Tabaski

Marc here.

Julienne came home last week.  "Score!" she said.  "I got us an invitation to Tabaski!"

So, today we went to a Tabaski celebration, not knowing what we were heading too.  Turns out, we were heading to a very nice afternoon spent with a fellow teacher and his family.  We sat around a communal platter and ate with our hands.  We did not go to the ritual slaughtering.

Slaughtering! you say.  Yes, slaughtering.

So, a bit of background.  Somewhere in distant past where myth and reality collide, there was a man whose actions are revered by three separate religions.  This man either went momentarily insane or was spoken to by God (this part of the story is a bit murky) but all agree that he tried to kill his son.

Really, a holiday based around child killing?  Don't worry - there is this strange holiday in America based around reverse-thieving.  Yes- a fat man breaks into your house and leaves things!

Anyhow, this ancient man did not actually kill his son.  At the last moment, he was persuaded to kill a sheep instead.

So now, once a year, anybody who is anybody in Senegal gets hold of a sheep.  Or cow, if you're well off.  Or a camel, if you can pull that one off somehow.  Then, you kill it and eat it.  Only if you're really poor and are really down on your luck do you kill a chicken.

Our guard was proud to have a goat.  Unfortunately, he got malaria, went to the hospital and to settle the hospital bill, had to sell his goat.  Bummer.  Then, luckily, a good friend from his childhood let him go in on a goat with him.  Saved!

We missed the killing part.  I passed on the eating part but Skylar seemed to enjoy the eating.  When we played in the alley with the kids, we saw evidence of sheeps and goats of the pot - legs stacked neatly by the neighbor's door, a lonely horn lying in the dirt against the dusty cement block wall and a sad flap of a tail waiting in the middle of the road for me to kick it aside so we could play soccer.

We played with about 8 of the neighborhood children - races, soccer hop-scotch, pebble throwing, tic-tac-toe.  A good time though both Skylar and Sylvia, unfamiliar with play that organically shifted from one activity to another without any real plan or discussions, several times cried.  The other children were very nice about it but also somewhat confused.  They seemed to wonder - if they are crying, where is the blood?

And we drove home through the relatively empty streets reminiscent of Superbowl Sunday, fulled with a yummy meal and the joy of companionship.

Happy Tabaski!