La Fete des Moutons

Tabaski: a health inspector’s worst nightmare.  The seven goats were kept on the terrace the few days before the party- so their poop and piss was everywhere.  This morning, each goat was dragged down the stairs and slaughtered, then their tasty dead flesh was brought back up to the terrace, where it was “cleaned” and cooked.  Don’t worry, they cleaned up the poop before they started cooking.  Kind of.  Well, it was pushed into the corners so it was mostly out of the way.

And the meat was cleaned before it was cooked.  When I say clean, I mean we rinsed off the meat in a slightly soapy bucket of water.  That’s right, yours truly (the would-be vegetarian) was right in the thick of it- cutting off the fat, rinsing the turds off, and other delightful activities.  I only got grossed out once, when they peeled off a layer of skin and the fat just melted onto my hands.

I’ve never seen so much blatant cross-contamination while simultaneously eating such good food (in case you were wondering, grilled liver isn’t half bad). It wasn’t uncommon to see a woman cleaning the raw meat, dunk her hand in a bowl of water (no soap), then immediately begin eating a grilled rib with her bare hands.  Also, remember the lingering poop chunks?  They were quickly transported throughout the area by hitchhiking on the bottoms of shoes.  I cringed every time one of the kids stepped over the plate we were eating from.  Not to mention the time that a handful of onions fell on the floor, they were quickly rinsed with water and thrown back on the heap.  No soap.  Despite how much I enjoyed those mustardy spicy onions, I couldn’t eat any more after that.

I ventured downstairs twice.  The first time, they were just beginning the slaughtering.  I stayed just long enough to hear the choking of the goat and the gurgling of his blood after the cut his throat open, and to see another twitching as the last of his blood was dripping out.  The second, I descended to find a neat pile of organs and a head where there used to be a goat.  The smell was disgusting.  After that, I definitely kept to the upstairs. It should be mentioned that almost no part of the goat goes to waste.  Even the stomach and intestines are cleaned and saved to be cooked later in some couscous dish that I could wait a while before trying.  And the heads are skinned and kept for making a certain kind of soup. 

After all the meat was cleaned and distributed, lunch was served very late.  In fact, the other students had already finished their meals, put on their traditional clothes, and came to visit my house before lunch was ready.  So they were forced to eat a second enormous lunch, followed by homemade bissap and ditakh juice and fruit salad.  After eating, I changed into my Tabaski clothes and went to go visit Ellen and Lauren’s families.  This is the part of the holiday where everyone gets super dressed up in traditional clothes and visits the homes of all of their neighbors and ask forgiveness for any sins they may have done, and to offer forgiveness in return.  Small children also visit other families, but for a slightly different reason- they ask for and are generally given small gifts of money.

Turns out that it’s also accepted to postpone this last part of the holiday.  The rest of my family didn’t even bother to get dressed up in their Tabaski clothes after dinner because they were too tired.  What’s so tiring about killing seven sheep, cleaning up the mess, and managing to cook a feast all in one day?

The rest of Tabaski was relaxed.  There weren’t many people in the streets, and we spent the evening attempting to make Ataaya at Ellen’s house and watching Matilda on Lauren’s laptop.  As Ellen’s mom told us, « Tous le monde fait ce qu’il veut à Tabaski. » Which translates roughly to, « Everyone does what they want on Tabaski. »

I walked away from the whole experience feeling well fed, proud that I was able to help out, and only mildly grossed out.  However, I am definitely returning to vegetarianism when I return to the states with the flexibility to partake in forms of meat consumption that are local and humane in nature.  I realized that, while I have no problem consuming meat after it has been transformed into a neatly cut, spiced, and cooked part of my meal; I do not have the stomach to even watch the act of taking an animal’s life, much less doing it myself.   If I cannot manage to see this part of the meat production process, I can’t help but feel I have no business partaking in its end product (even if it is delicious).

Happy Tabaski, everyone!  Excuse me for the wrongs I have done against you, and may we all live to enjoy another year together.