L'3id Al Adha

And then there was l’3id al Adha, L’Eid Kbir, Tabaski…whichever name suits your fancy…

L’Eid Al Adha is the festival of sacrifice. For my family it meant the sacrifice of three sheep, one for the family, one for grandma and one for baby Aya. L’Eid Kbir follows the end of the Hajj, where Muslims around the world trek to Mecca.  The sacrifice of the sheep represents Abraham’s willingness to submit to God and sacrifice his eldest son. The sacrifice of sheep on Eid Al Adha represents the ram given to Abraham by an angel to sacrifice in place of his son.

This is a time to share food with family, friends and the poor. It is also a time to reflect on the sacredness of life as we take the life of an animal, over which God has given us power.  Lastly it is a time to make sacrifices and remember that we all have to make sacrifices to stay on the correct path in life.

We got up early and all of the men went to the mosque to pray. The women got breakfast ready and we all ate together when the men returned. After that the men cleaned the roof where the sacrifice was to take place. We did not kill the sheep in front of one another.  Two men held the sheep down while the third slit the sheep’s throat in just the right spot. A spurt of blood would shoot out, all of the men would jump back, and the sheep would flop about. The men would then pour water over the throat, which seemed to put a stop to any movement. Next they would blow the sheep up through a slit on the leg between the bone and skin. The sheep’s legs were broken, slipped through a rope hanging from the ceiling and then the skin was peeled off. It is actually pretty incredible how they can just pull the whole pelt off, kind of like a tight sweater you have to squirm to get off. But it comes off all in one piece. They then blew out the intestines as little pelets of poop went round in round. It sounded something like a balloon with beans in it being shaken about. The women had the responsibility of cleaning out the insides and preparing them for dinner. I was slightly amused, however morbid, to see lungs, liver, and the esophagus hanging out to dry on the laundry line with some of yesterday’s laundry.

I was relieved to eat Chicken for lunch that day but ever since we have had grilled meat for just about every meal. We had grilled liver, heart, lung , shish kebabs. The lungs had the best flavor but the worst texture, slightly spongy. I liked the heart best and the liver least. We also had sheep skull for dinner one night. It wouldn’t have been so bad if there were anything on the skulls other then fatty, mushy, slimy flesh and teeth. Last night we had sheep brains fried up with eggs. They were spongy but with a ratio of 2:1 bread to braineggs I couldn’t taste them much. In between all of these meals have been some very satisfying kebabs of grilled meat. They always taste a little gamey but hey its grilled meat, I’m not complaining.

As the Eid celebration has started to come to an end the meals of sheep parts have not. 

Aya

This has been an eventful week! It started off with the birth of a new member of the family, Aya. It ended with the slaughtering of three Sheep in celebration of the Eid Al Adha, and the arrival of family members galore.

To start I went to visit my host mom in the hospital where she stayed for 3 days after she gave birth. It is only about a three-minute walk across a huge dirt field to get there from my house. On the way I thought to myself, I wonder if I should turn my cell phone off…You know hospital rules and all. I decided to wait and see what the set up was.

We walked in as though we owned the place, carrying hot tea, otherwise known as sugar water with a dash of tea, soup, fruit juice and a tajine. I imagined the uncomfortable sterile feeling of hospitals, rubber gloves, scrubs, and the ceaseless beeps of machines monitoring ones heart rate.  In front of me was a bed with a woman looking uncomfortable and slightly disturbed to see these new guests. On the bed next to her appeared to be another woman buried beneath a pile of blankets. There was a third bed with a gray, foam/plastic mattress covered in stains. Lastly against the wall lay my host mom under the blanket we brought from home, tired, but happy to have company. Sitting next to her was the new healthy baby girl.

I sat on the plastic stained bed while my host grandma, Hadja, force-fed my host mom tajine and juice. The families have to provide any food, blankets, clothing etc…for the patient in the hospital.  Hadja went to the hospital several times throughout the day to bring food and keep Amina company. I was just grateful she finally had the baby. I was starting to worry.

As I sat on the bed I laughed at the fact that I had even wondered if I should turn my phone off. From where did I think they would get fancy heart monitoring machines?  A calico cat strutted in, eyed up the bed with one of the sleeping women, before he decided to just sit under the bed. A white cat followed him in and circled the room; I thought maybe he was the doctor. It all made sense though, when a visiting little boy came in and threw food under the bed to the cat. No wonder they think they own the place.  

Three days later my host mom came home. They have since put Henna on one of the baby’s hands and black eyeliner under her eyes. I haven’t quite figured it out. They have been very careful about not letting anyone get too close to her yet and Amina is very careful about sanitizing her breasts before feeding Aya and washing her hands regularly. I don’t know what damage Henna or eyeliner would do but it seems like a silly contradiction to smother these eyes, that are barely opened as it is, in black goop, but to make sure no one but her mother goes near her.  It is funny, some days I feel like Morocco really isn’t that different …Then I watch my grandmother wrap her grandson in a white cloth, followed by an ace bandage, spinning him around and around until you can’t see anything but his little head. He literally looks like a mummy. He is then placed on his back, on his mom’s back, and tied on with a long colorful cloth…and I remember, no, I’m really not in Kansas anymore.