Today I went to the sailing club's barmaid family's Tabaski... The photos are in someone else's camera, so I'll only be able to post them Wednesday.
I arrived at about 10:00 and was introduced to the entire family, from the matriarch (great-grandma, 98 years old) to the teenagers (smaller kids were later shown to me by doting parents, but weren't included in the introductions). In all, there were about thirty persons, all of them living in the same three-story building. After the obligatory questions (where are you from, aren't you afraid of the sea, how come you're not married, etc.) and dodging two marriageable-aged girls advances (backed by their insistent mothers... 'twas hard, I tell you, hard), I was led to the rooftop, to the men's side of the party.
Of the family's eight goats, we slew and butchered five... no finesse there, it was a simple machete and knife affair with some pleasant banter (though it was mostly incomprehensible, as it was in Wolof unless directly addressing me, in which case we spoke French). While we worked , the pre-teen girls would bring us drinks - as you'd expect on a Muslim country's religious feast, there wasn't a beer to be seen
so we had green tea and home made orange, guava and ginger juices.
Most goat parts went down to the women's section for them to roast for themselves and for cold storage, and salad trays were coming up. Other pieces went straight to the BBQ grill to roast while we were still butchering, and at about noon the feast begun under a magnificent tropical sun, with goat innards, heads and hoofs lying about... by then the offal smell had seriously started attracting flies but nobody seemed to notice (and I wasn't about to comment on).
After being (nearly forcibly) stuffed full of the chewy meat, I had a hard time keeping awake, and the party broke up with people joining their spouses and closest relations (as all were relatives); everybody changed into their "Sunday best" and some of the women married into the family whose parent's households were nearby went to pay their respects... Meanwhile I had to ward off some more relentless courting (even some grappling), and to hold just about every baby in the house.
While chatting (taking refuge) with the guys I asked if their robes weren't too hot; for my trouble I was gifted a white robe, a bordeaux-coloured cap and the accompanying pointy slippers. Even without any gold brocade, the robes apparently made me yet more irresistible, as the girls even brought their neighbour friends to see me (yet more courting and eye-batting, with some pecking between them)... Finally, I made my farewells, left my regards to the sleeping matriarch and took a taxi back to the club - but not without raising a lot of eyebrows, conspicuous as I was in the robes.
In all, there wasn't any cultural shock since I already knew what to expect, so I had a great time... I also managed to leave unmarried, which wasn't a small feat!
