DISCLAIMER: I meant to post this over a week ago. Somehow, it only got saved in drafts. Oh, well!
6:50 pm Following a final glance around the house, I decide that no one is home, everything is in its proper place, and all the lights are off. With this, I lock up the house and join Ashlee and Tom to hail a taxi to l'Institut Français for a Saturday night cinema outing.
8:45 pm The movie (Omar M'a Tuer) was tragic (as most French films decidedly are,) and to lighten our spirits we head to l'Institut's restaurant for an exceptionally tasty lemon coconut cake and some riveting post-film discussion.
10:00 pm Our taxi having dropped us off at our respective homes, Tom and I head to my side of the house, expecting to find dinner waiting for us. (We eat late here.) However, a loud BAAAAAing interrupts the dark solitude of my kitchen, and although our dinner is indeed set out for us on the table, a certain unexpected guest has also been waiting for us: a goat, tied up to the leg of the table, eating his own dinner of cardboard, stale bread, and a little bit of water for consistency. He is presently christened Lazarus and we become fast friends, despite the fact that he tries to eat my laundry that has been set out to dry above his head.
12:00 am I bid goodnight to my family, Tom's family, and my little pal Lazarus.
7:00 am A putrid smell fills my bedroom and forces an early arousal from sweet slumber. In my groggy state, I hear a repeated THWACKing and a commotion between my house and Tom's, but the same groggy state does not allow me to form any conclusion as to the origins of these events. Instead, I rise, and as normal gather my washcloth and soap with the intent of heading to the sink to wash my face...
7:05 am All face washing attempts are entirely foiled, for when I exit the security of my bedroom, what do I find but to my horror poor Lazarus (or what once was he,) a carcass hanging in the corner of the L that separates my bedroom from the sink, my host brother and his friend performing the aforementioned THWACKS to strip all that remains on the sorry skeleton. The two men stand in a bloody pond which I desist from traversing - I can manage a sleep-stained face if it allows me to avoid this mess! - and yet as I step backwards into my bedroom, I can't help but notice that my flip flops have left a rather sanguinary set of prints on the tiled floor and the fresh-laundered pajamas hanging not so far from the Event of the Day have obtained a splattering of crimson drops.
2:30 pm We feast upon freshly grilled mutton, and I am so well-satiated that I consider not eating for an entire year to come.* Happy Early Tabaski, everyone!
 |
| The unsuspecting sacrifice peeks coyly from behind a curtain of laundry |
*Have no fear. By dinnertime that same evening, I ate a second-round of mutton with no regrets!
What a fascinating festival! And I can foresee your future feasting will be just as filling. You are so cool.
ReplyDelete