Eid el Adha, pt 2

...After the prayer, Shebab and I hurried home. I was greeted by my 'uncle' Abdrabu, who was sharpening knives, a look of eagerness on his face. It was time to slaughter the goat.

As the family finished the final preparations for the sacrifice, I bit my lip and continued my three-day-long debate: would I stay to watch the act, or would I retreat to my room and muffle my ears? I've been known to grow faint at the sight of blood, and I didn't know how I would handle watching an animal suffer--especially after the goat had spent the night outside the tent, bleating pitifully.

As I deliberated, I heard a scuffle across the street and glanced over just in time to see our neighbors' goat meet his end. Shaken, I figured I might as well stay and join my family in the ritual. My motivation was primarily spiritual, not cultural--the sacrifice is meant to commemorate God's provision of a ram to save the life of Ibrahim's (Abraham's) son. The concept of blood sacrifice and God's provision of a replacement is so central to the true story of the Bible, and I had yet to gain a real, tangible understanding of this very gruesome theme. I have been seeking to greater understand Calvary--and here was a valuable opportunity.

So, I gripped my sister Tigera's arm as I watched the men drag out the poor creature, hobbled and spotless white (this detail was not lost on me). I braced myself as they forced it to the ground, and soon jumped back as blood spurted in my direction...

After the deed was done, the family went to work on preparing the meat, and I broke away to bury myself in Isaiah 53 for a few minutes....

"He was wounded for our transgressions....
the Lord laid on him the iniquity of us all.
Like a lamb led to slaughter....
By knowledge of him shall many be counted as righteous
...because he poured out his soul to death."

(God...let our awe of this only grow...let us never grow numb to the supreme price of your rich grace)

As the morning wore on, our sisters burst into the room and announced it was time to enter the tent and receive visitors--but first, we must finish our beauty routine. I managed to escape the traditonal layers of khol eyeliner, but they insisted that I allow some make up. Once I was pronounced acceptable, I joined the family in the tent.

On this day, families live as lavishly as they can afford, passing around glass after glass of delicious sweet tea, dousing their guests in perfume and passing around coals sprinkled with incense. Family members showered each other with kisses, wishing one another a blessed Eid and asking one another for forgiveness. The atmosphere of joy and warmth was truly beautiful--as were the multicolored mehlfas and dra'as they wore.

After a lunch of (very fresh) goat meat, fruit (a special treat), potatoes, and Coca Cola, we dispersed to rest or visit neighbors. A few hours later, we stuffed ourselves into several ancient, borrowed cars and took off for the dunes. We turned off the road and bumped along in the rusty sedans over rocks and sand until we reached our destination--safely, to my mild surprise.

We spread out mats on the soft ground for a picnic of tea and goat kebab, cooked over coals in the sand. We climbed the dunes barefoot, laughing as we tripped and sank on the steep inclines. After watching the sunset, we drove back home--only delayed for 20 minutes when one car sank into a drift of powdery sand.

The night was finished off with more tea and visitors--I slept at 1:30, but several family members did not return until after dawn the next morning.

And that was only the first day. :)

The next two days--well, I won't try to elaborate, but they were some of the most beautiful I've enjoyed on this trip. I spent all the daylight hours trekking from neighborhood to neighborhood, visiting friends, family, and students. The universal atmosphere of peace, goodwill, and joy was such a blessing to me. At every tent I met with the warmest of welcomes, glass after glass of tea, inquiries after the health of myself and my family, and blessings and encouragement on all sides. We shared meals together, we laughed and gossiped. We asked one another for forgiveness--a common theme during this feast. We pressed one another to eat more, and complimented each other on the beautiful make up and clothes we wore. My friends and I spent several hours just ambling through the neighborhood, enjoying the greetings and blessings of those we met on the street.

I can hardly express the beauty of this culture--where nothing is seen as "mine", but everything is "ours". Where the only way to offend a family is by not visiting enough, or not accepting enough of their food or gifts. True generosity and joy--and from people so many Westerners would ignorantly pity if they heard only of their suffering. Yes, they suffer and lack--but, I've found, this 'fact' does not constrain or define them, but rather, they overcome it by clinging to their God and their loved ones, counting these things as the greatest treasure of all. And in this, they are rich.

And so I thank God every day for my new family and friends, who have enriched me so truly.