Tabaski fever

While the rest of the world, and even my own university back in Massachusetts, has been cautiously watching the leveling off of cases of swine flu, a very different kind of fever has gripped all of Senegal. Tabaski is only six days away, and that means that if you haven't purchased your Tabaski ram yet you are beginning to get very nervous and perhaps to feel mildly ill.

Tabaski is known in most of the Muslim world as Eid-Al-Kebir. It marks the end of the pilgrimage to Mecca and is the most important holiday of the year. For those who aren't on the hajj to Mecca, the day's events revolve around sacrificing a sheep (or another animal). This religious slaughter is done in remembrance of Abraham's submission to God, which he demonstrated by willingly sacrificing his eldest son (or his second oldest, if you get the version from the Torah or the Old Testament). Lucky for Abraham, God intervened at the last minute and replaced his son with a ram, so he gets all the credit for having been willing to kill his son without actually having done so.

Fast forward a few thousand years to Senegal where the global financial crisis looms large, and yet it is unthinkable not to try to obtain the biggest, baddest, most handsome sheep you can possibly come by, even if you have to go into debt to do it. Although everyone looks forward to Tabaski (for the poorest of the poor, it is the one day of the year when they are sure to eat meat), one only has to ask, "Have you bought your sheep yet?" to unleash the anxious hand-wringing that accompanies this holiday. "Not yet" confessed one of my colleagues last Friday. "And not only that, I can't even answer my cellphone without it being some relative who needs help bankrolling the holiday. Before they can even ask me how I am I tell them I am still working on getting hold of a sheep, so they will know that I can't help them."

There is no religious obligation to slaughter a ram if it is beyond one's economic means. One year the King of Morocco sacrificed a ram on behalf of the entire country to fulfill the religious duty of those too poor to buy a sheep themselves. And yet. In Senegal keeping up appearances is almost as important as fulfilling one's religious duties. In many neighborhoods small bands of boys wander the streets in the days before Tabaski offering their opinions on the sheep tied up outside people's houses. Pity the man whose Tabaski mouton doesn't measure up to the sidewalk commentary as he will be the laughingstock of the neighborhood.

As of this writing sheep are being bused, taxied, and herded into Senegal's cities and towns in preparation for the big day. The Minister of Livestock Raising (yes, there is a Ministry of Livestock Raising) has assured the public that there will be enough sheep to go around, and that she expects Senegal to be self-sufficient in Tabaski sheep in just a few years. Viva Tabaski fever!

UPDATE: There is a sheep beauty pageant on television right now. I'm not even kidding.