Tabaski, as it is called in West Africa or Eid al-Adha in Arabic is the Festival of Sacrifice and depending on the lunar calendar is celebrated sometime in December. It is a religious festival celebrated by Muslims worldwide in commemoration of the willingness of Ibrahim to sacrifice his son as an act of obedience to God. Since our arrival in Burkina we had been hearing about the fete du Tabaski and we could not wait to celebrate it with our host families. We were so excited that we ask to have the day off if Tabaski landed on a training day. It was unsure even during the first week in December whether it would be on Sunday the 7th or Monday the 8th. On Thursday December 4th it was announced that Tabaski would be celebrated on Monday December 8th this year and that training would be cancelled so we could spend time with our families.
On Sunday I went out and bought candies to hand out to the kids when they come by on the night of Tabaski. Tailors were busily trying to finish complaits, dresses, and traditional robes for Tabaski. Everyone wears new clothes for Tabaski. The girls of my family began to henna their feet and their hands as I watched and took photos. It is a completely different type of henna than I have seen before. They actually dye the skin and then wrap the feet in plastic bags overnight. By using tape they create intricate designs that will show on the skin once the tape has been lifted. Many PCVs indulged in this ritual for Tabaski.
The story behind Tabaski:
The devil tempted Ibrahim by saying he should disobey God and spare his son. As Ibrahim was about to sacrifice his son, God intervened and instead provided a lamb as the sacrifice. This is why today all over the world Muslims who have the means to, sacrifice an animal (usually a goat or a sheep), as a reminder of Ibrahim's obedience to God. The meat is then shared out with family, friends (Muslims or non-Muslims), as well as the poor members of the community.
The Day of Tabaski:
The main event is the call to prayer at 9am. Joined with some other stagaires we went to the parade ground around 8:30am. Some of the PCV men of my stage joined their families in prayer. With my camera in hand I weaved solely in and out of the masses of people convening at the major parade ground in OHG to pray. It was awe-inspiring and humbling all at the same time. My eyes had never seen such a gathering of people in my life. As the sun shone down, heating the tarmac on this December day I tried my hardest to capture the atmosphere, poorly as an outsider. Many men came up to talk to me giving me smiles from ear to ear. I wished them "ni yi tabo" in Moore, which poorly translates into Happy celebration. An elderly white bearded man asked me to take a photo and I obliged and then gleefully showed him his portrait on my viewfinder and he beamed as we walked away with his prayer mat tucked under his arm. Stately men arrived in their crammed SUVs and out would come 8-12 family members who had squeezed in. I saw the most outrageously colored clothes as men showed off their wealth in fabric and embroidery. Women and men always pray separately even during a day like tabaski. On these massive parade grounds the men position themselves towards the front where the speakers are located and women are situated in the back of the parade grounds. Tribes/Families enter enmass, some even come down the main road to the parade ground like they are on a parade float.
As the call to pray begins silence emminates the air and it is an amazing site to watch hundreds of people submit to prayer simultaneously. Greg Mortenson explains this moment best in the book "Three Cups of Tea," when he prays for the first time. I think about what he says as I stand there in the brilliant sun and watch the Burkinabe men and women bow towards Mecca:
"For years, Mortenson had known, intellectually, that the word "Muslim" mean, literally, "to submit." And like many Americans, who worshipped at the temple of rugged individualism, he had found the idea dehumainizing. But for the first time, kneeling among one hundred strangers, watching them wash away not only impurities, but also, obviously, the aches and cares of their daily lives, he glimpsed the pleasure to be found in submission to a ritualized fellowship of prayer."
The call to prayer only last but a couple minutes. I silently make my way back to the major road and my bike as children run from the parade ground anxious for the day long feast that is about to begin. It is mad causes as I do not even try to ride my bike the mile back to my house. I greet people and talk to them in Moore and wish them happy tidings for their dinner and sacrifice. I eventually make it back to my house and I am greeted with adoring hand shakes and everyone telling me that they saw me at the parade ground taking photos. I told them that I had tried to find them but there were so many people. They said they yelled out, "Yasamine, Yasamine," but I could not hear them.
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