When I woke this past Saturday morning it was to shouts and the sounds of complete chaos in the courtyard right outside my window. Hurrying to dress I threw open my door only to pull up short – several unfamiliar men were dragging four sheep into the middle of the small, tiled square and they were being none too gentle about it. After several spirited escape attempts from the animals, the men bound their captives’ legs, hobbling the sheep before melting away and leaving an eerie silence in their wake. I learned later that everyone had gone to the mosque to pray before the sacrifice but that fact sort of slipped my mind when the imam showed up on our doorstep to ceremoniously kill the sheep. I watched in horrified fascination as the four rams that had recently been loudly objecting to the indignities of their situation were silenced and summarily dismantled and divided into the large plastic buckets waiting near the walls. The courtyard teemed with men and young boys who scrabbled around the floor, now awash with blood and offal. After several hours of violent action, all was still. Now that the men’s part of the work was finished my host sisters stepped forward to cook the meat, which was later served as both the noon and evening meals. I exaggerate not when I say that the entire city smelled of mutton.
Tabaski, or the Festival of the Sheep, is a Muslim holiday that commemorates the Biblical moment when Abraham, prepared to end the life of his only son on divine orders, was instead provided with a sheep to offer up in his place. Each family who could afford to do so sacrificed a sheep on Saturday in memory of Abraham. As one host brother blithely put it: “it’s a bad day to be a sheep in Senegal.”
With the holiday being on the lunar calendar, it falls at a slightly different time every year. By pure coincidence Tabaski this year came only two days after Thanksgiving and so, having been given the opportunity to compare an American and a Senegalese holiday back-to-back, let me say that Tabaski makes Thanksgiving look tame. Not that I’m complaining. I found that I didn’t quite have the stomach for the executions that took place literally on my doorstep and still get a little queasy each time mutton is served (which, it likely will be for a while longer. After all 4 sheep is a lot of sheep).
Still, despite my negative reactions and what I suspect will be a lingering aversion to lamb I have to say: what an amazing cultural experience.
Now there is another, less gruesome side to Tabaski that I feel I should mention: the purchasing of new and decadent clothing for the occasion. Fortunate enough to have two tailors in my host family and with their shop conveniently situated in front of my house I watched with amazement as they stayed up into all hours of the night, churning out colorful fabrics with heavy embroidery and gaudy sparkles in preparation for the celebration. One thing I will say for the Senegalese is that when it comes to fashion they find subtlety entirely overrated, and I think they may have a point – I saw shiny green outfits with gold brocade and slinky silver pieces covered in sparkling scales and while I may not be bold enough to wear anything of the sort, the women who did don these garments looked fabulous. They had jewelry to complement their clothing, mainly bangles and the requisite earrings, and made quite a sight parading around the streets on Saturday night.
I mention the earrings because, as has been explained to me by numerous Senegalese, earrings are what set women apart from men. Earrings and long hair are the mark of a Senegalese woman and without them gender confusion easily results. Which would explain why the family maid insisted on giving me a pair of earrings, seeing that I wore none, during my first week in the country. It also hints at why my female friends with short hair are called men while my guy friends with long hair are considered female. This mistaken first impression is always easily and emphatically corrected but it still strikes me as an amazing cultural divide to consider that hair length and pierced ears – something we leave largely to personal preference in the States – is so strongly associated with a certain gender here in Senegal. But I digress.
I did manage to take several pictures on Tabaski, before ultimately cowering in my room and while many of them are not suitable for a public forum such as this, a few can be found below. As I count down the days until Christmas (irregardless of the weather here which continues to be in the mid-80s) I am torn between barreling forward towards the holidays and soaking up what remains of my time in Senegal. Between present shopping in downtown Dakar and studying for my exams I expect the next two weeks will pass all too quickly, but I can’t deny that lately I have been entertaining delirious hallucinations about the simple pleasures of cold weather, hot water and a diet devoid of sheep.
The four sheep lying in the central courtyard.
Before: sheep with two of my host brothers. After: dinner preparations.
