Of Turkeys and Sheep

He took a mouton out of his trunk. The taxi man. He hoisted a sheep, out of the back of his cab, with the help of another man. An absurd kidnapping scene, to day the least; the mouton, feet bound, finds itself returned to daylight, released into a strange place. It looks around, it blinks, it spits, and it is led within the house to a certain fate. Oh yes, the fate of this sheep and the multitude of sheep that are mulling their way through crowds and holding up herds of cars has been writ for millennia. Their destiny has been foretold ever since Allah spared Abraham’s son, Ishmael, from a bloody, sacrificial end by inserting a goat into the scene to take his place. Thus, we all replay the drama year after year, killing sheep after sheep (after sheep after sheep) and eating them all up with great satisfaction. Oh yes, ‘tis the day before Tabaski and everyone’s preparing. But we Americans have another animal on our minds…

We depart from the kidnapping scene by cab, arriving at another dusty neighborhood wherein we meander in search of our fellow tubabs. And voila! Up some flights of steps we find ourselveswelcomed into a little haven of American joy. It doesn’t take long for the dishes to squish themselves onto the table -mashed potatoes, stuffing, and even cranberry sauce all cuddled there as contentedly as the forty-something pairs of eyes that oogle them in anticipation. Thursday had been a mildly lonely day for the most of us; a slightly empty feeling overtook this group of students as the Thanksgiving sun set on another dinner of ceebu yapp. But Friday’s sun set over a meal so happily shared and thankfully appreciated that the roast chicken we all shared may as well have been a true turkey!

So, stuffed to the brim we all went to bed, knowing that we’d be equally full by mid-day the day after. Oh yes, Tabaski was marching in right after Thanksgiving, and no amount of stomach distention would be able to convince our Senegalese mothers that we’d had enough xar! Most Senegalese woke at dawn to head for the mosques before doing the deed. Shortly thereafter, blood flowed freely and the grills lit up as the men undertook a long and arduous task involving entrails and the like while the women started cooking up that meat just as fast as they could! I’m sad to say that I missed the actual killing of the sheep on that fateful day. By the time I woke up, showered, and made my way over to a friend’s house, because my particular Catholic family doesn’t happen to do mouton slaughtering for Tabaski, all them there sheep had kicked the bucket and I was only able to eye the dismembered animal as it awaited the grill. Oh well. I did eat it, which was delicious, but my vegetarian stomach didn’t much appreciate that afterward. As the Senegalese say, the sheep butted me in the stomach this tabaski! But only a little bit. Touti rekk!

After the food coma, the children took to the streets in their fine new boubous, confidently extending their hands with the expectation that a few coins or treats would find their way into those mocha palms. Megan and I took a walk to help settle the mouton and took to a little Hansel and Gretel adventure, following a trail of blood droplets in what some might consider a morbid way but which we conceived of as a great opportunity to make up a saga about the sheep’s final battles; look! There’s where the three men started the journey with the goat. And that there, that’s indication of the first battle, wherein the sheep took down the first man but couldn’t escape the other two. And there, the sheep managed to overcome the second man! It looks like he bit him hard! And there, a bird tried to come to the rescue but the last man took down the bird instead! And then, voila! The sheep killed the last man and, licking his wounds, made a U-y in the middle of the dirt road... and headed back the way he came? Hmmm. Our little trail has turned itself back around. Did somebody forget their keys or something? Oh well! The goat saga completed, we continue with our little promenade.

I definitely spent the rest of my Tabaski watching Dirty Dancing for the first time, which I absolutely adored, and then chillaxing at another friend’s house playing cards and chatting about teenage relationships! The chilling was the most Senegalese thing I’ve ever done, but the cards and the conversation we’re definitely in the American style!

Well, the weekend of turkeys and sheep came to a close just in time for a week full of homework to kick into gear with final papers rearing their grisly heads on the horizon. But in spite of those beastly papers, I have plans to go to the desert next weekend to see the dunes. I had better be productive for the time being!

Hugs and love,

Jocelyn