Tabaski

"Verily among those who followed his Way was Ibrahima," reads the Koran. Ibrahima was called on to sacrifice his son. In the Koranic version, it is Ishmael that is taken to the mountaintop. And it is Ishmael that is spared when Allah puts a sheep in his place.

In the lead up to Tabaski - the biggest holiday in Muslim Senegal (called Saliba, or "big prayer," in Malinke) - one will see dozens of sheep gathered on the roadside for sale, the Senegalese version of a Christmas tree lot. Eating meat is a sign of prosperity here, and my family bought two for the occasion, no easy feat.



My cousin and dad with one of our sheep.

The night before Tabaski, the women get ready by covering the bottom of their feet and palm of their left hand with henna, which turns the skin reddish. The next morning I was invited by my grandmother to pray at the mosque. She loaned me a scarf to cover my head, and we shared her prayer mat in the back with the women. I couldn't understand what the imam was saying, but he sounded a bit like a Malinke Jerry Seinfeld and I created an imaginary dialogue for him. ("So what's the deal with all these sheep?")

My henna'd feet. We're several weeks later and the design is still there.

When I got back home, I went to inspect two small holes that my uncle had dug in the ground. "Go get your camera!" my family urged. Perplexed, I came back with my camera, to see the sheep being held over the holes, in slaughter position. While I heard the life blood gurgle out of them, I snapped a quick picture, then feigned battery issues while I ran back to my hut.



Blood, blood in the holes.

I must say, though, they were delicious. The meal was a big one, with several families exchanging bowls of food, so we ate three meals for lunch. The family of my father's second wife joined us, so there was a crowd in my grandmother's hut while we ate vermicelli, manioc, fried potatoes, and mutton. When we were full, we drank Fanta (another sign of wealth) and then the women started in on the prayers The prayers went on and on, giving thanks to Allah for all he's provided us, intoning us to sacrifice for him, interspersed with some "Amiinas" while we rubbed our foreheads. At a pause in the prayers, I looked up to see everyone waiting on me to continue.

"Allah mu i kilin kilin kunina," I said. (May you wake up one by one; inappropriate since it wasn't night time.) Everyone replied, "Amiina."

But I couldn't stop at one. Most women had said five or six prayers. "Allah mu i tilinta heera to," I continued. (May God grant you a peaceful day; inappropriate since it wasn't morning.) Everyone called, "Amiina."

I thought hard. "Allah mu albarako bola," I finished. (May God heal you; inappropriate since nobody was sick.) "Amiina!" they all laughed.

After lunch, everyone put on their finest outfits and walked around greeting each other. Dinner that night was a light one since lunch was so plentiful - rice soup and meat. "What happens next for Tabaski?" I asked. "Now you wash your hands really well with soap," my grandmothers told me. "Otherwise, if the mice smell meat on your fingers, they'll nibble them."

The Koran continues, "Thus indeed do We reward those who do right, for this was obviously a trial." Most people in my village may not be able to quote the story of Ibrahima and Ishmael as it relates to Tabaski, but it's a story they know well - a story of toil and sacrifice, a story of doing right by God and being rewarded; in this case by eating meat and drinking Fanta and spending time with loved ones.