Bloody Eid

A few days ago Bangladesh celebrated the Muslim holiday of Eid ul Azha otherwise known as "Bloody Eid". My day started at 8:30 as I walked the back roads to my host families house. Its been foggy here and the jungle looks like some kind of mystical place full of danger and possibilities. I passed by men walking home to their breakfasts after the morning prayer and everyone seemed more somber than usual.
Soon I was at my host families house and given tea and pita (yummy steamed rice cakes full of coconut and sugar). I was made to finish quickly though as Nazia and Samia jumped around me in excitement for the festivities to begin. So I slammed my tea and headed down to the family field. Two goats were already being butchered but the real prize were the two cows that stood tied to a post.

The whole family and extended family were there and Nazia and Samia jumped around me excitedly "Soon Auntie soon!!!". And soon enough the Imam came into the field large knife in hand and already speckled with blood from earlier sacrifices. They took the bull first and pushed it down and tied its legs. "Allah Ouakbar!!!" (God is great) cried the Imam as sawed through the bulls' throat. The bull thrashed and oddly enough for such a gratuitous gaping wound there was little blood. Death, however; I learned that day does not come quickly. It took the bull about 10 minutes to die (yes I timed it) as it tried to breathe through the new red hole in its throat. Its eyes rolled back into its head from lack of oxygen and its body thrashed againsted the bonds around its legs. It made horrible rasping and choaking noises and then was silent.
The Imam then grabbed the cow but the sight of death and the coppery smell of hot blood her into a panic. Instinct. Flee. Get Away. Too late.... her legs were tied and she could no longer move. "Maya," my host father yelled, "Get photos get photos!!!!" I'll try but I think I am going to throw up and then faint. I did not wait to see her die. I had seen enough.
I headed back to the house my knees weak and my head swimming in gore. Why couldn't they just get steaks in styrofoam and plastic wrap?

Soon enough pieces of cow started to arrive and the women of the house got to work cutting the meat up. It was brought in bloody baskets and it was steaming and twitching. Yeah... veggies anyone? I tried to help cut the meat but its harder than it looks and it stank. My host sisters laughed and teased me... yep yet another useful thing the American can't do... like butcher a cow. The meat was then divided into various piles and tea was served. I noticed that I was the only person who washed my hands before I enjoyed my tea and snacks. Suddenly I heard a lot of noise coming from outside the front gate. So I went to see what the ruckus was all about. There stood my host brothers Bulbul and Shumun holding baskets of meat and surrounded by dozens of frantic children. According to Muslim custom the meat must be divided up into 3 parts. One for neighbors, one for family, and one for the poor. My brothers were now distributing to the poor. These were the children of beggars and rickshaw wallas and the like and it was like a shark feeding frenzy as they screamed and pushed eachother to get the best pieces of meat. I watched in facination as the children recieved one chunk of meat each that they put into bags. Then they left and walked to the next house to recieve another chunk of meat. Up and down the children went with their bags of bloody meat. It reminded me of Halloween in the West where kids go from house to house getting candy. Trick or Treat! Well actually, Trick or Meat!

Actually it was really disturbing and I had to practice various breathing techniques as I sat down to a lunch of goat meat, cow meat, chicken meat and fish meat. Later that day I played badmitton and ate more meat.

Two days later John, Leif and I went to a Hindu village with our friend Bimol. He invited us to his home to celebrate a festival to Krishna. Basically, they call down the god and bless offerings and say prayers. It starts off as the men of the village play drums and various other insturments to "wake" the god up and call to him. One man told me "if I call your name do you not respond? Well it is the same for the Gods." Made sense to me. So off we went in this procession of people singing and dancing and circling the village and each family compound. The women had drawn these elaborate mandalas on the ground out of rice paint. They were stunningly beautiful and we danced on the mandalas and walked in clockwise circles.

There were alters set up at various homes with incense burning and offerings of sweets and fruit. The Bhramin blessed the offerings and then threw the sweets and fruit into the crowd. Young men and children scrambled for the treats and seemed like they were having lots of fun. We became the guests of honor and were allowed to throw the fruit and treats and even the little old toothless grannies got into the action. Hey its not everyday that 3 white people show up in your village and throw oranges at you. We also got to play the drums and sing and everyone was laughing and having a great time. Later we went from house to house and were offered snacks and tea. After about 10 cups of tea and 10 plates of snacks we had lunch. It was a feat of willpower and a miracle that our tummies did not burst. We were invited back and basically made to be welcome into the village at any time. Also Bimol's cow just had a baby and the little cowlet was quite possibly the cutest creature on the face of the planet. It ran away from me as I went to pet it.... Yeah ... so Hindus are cool.

My question for you gentle readers is.... where would you rather party?

So just settling in more and more. I pick up my furniture this week and start teaching again. I haven't worked for over a week. Blehhhh.... Want to be teaching!

Peace
M