The blog after Eid Kbir.

WARNING: Don't eat or drink whilst reading this post. Secondly, if you have a weak stomach, don't read this post.




First of all, I totally failed at eating sheep stomach. I tried about one bite before the revulsion response took effect.  No one ever said I had a particularly hardy stomach. I therefore give myself the special adjective ‘burhusha’ (childish). My host mom is sitting here watching me type and I told her what all of this meant and she is laughing hysterically at my gastric weakness.  

Anyhow, so I have survived my first Eid Kbir. Henry the sheep was not so fortunate. While Henry did spend his nights in the hotel d’kitchen, he also banged the crap out of the stove, tried to ram as many people as he could and generally pawed the floor to smithereens.  So when the big day arrived, he was relocated to the roof. But more about Henry later.

Let’s describe how everything went down. The night before Eid Kbir, my family was so excited they could hardly contain themselves. The feeling was definitely akin to that of Christmas, and in fact, if I had to pick a Muslim celebration that gives you the same cozy feeling that Christmas does, it would probably be Eid Kbir (sans sheep slaughtering). The next day we got up at 7:30am so my host father and brother could go to the mosque and that the women could stay home and prepare breakfast. It was one of the more mighty breakfasts I have seen here. We had harira (soup) and cow butter (I didn’t know this was cause for a big deal), cake, cookies, and of course the ubiquitous bread and mint tea that a Moroccan meal must have. After my host father and brother returned we did indeed dine, and then dined more with the guests who come and visit.

So by the time that we had a chance to clean up breakfast and say hello to well-wishers and friends of the family, it was about 9:30 and Henry’s time drew nearer. In fact, about a half hour later the butcher showed up. I told my parents that I was scared of watching Henry get slaughtered. I like to think that I’m actually not scared, but I had happened to be on the roof looking at the exact wrong (or right?) moment to see about six other sheep getting slaughtered on other peoples’ roofs.  Therefore, Henry ended and the fun did begin. I came back on the roof a while later and Henry’s body was neatly tied to hang on the roof and his skin was on the other wall.  All the sweet meats and innards and head were on separate plates on the ground. Just as I was about to lose it, my friend (a PCT) walked by and thankfully she grabbed me from the roof and we had a nice chat and she invited me over later.

Not more than ten minutes after she left, another PCT came to my house and stole me to his house, only to see his host family’s goats being cleaned on their front porch. I was managing pretty well until I saw a maggot crawl out of a goat brain. I directly turned inside his house, drank a glass of tea and pretended it did not happen. But then I waited until I was breathing calmly again and then managed to go back to my house for lunch. Liver isn’t so bad. 

Here is sweet Henry. Good old boy. 

Here is a lovely photo of Henry's skin that he wasn't using anymore.