The Vegetarian meets a Sacrifice - Katie
*Sorry for the delayed blog. I've been having trouble with the internet. I will continure where I left off*
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O9/02
Today I watched the sacrifice of two goats, rode a rickety, jam packed autobus, and sweat like I had never sweat before. Just another day in Yoff.
Starting with the sacrifice, our group was invited to a spirit ceremony where we were to honor the garden god who had been seen in three dreams of different individuals, and therefore trying to contact the human world. A sacrifice of two goats had been decided (since the ghost asked for two) and their blood was spilt in the family shrine, located in the backyard (if you will) of the family. The shrine consists of an area roughly the size of a small apartment bedroom, laid with a dirt floor, covered with a thatch covering, and filled nearly from front to back with large clay pots filled with sticks and water. Each pot represents a previous appeasement to the spirits who “drink” the water each week so that it must be refilled.
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On this day another death occurred on behalf of the spirit, and I was two feet away. Okay, maybe four feet, but awful close. Indeed, the two butchers placed the neck of the hog tied goat over a pit with a bowl placed inside, whispered soothing words to the animal to calm it, then slit its throat. Now, I was amazed at how long it took the poor creature to die (and believe me, I could closely watch every move it made) because it must have taken around 5 minutes to fully stop squirming. Well, I thought, that was a neat cultural experience. But oh contraire, it was not yet over, and in front of me was placed the second goat, which underwent the same treatment before being…donated to the spirit world. It was neat to watch the Americans versus the Senegalese in their reactions. While the Americans looked away and squirmed and some even left, the Senegalese women looked somewhat detached from the ritual as a whole, chewing on their sticks and talking jovially. As for me, the vegetarian, I was perfectly okay with it. I mean, hey, if you’re going to eat meat you might as well accept that an animal died for you, and why not give it a pleasant farewell by sending it to the equivalent of animal heaven? So then I went home and ate none other than mouton…sheep.
Anyways, after that cultural awakening I was able to see another, less traditional side of Senegal. My friend and classmate Mously took myself and 4 other Americans to her house in N’Gor, an hours walk away. It turns out that although Yoff and D’Gor are quite close, N’Gor is much nicer than Yoff…as in MUCH nicer. The houses there are huge even by American standards, and the streets are wide, guards at many gates, and people dressed much more Western. Yassou N’Der, a famous Senegalese musician, even lives two doors down from Mousli. My classmate Rich called it the Beverly Hills of Senegal, and even though I agree it was interesting to observe that the streets were still dirt roads and covered with a layer of trash, while little shacks selling old sandals and fruit continued along even the richest of streets.
A long walk to her house and then another to the beach filled up our evening and we had to get back. Mousli helped accompany us onto an autobus so we could return quicker. The autobus’s are exactly like the stereotypical African bus: a compacted bus/large tank seating as many people as possible with a driver in the front and what I like to call an “enforcer” in the back. It is the enforcer’s job to stand in the open back door and smack the side if someone needs to get off, then loudly knuckle the door to get moving once again. It is also his job to collect payment, which he will yell, poke, or argue out of everyone on the bus. Thankfully we had Mousli to help us so we were alive by the end.
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