Before launching into fantastic Mbam stories, there is one minor detail of my trip from Mbam that I left out. And that would be the word sheep. For those of you who are saavy of Islamic holidays, you are well aware of Eid, or as we call it in Senegal, Tabaski. This holiday comes around annually, exactly two months after the end of Ramadan. It's a day of pardoning and forgiveness and so on, and is based on a story of Abraham. Back in the day, God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son, like Old Testament sacrifice animal fashion (the son was either Isaac or Ishmael, it's up for debate depending on if you believe the Bible or the Koran). Abraham was like "Um...ok..." and promptly took his child up a mountain and prepared to do the unfortunate deed. Waiting for the opportune moment, of Abraham raising his knife to strike, God spoke up and said "Hold on, wait a minute, just kidding, take this ram and sacrifice it instead." And so was the happy ending, the son got to live, Abraham got blessed, and God had a faithful servant. To this day, Muslims sacrifice animals in honor of that event and to show their devotion to Allah. As it was explained to me by a Muslim friend, if Abraham had actually sacrificed his eldest son, then all Muslims would have to sacrifice their eldest sons on that day. That not being the case, here in Senegal, they sacrifice sheep. Rams, to be exact. According to Islamic tradition, if you can afford it, each father or head of household must kill a ram on Tabaski.
That means there are A LOT of sheep around this time of year.
Tabaski fell on a Tuesday this year, right after my return to Dakar. In fact, my bus ride from Mbam to Dakar was not just enjoyed by me and the other Senegalese people, but by about ten sheep that rode on the top. Yep, I spent the day seeing sheep being shoved up and dropped off of the bus. I also had to wait until the sheep were taken care of before acquiring my suitcase at the end of the trip. Not only this, but along the road, I saw many sheep being transported on top of taxis, in the back seats of taxis, in the trunks of taxis, in the backs of pick up trucks, on top of Car Rapides, and so on. Like I said. A LOT of sheep. Sheep could be spotted in front of houses and on balconies up and down my street. Medians of large roads became homes of hundreds upon hundreds of sheep, stretching for blocks and blocks. It was like the city had turned into a sheep farm.
Now, my family is catholic, right? So I was spared the honor of seeing a sheep get it's throat slit (after seeing two cows, four ducks, and several chickens get slaughtered, I wasn't extremely inclined to jump on the opportunity to see a sheep as well). But that didn't mean I was spared seeing a lot of sheep body parts that day. I guess, as tradition would have it, Tabaski is all about sharing too. All day, there was a steady stream of raw meat through my front door. As sheep got cut up around the neighborhood, bags of their flesh were being passed around and shared from neighbor to neighbor. So much so, that our chest freezer started out essentially empty and by the evening hours, was filled to the brim with bags of sheep meat. My fourteen year old host brother got his hands on a sheep leg and spent the afternoon running around pestering me and my sisters with it. (the leg then spent the next day or so on the dining room table)
In the end, Tabaski sheep is quite delicious. I should know, because we spent the rest of the week eating it daily.
That means there are A LOT of sheep around this time of year.
Tabaski fell on a Tuesday this year, right after my return to Dakar. In fact, my bus ride from Mbam to Dakar was not just enjoyed by me and the other Senegalese people, but by about ten sheep that rode on the top. Yep, I spent the day seeing sheep being shoved up and dropped off of the bus. I also had to wait until the sheep were taken care of before acquiring my suitcase at the end of the trip. Not only this, but along the road, I saw many sheep being transported on top of taxis, in the back seats of taxis, in the trunks of taxis, in the backs of pick up trucks, on top of Car Rapides, and so on. Like I said. A LOT of sheep. Sheep could be spotted in front of houses and on balconies up and down my street. Medians of large roads became homes of hundreds upon hundreds of sheep, stretching for blocks and blocks. It was like the city had turned into a sheep farm.
Now, my family is catholic, right? So I was spared the honor of seeing a sheep get it's throat slit (after seeing two cows, four ducks, and several chickens get slaughtered, I wasn't extremely inclined to jump on the opportunity to see a sheep as well). But that didn't mean I was spared seeing a lot of sheep body parts that day. I guess, as tradition would have it, Tabaski is all about sharing too. All day, there was a steady stream of raw meat through my front door. As sheep got cut up around the neighborhood, bags of their flesh were being passed around and shared from neighbor to neighbor. So much so, that our chest freezer started out essentially empty and by the evening hours, was filled to the brim with bags of sheep meat. My fourteen year old host brother got his hands on a sheep leg and spent the afternoon running around pestering me and my sisters with it. (the leg then spent the next day or so on the dining room table)
In the end, Tabaski sheep is quite delicious. I should know, because we spent the rest of the week eating it daily.
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