid on its side and it’s head held back and to the ground. Then with one person holding the body the other held its head and slit the throat. The blood then gushed out of the throat and into the drain only a few inches away. There were often some last minute bleats of the goats and their grayish black tongues would stick out their mouths falling to the side like a cartoon character. The second goat also took a post mortem poop. After as much blood as possible was drained they were taken and hung up by their back legs to be butchered. The rest that followed was like a typical butchering, like you see at so many of the side streets and markets here. Nothing very remarkable except how the intestines spilled out of the goats, which I just thought was interesting.

 

OK YOU CAN READ AGAIN!

 

One of the reasons I was vegetarian for the year before I came to Senegal was that I can’t really handle the idea of killing my own food, and I don’t even like handling raw meat in general. One of the rules of leadership I have always been told is, don’t ask anyone to do for you what you are not willing to do yourself. In that same frame of mind I can’t ask others to kill an animal for me, as I am not willing to do it myself.  My host family, and the student’s families who I talked to all comment on how many photos the students took. Granted it was a LOT of photos but the common response was “What, you’ve never seen a goat killed before?” To which all the American responded with a “no, we haven’t, really.” In fact besides some chickens I saw from afar in St. Louis it was the first animal I had ever seen killed.

The day was filled with grilling the meat, preparing other aspects of the meal and butchering the four goats.  After the main meal (the lunch) everyone takes a little nap, then, as the Senegalese do so well, gets dressed up. The Senegalese go all out when it comes to getting dressed. Everyone one has their own tailor and therefore there are no duplicates when it comes to outfits. Nothing is bought at a mall or real shop, everything is custom made. The skills of a tailor here are different than in the States. “Tailor made” in the States means someone who does impeccable work, with a fantastic knowledge of line and form. Usually a tailor made item is not heavily decorated but rather has an eye for line and shape. Here tailor means someone who can sew. While the quality of the “tailoring” leaves much to be desired (in my opinion) the embroidery is what stands out here. The idea of clean classic lines and a good fit does not exist. The “little black dress” would be met with attempts for embroidery floss and jewels to be attached. I had a boubou made for myself, a bright blue with light blue embroidery. The top had sleeves to elbow length and a V cut front and back, falling a little past mid thigh, while the pants had some embroidery at the bottom. I thought I was looking pretty good until my host family got dressed and I saw how amazing all of them looked. Suma yaay, (host mom) had a lilac boubou with gorgeous embroidery running down the whole front.  I told her how my sister in the States would be very jealous.

The night is celebrated by heading out to the most popular venues for the youth of Senegal, friend’s houses, concerts and the gas station. Yes, that’s right, the gas station. In an overwhelmingly Islamic country, bars do not hold the same popularity as they do in the states. The gas station has a fried chicken and pizza options in addition to typical gas station snacks, and for those rebellious youth, alcohol. They can pretend they are not drinking and hang out at the gas station, a respectable way to spend the night. Across from one of the best gas stations nearby is La Gondole, which has ice cream(!), hamburgers, chwarma, and other great food options. The two venues and the road in between were filled with young Senegalese decked out in their best boubous. I made an early night of it; hanging out with Alex and Tom after there was taxi miscommunication and we realized none of us left actually knew where the concert of Senegalese music actually was.

Tabaski was really great experience, I definitely got to experience things I had never even thought about before. Although a little sickening at times, and even though I will be stuck eating mouton for the next several weeks, it was so cool to see something that had seemed so far outside my sphere of knowledge before.