Tabaski and the Superbowl

February 1, 2004

The Muslim holy day of Eid al Adha is called Tabaski in Muslim Africa. This day, as I understand it, commemorates Abraham’s demonstration of faith to God by his willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac. Yes, the same Abraham that is the father of Judaism, and as a result, Christianity. It is the holiest of days and occurs forty five days after then end of the month of Ramadan. Since Senegal is 90% Muslim, it is a national holiday. Every Muslim is obligated to slaughter, eat, and share a sheep on the morning of the day.

So for days, I have seen street corners full of sheep for sale. Everyone is buying them, packing them into the back seats of their sedans, hoisting them up onto the roofs of the Car Rapides, the dangerous minivans that transport the masses throughout the city and surrounding countryside. I approved employee advances for Tabaski, so that even the gardener and security guards could afford to buy their sheep. And there is much talk about the high cost of mutton this year. The government controlled newspaper writes articles about the government’s importing from Mali of sheep to help increase supply, thus reducing cost in the pure market economy.

And February 1 has other significance for this expatriated American, the Superbowl. Since New England is in it, I am on board. And, yes, it is going to be televised on our South African dish channel, an ESPN affiliate. Better yet, the detachment of U.S. Marines who guard the Embassy is hosting a Superbowl bash at their residence, not far from mine. I’m going! I have a Patriots jersey to wear and would love to hang out with some Americans, even embassy types, to watch the game on Armed Services Network on a big-screen television. Due to the time difference, the game starts at 11:30 PM. Tomorrow is a holiday and I have taken a nap!

Back to Tabaski – I wake at about 7 AM to the sound of every Mosque in the city blaring out some sort of call to prayer. I also hear lots of bleating. I know what those sheep are trying to say, “Oh shit, it’s Tabaski, and I’m done for.” And by about 10 AM there is no more bleating. It is replaced by a pervasive smell of grilling meat everywhere. And it ain’t tailgaters for the Superbowl, either!

I have several invitations to partake of mutton. All are quite up-in-the-air, as planning is not a big thing here. However, I receive a follow-up call from an acquaintance, Mame Saye Seck. She would really like me to come to her home for the holiday. I accept. Since she speaks very little English, and I as much French, I get Donna and Dramane to call her to get driving directions. Armed with these and some gifts for the children of the house, I set out in the 4x4 (kat kat) to the Sacre Coeur neighborhood in search of her house. The invitation is for noon, which means any time between noon and two! I am to call on my cell phone when I get to a landmark close to her house. She will send a couple of kids to guide me the rest of the way. The system works.

Mame is a thirty-ish, plump, single woman, rare for a Muslim, who has visited the US, speaks a tiny bit of English, and is active in women’s rights issues in rural Senegal. She works as a secretary for a labor union, or so I gather. I made contact with her through a mutual colleague at UC Berkeley. She was looking for someone to help her with her English, and I offered to trade for help with my French. We have met a couple of times and I am not sure whether either of us is helping the other, but I’ll remain open. Our exchanges include lots of discussions about women’s rights, Muslim culture, disdain for what she calls American “superabundance”, and her thoughts about any marriage prospects, include as a second wife (polygamy is very common in Senegal).

To get to her home, the kids who meet me guide me through a maze of alleys to a courtyard. She greets me and introduces me to the family she lives with, friends of hers. Her parents have passed away, and as a single woman, she has taken a room in their house. I didn’t get the names of the couple. He is an administrator at Le Soleil, the government-run daily newspaper. She works for some sort of NGO (non-government organization, one of the many Western non-profits that proliferate in Africa) as an administrator. Their apartment is very nice, by Senegalese standards. They have three boys and girl, I think. Very well-behaved kids who know a small amount of English from school. The couple know almost no English, but somehow we are able to chat for a while.

And I must eat! They have already eaten, since the mutton is eaten as soon as it is slaughtered and grilled – the liver is breakfast. I am seated alone at the dining room table with beaucoup mutton pieces placed in front of me, with little else! So as they watch me, I chomp on two pieces, proclaiming that I am now full. After their coaxing, I eat one more piece. It has the taste I recall of lamb chops, but very grissly and tough. I am then served Nescafe, followed by Senegalese tea – incredibly strong with about fifty teaspoons of sugar per small cup (or it seems!). And then more chit chat, quite awkward. I take some photos, hand out the gifts to the kids, who are thrilled, and tell them that I have a big party tonight, so I must go take a nap.

So three hours later, I am heading back home. I eat a banana and an orange in an attempt to dissolve some of the grease that is clogging my arteries by the second, wash the grease from my beard, and actually do lay down to take a nap. I have another engagement at 7:30 – the serving of the mutton at the dormitory cafeteria. I am expected to make an appearance to wish all the students a happy holiday. Please don’t make me eat any more mutton! So I will wear my best boo boo for the occasion.

I know from past experience that 7:30 doesn’t really mean 7:30. So I arrive at the student cafeteria at around 8 PM. The cooks are putting out the food for the Tabaski feast – crudite of vegetables, pommes frites, and of course mutton. There are two huge trace of mutton pieces, but the centerpiece is an entire roasted sheep, head and all, sitting on a giant platter. Unfortunately I forgot my camera, but it was a sight to be seen – and not eaten by me! I greeted all the students in the native dress for the holiday. The chef insists that I eat first. So I load up on the vegetable, take a tiny piece of mutton for show, and sit with some of the students. The veggies are delicious. Obviously it isn’t the food of choice for anyone else, so I load up on yet more veggies. I take my leave at 9 PM, now with Superbowl on my mind!

At 10:30 I depart to the Marine House with Anne Blevins, our admissions director, and Donna. Dramane has decided to go to a party for Malians in Dakar. His party starts at 11 PM. The Marine House is quite a scene. The “living room” is a giant affair with a bar, pool table, and rows of chairs around a projection TV screening on a big wall. The sound system is deafening. There are an assortment of Americans there – embassy workers, marines, peace corp types and some missionary workers. The crowd seems equally divided – Pats fans and Panthers fans. I am the only one with Patriots attire. I am so phyched for the game.

I take a seat in the center of the room in the second row. I am sure I’m blocking someone’s view, but I really don’t care. What a game! The first 25 minutes are defensive, with little offense, then it opens up on both sides. As we all know, it was a knuckle biter to the end. I must say I tried to watch the half-time show, but thought it was terrible. Did I see Janet Jackson’s breast. Today’s newspaper confirms what I thought I saw!

And one of the best part of the game is the commercials, right? Well, not for us. This broadcast is through the AFN (Armed Forces Network). Instead of commercials, public service announcements aimed at military personnel ad nauseum. I am in their home, so I cool it. But seeing Chris Rock and Sylvester Stallone urging military people to be careful what they say in the e-mails, since the enemy can access was too much. My favorite ad was one with a goofy guy dressed up like a polyp, urging everyone to be screened for colon cancer – honest!!

So the game ended here after 3:30 AM. Yes, I was tired, but wouldn’t have missed it for the world. What a great game, and a fun venue to watch it. And what a contrast between slaughtering mutton and battering football players. No problem!

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