Tabaski

So as the story goes (and correct me if I’m wrong): God musters up the courage to speak and s/he’s all like “Yo Abraham, what you’re gunna have to do is kill your son to prove your love for me.” Then Abraham is all like, “Aight God, you’re pretty stellar, if I do say so myself, so I’ll do it.” Abraham is about to do the deed when, in a stunning anti-climax, God decides that he should just kill a sheep instead.
The rest is his-tory. This morning a huge amount of men, women, and children went to the largest mosque in town, one that is used only twice a year for Tabaski and Ramadan, for a special 9am prayer. The sheep stayed home and surely sensed the change of atmosphere, something was brewing out there, they could feel it. After the prayer everyone returned home in an anxious trot, mentally prepared for the sheepicide. And so it was that today, hundreds of bah-ing sheep and maa-ing goats had their lives ended in tribute to Abraham’s fealty, and to the love of God. The scene was so gory and bloody that it seemed to me to be out of a movie. Pools of brilliant red blood in the 10am sunlight. “Jini ya yi yawa,” said a little girl – too much blood. Yeah, I said in English, yeah.
Within the next few hours certain households started burning huge piles of wood surrounded by as many as ten or twelve carcasses. They would be slow roasted and basted in the animal’s own body fat, but not eaten until the next morning, as is the tradition. Instead, the first day of the fête families feast on the organs only. As they day progressed there were many events worthy of recounting but they were more like non-events, a sort of daydream. I went to my neighbor’s house and whether it was planned this way or not I arrived at the exact time that they were ready to eat – but this was no normal meal. There was ice water. There was couscous and a sauce unparalleled by anything I have ever tasted in Niger. His wife, whose name I still can’t pronounce, is full of mystical powers. She is something like a sorceress when she begins to brew these unspeakably delicious stews, of which she will never tell me the full list of ingredients. The sauce was full of melt-in-your-mouth onions, tomatoes, and peppers poured over perfectly cooked guinea fowl and chicken. My first sip of cold water put me into a trance and I departed this sweet world for a brief moment.
I started to walk around and made it 200 ft. before I sat down to drink some tea with some people I’ve never met. There was a guy named Jos, dressed super-fly and a red car (with air-conditioning he assured me) was parked nearby. Apparently he is some sort of village celebrity back from Cotonou where he works selling motorcycles and cars. People were flocking to him having heard that he was back in town and I was along for the ride. I stayed for almost three hours talking to him about Niger, being a bachelor, business, and the U.S. After a while I realized I should visit more people so I made my way to the road and sat down with some friends where I often have profitable conversations. BBC Nigeria was on and I tried to understand as much as possible. The problem with understanding a discourse or lecture in a new language is the moment the speaker makes the switch to pronouns and ceases to mention the people, places, or processes that are the basis of the discussion. If you happened to have missed any one of these things you are hopelessly lost. Only rarely do I catch all the details.
The two o’clock prayer rolled around and when everyone went to the mosque I went to the tasha, where all the personal vehicles which constitute Nigerien public transport pass through. To my surprise, there were people engaged in all sorts of card games and gambling. I guess I thought, or assumed, that a culture that prohibits alcohol and concubinage would also prohibit gambling. I played some foosball (yes even in Niger, except no beer to go with it) and despite my partner being the best player in the tasha, I lost the game for us in a miserable display of ham-fistedness. Embarrassed, but smiling, I walked home ready to relax but I was called into a concession, it was the home of Baragé, a man who started the École Privé here in town. Also there was the co-founder of the school, ex-vice-mayor, founder of the Centre de Developpement Communautaire, and village badass, Moumouni. This is where I learned the most about the traditions of the fête. We laughed a lot, sat on mats, it was quite wonderful.
Soon thereafter, Moumouni asked me if I wanted to take a trip to Mai Kalgo, a nearby village. Sure, I said. When do you want to go? He asked. Whenever you want, I said. How about tomorrow and we’ll come back Saturday? …Ok, yeah, sure. I said, running through all the possible snags in this plan. I have learned to keep my word much more than in the U.S. because you’ll get some serious beef from people even for small promises that you don’t keep. I was not sure what to expect of the visit or the village but he assured me that he has a house and family there and it will be fun. See entry, Mai Kalgo for details on this trip.
After an hour or so, the sun was about 45 minutes from setting so I headed towards my house. Halidou, my neighbor, called me in from the street and with a slight reluctance I entered. “You got here just when the organs are ready to eat.” He says calmly. At this point I’m just a molecule of water flowing in the River Tabaski, ready to go anywhere and unable to change my destiny. Destiny then led me to eat some intestines, then they brought the liver which, delicious and meaty, I devoured. Then came the heart, and I recalled the sheep whose head I had rubbed just that morning, and as I ate his heart, sautéed in a frying pan of his own body fat, I felt something of the sheep’s life force, and I rejoiced. Halidou came over with a bag full of dates. “Eat these and you won’t have diarrhea.” I asked him if even Nigeriens get diarrhea and he said, Yes of course. I foresaw the future, dates would do me no good but I ate them anyway. The question remains as to whether it is the bacteria from the meat that causes the diarrhea or the sheer quantity of easily digestible meat relative to the other foods eaten during the day.
I went home after a vigorous hand washing and took an open air shower in the twilight. All the mud walls around my house were a brilliant orangish red, and I felt overwhelmed by appreciation for the pastel orange and purple clouds and the way they augmented the ethereal twilight.