Back home, the holidays are a time of celebration and gathering among family and friends. We dress up; good food and drink are shared; games are played; and laughter is at a paramount. This practice, it would seem, is universal...and our observance of the Tobaski feast has shown us so.
Tobaski...with an I (the Coles Notes version), as it was explained to me, is the annual Islamic festival of sacrifice; which celebrates the ancient prophet, Ibrahim’s, promise to God that he would sacrifice his son, Ismail. God, in return and out of appreciation for Ibrahim’s gesture, replaced the son with a ram to be sacrificed instead.
***(You may want to read up on Tobaski on your own to get the story straight...obtaining accurate information all the time is a struggle with the resources available here)***
And, so it was that M.C. and I witnessed the slaughter...er, sacrifice of two rams on Tuesday.
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Here on The Smiling Coast, two naive Canadians set out early on a sunny—everyday is sunny—Tuesday morning, alongside their Gambian colleague and friend, Nuru Sey, to join him and his family in the celebration.
Nuru stopped by our homestead in Old Jeshwang promptly at 9:30am, and we strolled to the main thoroughfare where we (Nuru) whistled down a worn 12 passenger van (public transport)—the old Doakmobile has nothing on this thing—with more than 12 locals aboard, to take us to the Sey family house in Busumballa (about a half hour trip). We were happily greeted by the Sey family (mother, brothers, sisters, in-laws, nephews and niece) with open arms.
Sacrifice of the Ram
By 11am, the men of the house—yours truly excluded—were dragging the first of two Rams to a hole dug in the soil, where the animal’s blood and innards would be drained and covered in hopes of fertilizing the arid land in the year ahead. I have to be honest; I was initially unsure of whether or not I would be able to watch the ram being slain, but it really was not as much of a struggle as I had anticipated.
Throat slit; blood drained; quick, easy and efficient... and on to the next Ram. Once both animals lay completely lifeless and devoid of excess blood, it was on to the skinning and dismembering of the bodies, and beginning of the barbeque. MMMMMMMM dericious!
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| Nuru (in yellow) with brothers and niece skinning sacrificed ram |
By 12 noon, M.C. and I were enjoying a lovely dish of liver and onions (gamey), accompanied by chips (homemade fries) and salad. Rest assured that I took it upon myself to make certain that no trace of meat was left for the flies.
Game time!!
Soon after finishing up “Breakfast”, our colleague Muhammed and his wife Kelly (a native of Moncton, NB) arrived with their Scrabble board and Muhammed and I took to action.
I got pumped.
Turning point in the game... I decided not to challenge the use of the word “vetos”, which he had placed in a spot that would garner him over 40 points. I teetered back and forth for several minutes over whether or not the pluralized use of the word should read “vetoes” before I decided to let it stand. Bad move...game over.
I did redeem myself—somewhat—with much more closely contested win over M.C., before the real entertainment took place, in the form of Nuru and his older brother, Bashir, head-to-head at the scrabble board. Never in all my life have I seen such an “oilly” (yes, it was that type of game) and underhanded match at the board game table. But, for all those who observed, the sheer amount of pleasure and laughter that came from watching the two brothers try to outsmart and out- manoeuvre each other was priceless. Best part...the game was interrupted by an irreconcilable argument, and a winner could never truly be declared (although Nuru was ahead by a wide margin at that point).
More Food and more games
By 4:30-5pm, having snacked throughout the afternoon, “Lunch” was served. A large helping of Benechin (meal made from one pot)—rice with meat, pumpkin and eggplant—was served, and again...I ate plenty.
Before being able to fully digest the soccer ball was out and a 2v2 game was established just out the walls to the yard. To touch a ball for the first time since arriving here in The Gambia was FANTASTIC. Despite the size and condition of our playing surface—dust and rocks—the boys and I enjoyed a good 45 minutes of exercise and competition, and again...laughter. I proved, once again, to myself and to those around me, that I am NOT a goal scorer (no comments needed from anyone).
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| Sergio |Ramos digs in... |
By 7:30pm, we were on our way back to the apartment to recover from and recast the day in our heads.
The Dress
Something I must mention is the traditional garb sported by most throughout the Tobaski celebration. Now, in the run of a week (most prominently on Fridays) we will come across handfuls of locals decked out in the most colourful and vivacious of outfits. However, Tobaski represents a special opportunity for Gambians to truly and visibly show their pride in themselves, their faith and their land. The array of colors on the young kids, especially, is something to see.
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| Nuru's two nephews and niece |
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The dress, the family and friends, the food and drink (although non-alcoholic), the games and the laughter...it was just like being at home, and we were certainly made to feel as so.
Until next time...Don’t Stop Believin.
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FYI: Just today we were able to hit market with Uncle Sanna at the wheel to bargain for ourselves two beauty sets of our own wheels...second-hand bikes (I got a red, three-speed). We are ready to roll from here on in.
Also, we are back on the road for a full week come tomorrow morning. We look forward to sharing our experience “up-country” upon our return...next weekend.
Matty
