Post-Tabaski update

It was bloody. It was gory. It was Tabaski. According to some estimates around 650,000 sheep were killed in Senegal last Saturday for the "Fete d'Abraham." People ordered sheep from the rural areas to be sent to them, bought them in their own neighborhoods (expensive if you live in Dakar or environs), and sometimes even traveled with their sheep from one part of the country to another.

We made it out of town two days before the holiday, which still made for lots of chaos and jockeying trying to get out of the city. Once we hit the main roads things were fine, but we found all the pre-holiday congestion and last-minute shopping in Saint Louis that you would find in any American city the day before Christmas.

On the day of Tabaski we arrived at our friends' house just as the 9:15am prayer was getting started. Most men go to the mosque for the holiday prayer, then head home to start sharpening their knives and gearing up for the slaughter. You have to wait until you get word that your imam has killed his sheep first, and then you can proceed to kill your own.



We got the green light slightly before 10am, and our friend M was ready to go. Assisted by his 25 year old and 10 year old nephews, M expertly cut the sheep's throat, drained most of the blood, and then proceeded to skin and butcher it. Although the actual moment of death is a bit harrowing (I actually thought A might keel over, much to the amusement of all the kids watching him gape in horror at the whole thing), once the sheep is dead the butchering process quickly becomes more like a science project. You quickly forget the drama of death and become interested in sheep anatomy.




M knows his way around a sheep, so it was fascinating to watch his strategies for getting the skin off intact, removing the forelegs and hindlegs, and then proceeding to open up the insides. About two hours later the whole process was over, and M's wife N was grilling us up a lovely late-morning brunch of fresh grilled mutton.


The day after we returned to Dakar M telephoned to say he had totally forgotten to package up one of the legs so we could bring it home with us. I told him he had already gone above and beyond the call of teranga (Senegalese hospitality) and not to worry. Besides, what do people in an apartment with a tiny freezer and a small oven do with an entire sheep leg, complete with foot and hoof?