Semester in North Africa - Festival of Sacrifice

By Katherine Lochery

The days from Thanksgiving to the end of that weekend I probably consumed the most food I have ever eaten in my life. I don’t say this in that cute way that we sometimes do back home after we gorge ourselves on something like Thanksgiving Dinner. In fact, the makeshift Thanksgiving I shared here on Thursday with some friends pales in comparison to Saturday and Sunday’s events. Although Thanksgiving was delicious and I ate a considerable amount of chicken, stuffing, and apple pie, it was like the warm up lap before the real event.

The Thanksgiving weekend was also the weekend the largest holiday on the Muslim calendar took place. Referred to as Eid Al-Adha, this two day event is centered around the slaughtering of a sheep by each male head of household in observance of the story of Abraham and the ram God sent him to sacrifice in place of his son Ishmael. In the lead-up to this auspicious occasion, the prospect of finding that perfect sheep, buying it, and bringing it home to await the slaughter plunged the medina into a frenzy of activity and excitement.

Last week, I witnessed streets becoming dotted with sheep pens, bales of hay, and of course, my personal favorite, the establishment of professional knife sharpeners on most corners. Move over Sweeney Todd! As families exchanged news of the ever-shifting price of sheep and children ran around the streets yelling “Howlee! Howlee!” (sheep in the Moroccan dialect), anticipation seemed to completely envelope the medina. My three-year old nephew started getting excited over a week ago; last Saturday, he ordered that we visit the “howlee” in a pen down the street. I had a bit of a surprising, personal encounter with the mayhem when I turned around to talk to a friend who I thought was just behind me and instead came face to face with a teenage boy who had a sizeable sheep slung across his shoulders. “Anduck, Anduck!” (Watch out!) he yelled as he darted around me and sped down the road.

As my father and my two grown brothers are each required to slaughter a sheep every year, three sheep moved into my house in the early hours of Friday morning. Upon appearing at the breakfast table, I was asked by my sister if I would like to come downstairs and see the sheep. I thought to myself – of course I want to stare into the eyes of the darling sheep that I am going to watch get slaughtered tomorrow-wahooo! Well, it actually wasn’t that momentous – the sheep just stared back at me, seeming to say, “Yeah we know what we’re here for, it happens every year, lady!”

There were a lot of sheep in the medina during the week leading up to Eid.

In all seriousness though, I appreciated that unlike some families, mine was very low-key about the sheep once they arrived. A friend’s family made it all a bit much by treating their sheep as part of the family and even allowing it to hang out in the living room with them while they were watching TV! Thankfully, as I spent most of my Friday watching Eid bread be made at my aunt’s house and running to and from the public oven with my sister and cousin, I had no time to attach myself to any sheep.

Eid khobz (bread, in Arabic) is a delicious version of the khobz we eat everyday that includes a yummy blend of sesame seeds, fennel, and a variety of spices. We baked a ton of it at the oven and from the looks of the packed out oven, so did everyone else in the medina! When I eventually got home on Friday night, my mother directed me towards the store-room at the back of the terrace. I opened the door and what did I find? A skinned sheep carcass hanging from the line. Wholly confused as I thought all the killing was to take place Saturday morning, I looked to my sister for an explanation. She smiled and explained that they had to kill one sheep Friday night in honor of the Hajj (the pilgrimage Muslims make every year to Mecca). It was quite a sight! I think the real effect was felt, however, when my mother placed a howlee tagine on the table for dinner that night. Yum!

Some of my nephews, nieces, and cousins with one of our sheep!

When my sister woke me up on Saturday morning, the house was buzzing with children, grandchildren, and various family members. As my American friend, Chelsea, had already moved out of her homestay in order to focus on an extensive study she is doing on diabetes in Morocco, she no longer had a family with which to spend Eid. Before I could even bring up the idea of Chelsea spending Eid with my family and me, my sister Souad proposed the idea. Of course, Mama Hafida was all too pleased to welcome yet another person into her household. My traditional Moroccan Mama proclaimed that Eid was an important Moroccan experience that Chelsea needed to be a part of.

So, at around 8:30 a.m., Chelsea walked in the door and after greeting all the family, asked me if I was ready for all the killing. I remember chuckling somewhat nervously and nodding in the direction of my camera. After breakfast and my mother’s return from the Eid morning prayer at the mosque, we gathered on the terrace to await the slaughter. As my father is too old to be able to skillfully kill the sheep with one cut as Islam requires, my older brother-in-law, Mohammed, took on the task. It really wasn’t that hard to watch, although there was a lot more blood than I expected. In the background, all the women were pouring tons of water on the terrace, swishing the blood towards the drain and doing an impressive job of removing any remnants of the slaughter.

Shortly after the sheep had been skinned and hung up in the store room, my mother and sister in law prepared brochettes of sheep liver wrapped in fat. As a consequence of my own British mother back home and her eating habits while I was growing up, I love liver. Once I unwrapped the fat and dipped the barbecued liver in cumin and salt, all there is to say is DELICIOUS. I definitely couldn’t keep up with the Moroccans around me, but I think I ate enough to satisfy Mama Hafida.

About two hours later, we all sat down to a lunch of bread and incredibly fresh meat. I think Chelsea and I struggled a bit as we just weren’t hungry at that point. Needing a bit of a break, we decided to meet some other students and take a walk. The medina streets were completely dead except for groups of boys burning sheep heads over large cauldrons. While the fires made the air thick with smoke, the trickiest part for me was keeping my lunch down as I saw huge stacks of sheep skins lining some of the streets.

When we eventually got home, dinner wasn’t just more meat…it was intestine and stomach with a side of bread. Mama Hafida figured out pretty quickly that we weren’t interested in any of that…she generously pushed it away from us, leaving us with meat and sauce, which although still quite hard to eat at that point, was doable.
With the exception of the slaughter, the second day of Eid was much like the first; a lot of eating, visiting, and receiving family. I do believe that the food on the second day was much more delicious, especially the incredible couscous that my mother adorned with fresh meat and chickpeas. While the rest of the family ate the sheep’s head with their couscous, Chelsea and I were lucky enough to have our own dish of couscous sans head. I can’t tell you enough how understanding my family was when they realized I was uncomfortable with eating any part of the sheep.

On Sunday night, after the last relative had left and I was drifting off to sleep, I thought about how extraordinary Moroccan children are. Eid is to them what Christmas is to me and other English kids – their biggest holiday, time off school, all the family, and a big meal. Just as I used to get so excited for Christmas as a child, they do the same for Eid. There is a stark difference however: whereas I always knew that Christmas meant new toys and lots of stuff for me, Eid leaves the children here with nothing more than a full stomach and memories of another holiday spent with family and friends. I’d say my siblings and cousins have a pretty impressive and accurate idea of just what is worth getting excited about in life. Eid Mubarak, my dears!

Editor’s note: A junior at Boston University, Katherine Lochery is spending her fall semester in Morocco, studying Arabic; Women, Islam, and Politics; and Post-Colonial Aesthetics and Politics. Born in Britain, raised in the U.S. and in possession of a passport that has seen more action than most anyone of any age, she is consumed with a desire to leave the world a better place than she found it. This is the fifth entry in her chronicle for Where2Now of her experiences during the course of her semester. Click on a number to read her previous entries. 1 2 3 4