The Expat Life

The Slaughter

Preface: This is an account of a true story from November 2009. I lived in Tunisia for 1.5 years, and was able to experience the biggest Muslim holiday with a close Tunisian friend of mine. As I am including as many details as possible, I have broken up this story into parts. 

Part I

“So, do you really want to go?” I asked my sister, “I’m fucking exhausted.” It was five o’clock in the morning, not a time I usually get out of bed. “Well, it’s up to you. We can stay here or we can go, it’s your choice,” Nathalie said. I thought about my choices while lying cozily in my warm bed. Do I really want to get up at this ungodly hour, I thought to myself? Stop being lazy, and just do it, I answered myself. “Ok, let’s take them to the airport and we’ll go directly from there. I hope we have enough money to get to Hammam Lif.” I threw on some clothes and added a few curse words to the mix. “It’ll be fun,” Nathalie coaxed me. “Better be,” I answered.

                I dropped my parents and my brother off at the airport and gave them long, lingering hugs. It had been about eleven months since I had last seen them, and I probably wouldn’t be seeing them again for a while. “It’s a shame they’re missing this,” I said to my sister as we walked out of the airport to find a taxi. The sun was beginning to rise in the sky and lit it up in brilliant shades of orange, red, and pink. The colors were oddly appropriate, given what we were about to do in approximately one hour. In the taxi, I sent Za, my friend, a text message telling him we were on our way. The air was filled with a bit of apprehension – everyone was excited, but Nathalie and I were more excited, given that this was our first time, and we weren’t sure what to expect.

                “Zaaaa!!!” I cried out as soon as I saw him. His tall, lanky body was making its way toward me, and I could tell he had just rolled out of bed. “Meskin!” I said as we got closer. “Poor guy,” I whispered to my sister. “But we’ve been up since five, so whatever.” He looked tired but happy to see us. “Are you ready?” He asked us. “Well, is the sheep ready?” I answered back. Za laughed. “Yes, he’s on the kitchen balcony, my mom is preparing everything, and my father went to pray,” Za said. We walked up the narrow stairway to his family’s apartment and entered. “My sister is sleeping,” I heard Za say. I greeted his mother with a warm Labaas (i.e. the Tunisian version of the French Ca Va) and the customary two kisses, and introduced my sister to her.  I had never met his sister, so I felt slightly guilty waking her up, usually an unadvisable way to meet someone for the first time. Nathalie and I glanced at each other and walked into Za’s room, but to our pleasant surprise, she was already awake. “Sorry for having woken you up!” I greeted her. “I was already awake,” she replied. The window shutters were open and I could see the sun sparkling off the sea just five hundred feet away, and even at 7:45 AM I could tell it was going to be a beautiful, crisp day. “Look!” Nathalie pointed to the building across from us. “Oh my God,” I said, and we all started laughing. Several sheep, of various ages and sizes, were on the opposite balconies, awaiting the morning’s impending events. “Can we go outside?” Nathalie asked Za. “Of course,” he responded, and he led the way to the balcony door. We stepped outside, and we immediately heard them all bleating; it was clear they were communicating to each other, perhaps making one last futile attempt before becoming the morning and afternoon table decoration. Nathalie got her camera and started clicking away. “Look at that one!” I said laughing. She looked over to where I was pointing – there was a sheep on a first-floor balcony, longingly looking up at us. He was tied up, a clothesline of underwear dangling in his face.

“I’m going to need the long lens for that one,” she mentioned to me. We took more pictures, and then walked back into the house. Preparations were underway, including the all-important morning coffee, which Za’s sister started preparing, and we decided in the meantime to check out our morning meal.

Za led us out to the kitchen balcony with the sheep on it. “Aww!” Nathalie and I said simultaneously. “Don’t get attached to it,” she warned me. “I know, he’s going to be barbecue in about an hour, but he’s so cute!” I responded. The sheep bahed at me in response. His big sheep eyes looked at me innocently, and I offered my hand to be sniffed. A pang of pity went through me as I looked at the sheep munching on his hay. I was certain that he knew of his impending doom – I am still certain of it now, looking back – but he didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed rather complacent about the entire affair. Nathalie and I had a photo-op session with the sheep, which I am sure he didn’t appreciate, and then we went inside to enjoy the hot coffee that Za’s sister had prepared for us.

                We sat in Za’s room, appreciating the coffee warming our cold fingers, when his brother woke up and greeted us. “Ashraf, this is my sister Nathalie,” I introduced them to each other. While we were chatting, I heard the unmistakable voice of Za’s father entering the house. “Hello!” He loudly greeted us. “How are you?” His accent made us giggle and we couldn’t help but break into smiles. His energy was slightly infectious. “Bon, are you ready?” He asked us. “Of course we’re ready, ready for barbecue!” I answered him. We followed him to the kitchen. “Do you know why we do this? Firstly, do you know the story?” He questioned us. Yes, we knew the story, but we also knew that we were going to be told the story regardless. He continued, “Eid is not just about killing a sheep or having a barbecue. It’s about the sacrifice that Abraham was willing to make to God. We celebrate this sacrifice and we remember it every year. We make this sacrifice every year, even if it is a financial burden.” Za’s father was being quite serious, and Nathalie and I had no choice but to listen. Luckily, he didn’t pontificate prolifically on the story; he walked out of the kitchen and onto the balcony, where he, Za, and Za’s mother started prepping for the morning’s affairs. Za’s father sharpened the knife; his mother cleaned off the balcony of hay and other sheep debris. Za and Ashraf moved the kitchen table to the center of the kitchen, where it has previously been pushed up against the wall. While Za’s mother was cleaning the table, Za and his father tied the sheep’s front and back legs together, and laid it down, its neck smack dab in the middle of a towel. It was about 8 AM. We had been waiting for this moment, for this day; the tension was palpable in the air. Za put one knee down on the sheep’s body; Za’s father took the knife, his body behind the sheep, bringing his arm around and pressing the knife against the sheep’s neck. I closed my eyes briefly and wondered to myself, “Am I going to be traumatized by this? Can I really watch this happen before my eyes?” My mother had warned me earlier – she was sure I was going to be traumatized. In that split second, I realized the importance of what I would be missing out on. Not only was this an important moment to witness, as it was the first time I had taken part of the Eid celebration, but it would be the very first time in my life I had ever seen an animal sacrificed. I knew I had to watch it happen. How could I allow myself to eat meat if I have never seen an animal killed? I opened my eyes.